Waking up with Haron in a rented apartment not long ago, I glanced out of the window to check the weather. (Europe, summertime: yep, it was raining).
Opposite was a large, imposing, austere–looking building – which, it being a Saturday – was completely deserted.
I imagined it as some educational institution – soon to be filled with students called in for a weekend detention. Inevitably, the morning would culminate with a queue of girls outside the Headmaster’s office, awaiting their five minutes of shame.
That room up there – top floor, far end of the corridor. That’d be the one. He’d draw the blinds, of course, but on a clear day the retort of the cane and the punished pupils’ squeals might well echo around the courtyard…