‘I lived in Morocco for years,’ Lola said as they moved to the edge of the balcony, ‘as if you couldn’t tell. It’s hardly the same view that I had there, but in summer this room is divine.’
From their vantage point, they had an almost bird’s-eye view of the primary school yards from the convent. In one section was a playground equipped with iron monkey bars, slides and swings and at their feet grass tussocks had broken through the asphalt. She remembered a playground like this near her childhood home. In summer, the iron heated to scorching point, but it didn’t deter her and her friends.
Beyond the school, she could see the roofs of the buildings in Main Street, dulled by years of salt and sun, except for one sitting higher than the others at the furthest end that reflected light off its
