Page 88 of Serenity Falls

‘Thank you,’ I say.

I remember my conversation with Sadie this morning. I mean, I’m sure Lockhart means questions about the school, but I might as well take advantage of the opportunity:

‘Actually, there was one thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s a little odd.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Trust me – I’ve heard most things in this job.’

‘Okay. Last night, in the early hours, Sadie thought she saw an ice-cream van driving down our street playing music.’

I wait for Lockhart to laugh or stare at me in puzzlement or maybe ask for my resignation.

Instead, he nods amiably. ‘Ah, yes. That would be the sleep patrol.’

I blink. ‘The sleep patrol?’

‘Yes, it drives around the neighbourhood keeping an eye out for anyone who might be awake and up to mischief.’

‘Oh. Right. I see.’

I don’t see. It sounds batshit crazy.

Lockhart regards me with his small half-smile. ‘I expect you want to know why the ice-cream van?’

‘I kind of do.’

‘Well, it started off as a joke. When the idea of patrols was floated – after some minor vandalism and teenage hijinks – there weren’t any spare vehicles. But there was an unused ice-cream van. It seemed like the kind of thing Harold Winsom would approve of. A fun way to keep things in check without involving official security. The volunteers even give ice-creams to any teenagers they find out after curfew on the condition they head straight back home.’

I consider this. I mean, it still sounds batshit crazy, but then batshit crazy is relative. In Serenity Falls I seem to be constantly adjusting my parameters.

‘The carrot, not the stick,’ I say with a weak smile.

Lockhart pats me on the arm. ‘Absolutely. Of course, most people never see it. Your daughter is obviously something of a night owl.’

‘Well, I guess she gets that from me.’

‘I see.’ Lockhart stares at me. ‘Well, please tell her it’s nothing to worry about. And hopefully she’ll be sleeping more soundly soon – we want her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the start of school.’

‘Of course.’

The urge to go Columbo – ‘Just one more thing’ – and ask him about his visit to Jerry is strong. Before I can, he stops and extends an arm:

‘Here we are.’

We’ve reached a blue-painted door. In neat letters a sign reads: Staffroom. Underneath: Do not disturb – unless you’re bringing apples.

‘Nice,’ I say.

Lockhart chuckles. ‘Just a little teacher humour.’

He pushes open the door, and we walk into another large room decorated in warm hues and filled with squishy sofas and armchairs, plus a long table and chairs.

A group of around nine or ten people are sat at the table, laptops and notebooks out before them. They all look smiley, efficient and smart. Despite it being the holidays, they’re dressed in long trousers, shirts and jackets, the women in pencil skirts and blouses. I blink. At our staff meetings in the UK, leisurewear was more the norm. Hoodies and jeans or tracksuit bottoms. On one occasion our head of drama even came in a onesie.

Lockhart introduces me to all of them, and I try my best to stockpile the names in my head. I’m notoriously bad at remembering names and faces, so I smile and nod and hope I’m not called upon to test my recall.