8
After school had finished one evening, for the first time Salmon saw Fearn waiting outside the school gate with his son. Seeing him every night, picking up various children, intrigued Salmon and he had talked to Mrs. Winston about it. She rolled her eyes and blew out her cheeks. “It’s his little bit of community service, Peter. He has a child here, in my class. He normally skips down home on his own, leaving his father to corral the others. Everybody loves him for it and he wallows in the idea of that, I can promise you.” Salmon didn’t comment on Mrs. Winston’s obvious resentment of Fearn’s popularity. Perhaps it was something she herself craved.
The sun was trying its best to lighten the sky, but even with only five minutes gone by since four o’clock, the gloom encroached, drifting in
