Free Sally by Freya North Page A

were wowed into silence by the skill with which Miss Lewis brandished her 4B, the verisimilitude of her drawing. The keeper recognized the sage old face immediately as Bertha. Richard Stonehill had glanced at the picture, greatly impressed. But he looked more intently at what had been the nose of the crocodile; he wondered what her name was and how well she knew Sally. Bertha, with unarguable dignity and grace, nevertheless answered the call of nature with an extremely ripe-smelling and resounding thud. The keeper didn’t smell it at all any more but the children shrieked with delight and bolted away, proclaiming ‘Poo! Poo!’ for the uninformed. Distracted, Miss Lewis looked up momentarily, caught Richard’s eyes, smiled fleetingly and returned her undivided attention to Bertha who was, she decided, the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. Richard wandered off in search of a sandwich.
    Sally wandered over to Diana.
    â€˜Lunch?’
    â€˜Mmm? Nyet. Iniminit.’ Sally wandered off in search of a sandwich.
    Every corner Richard turned, every enclosure he went to see, he felt sure he would finally come across Sally. His adrenal glands were in overdrive and he had demolished the sandwich in seconds without tasting it. Now it sat in his throat in a stodgy lump and felt as if it further protruded his Adam’s apple. Swallow as he might, he could not shift it an inch lower nor soften it at all. A drink was a possible solution.
    The kiosk was a round structure with only one serving hatch. As Sally bought her cheese and pickle sandwich and carton of Ribena and walked away anticlockwise, Richard came from the other direction and exited clockwise. But there was no Chaplinesque crash and they each remained oblivious to the tantalizing proximity of the other. Sally had already disappeared behind the pandas and was wondering what bamboo tasted like.
    Richard went to the reptile house to look at the crocodiles.
    Are those Sally’s kids?
    â€˜What time did Miss Lomax say we were to meet at the penguins?’
    Yes, they are.
    â€˜Two o’clock. Ten minutes’ time.’
    The penguins, two o’clock, nine minutes’ time. As he stared at the crocodile, it flickered its eye shut, opened it again and stared back at Richard. He found it rather disconcerting and decided to arrive early at the penguins to ensure the best possible view. As he approached he could see Sally from the back, a posse of children surrounding her. They held her hands and all hopped from foot to foot – whether this was a bid to keep warm or an imitation of the penguins was not altogether clear.
    They seem to like her, she’s probably their favourite teacher. Lenient, no doubt, but commanding respect and obedience.
    Richard was puzzled at just how nervous he was, hands clammy and the sandwich had reappeared to pester his Adam’s apple. The contents of the butterfly house had taken residence deep in his stomach and the sawdust of the possums’ cage appeared to be in his mouth. As he approached he could hear her voice.
    â€˜Ooh, wouldn’t you love to take one home with you?’ she cooed to her entourage. Richard was within a couple of yards of her. He could now see just how enthralled she was by her flippered friends. Up she was on tiptoes, bouncing, as she marvelled at their clumsy acrobatics.
    She’s quite wonderful. Enchanting.
    He walked past and around the penguin pool and took position on the opposite side. He stared at Sally but Sally was rapt. And anyway, Richard was the last person she was expecting to see at London Zoo on a Thursday lunchtime.
    The penguins seemed to like their enclosure. Richard did too. A hilly maze of steps and slopes in blue and white, just like the Arctic, surrounding a generous pool of cold water. He would make few changes to it. Perhaps a bridge. Deepen the pool. A few hidey-holes in the side. New surfacing. The penguins never seemed to tire of running up and