Surprisingly,
the place is deserted. I would have thought that the children would have been
practising there. Did they have a school hall? I recall my own primary school
years. Hymn practice every Friday in the hall, sitting cross legged on wooden
floors so well used they’d lost all their shine. I blame these days for the
crick in my back I’ve had for years.
Walking around the place it
becomes clear that they have nothing of a hall size. I exit again. The school
is in the centre of the town so I can choose to search in any direction.
I have a brainwave. Where does
Teague live? Surely if he’s anywhere it would be there?
I head back towards the people.
I see Sandra milling around at the edge of the square. I make for her.
Her face lights up on my
arrival. She’s certainly schoolteacherly in appearance. With round cheeks and a
helpful, inquisitive expression, she recalls someone who taught me during my
own school life. An old favourite I’d long forgotten.
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