Chapter 11
“Well, children. Did we all have a wonderful Easter break?” Mr Dalton’s lilting accent washed over the assembled children as they sat crossed legged on the hall floor, scratching shoe buckles against the parquet and fiddling with themselves and each other. Emma perched on a tiny chair at the back of the hall behind the four hundred small people, aged between five and eleven. They increased towards the back of the room in order of size like a human ramp. “Did anyone do anything very special?” Mr Dalton asked, mesmerised by the immediate show of hands.
“I wet myself!” A tiny wail went up from the front row and Mr Dalton darted an urgent look at the reception class teacher. “Already?” he said in consternation. “It’s not nine o’clock yet.”
A classroom assistant darted forward and
