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Ah, maybe it wasn't all bad... |
There is a tiny knock on the staffroom door. At first I
think there is no-one there. But, looking down, there is Ruth: shock of fair
hair, almost obscuring her little face; big, uplifted manga eyes peep out. She has
come to tell me that Roland, her brother, is poorly and won’t be in school
today. In small, confidential tones, she goes on to give me the daily update: the
life and times of Ruth and Roland’s mouse.
There is a wind blowing in from the hills, and we all
stand by the main entrance, high above the town, as Harrington expertly unties
the basket, and releases his star pigeon. With a second’s stall, she is off,
describing an arc across a clear, blue sky.
‘He’s been gone a long time; he only went out for a wee.’
Perched on the teacher’s table, book in hand, wandering the moors with Cathy,
Heathcliff, and some sleepy teenagers (for what seems like twenty years), I
glance at my watch, and at the empty chair before me, which had been shunted
backwards as he got up to leave. Suddenly the door bursts open, all heads turn,
and Dave is in the room, knees bent, arms spread, ta – ra triumphant in full
Superman costume.
