’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. Then it was the woman herself who was changed. They tried to read illustrated papers in an unconcerned manner and with forced attention, lest they should catch the leaping exultation in each other’s eyes.
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