.”“I know what you were talking about, about me at the pool,” she tittered. “And I can!”Herbie spluttered his tea and patted his stained cri...p cream button down shirt. The retired diplomat was a careful dresser, in fact a fastidious dresser, carrying on true colonial fashion even though his wife Deidre had died. The barber shop he had used all his mature life looked forward to him once a month, the church choir relied on his deep voice, his conservative club valued his presence as the now. As we reached the end of the corridor, he opened a door into an empty classroom filled with old-fashioned wooden desks, years of graffiti scratched into them. ‘Put your rucksack in the corner and sit on a desk. Now.’ I did as told, my plaid skirt sliding up my legs. My heart lurched as he locked the door and turned to face me, standing about two paces away. ‘Do you know why you are here, Miss Weston?’ ‘Yes’‘Yes WHAT?’ ‘Yes...Sir.’ I stammered. ‘Because I stole, Sir.’ ‘That’s correct, Miss. More

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