Sometimes I wonder about the nursery S attends. Don’t misunderstand me, it is a marvellous place; excellent pedigree, top marks in all the official tables and all that and S adores her time there. It’s just that, sometimes, every now and again, I’m not entirely sure what’s going on.
Tonight she was the last child remaining.
I couldn’t get an answer from the bell. The cleaner let me in.
Even for last thing in the day, it was quiet. I peered through the door into the Pink Room. I witnessed a scene that astonished me.
S was in the middle of the room. Giggling. Lined against one wall stood the six nurses. They were calling excitedly and waving their arms. They were giggling too.
‘Scarlley-woo, pick me.’
‘No, me, pick me!’
‘Scarlley-woo-wah.’
‘Pick me, pick me, I want to be your favourite.’
S saw me at the window, lost interest in the clamouring girls and ran over chirping ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.’
The girls looked crestfallen and a little embarrassed.
‘We were just playing a little game. Where S picks who she has a cuddle from.’ Said one sheepishly. ‘Because we keep fighting over her.’
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