Free Sally by Freya North Page B

down and around in a complicated and irrational route to the water into which they joyfully tumbled. Natural entertainers, the bigger their audience, the more comic their antics. An audience
and
feeding time was the best possible combination; clapping and laughter encouraged them to catch their fish in the most elaborate fashion. And there was a fair-sized audience at two o’clock. But Richard saw only Sally. And he soaked up what he saw.
    She watched one penguin in particular, slightly smaller than the others, his tuxedo glossy, his shirt snowy, his walk pompous and assertive. A fish had been thrown into the centre of the pool and two penguins, positioned on a ridge above it, looked at the water and shifted from leg to leg. Sally’s pal hurried along the ridge and barged into one who crashed into the other. Both fell in while he stood, shifting from side to side, proudly smacking himself with his flippers. He then belly-flopped into the water and surfaced almost immediately with the fish while his two comrades splashed about, thoroughly disoriented. Sally was thrilled and clapped energetically while jumping up and down on the spot, cheering. She had her hands splayed and ridged, bashing them together enthusiastically, her smile wide, her jaws well apart, her lips forced back to reveal every tooth in her mouth.
    And then she saw Richard.
    And she brought her hands together in one final clap. Her mouth was still open but the corners had dropped. She stood paralysed with her hands still rigid, as if in prayer. Richard beamed a broad grin in her direction. The penguins were satiated and dozed on their stomachs, heads and legs suspended. Richard waved his roll of drawings at Sally, Diana saw him and then turned to Sally who was still praying.
Ah ha!
she thought.
Here is the reason for the swagger, the new wardrobe, the infuriating evasiveness, The Glow. Introduce me, Sal – oops, Sally. Do!
    Richard had begun to stroll around the pool. Sally remained transfixed by the space he left. Though rosy and alive, her face spoke a glimmer of slow panic too. Diana saw this and acted upon it immediately.
    â€˜Okay, kids, one last look at the creepy crawlies and then back to the coach,’ she more or less ordered, and though she was desperately intrigued by Sally’s stunned immobility, she tore herself away and went off in search of tarantulas and stag beetles. Sally remained motionless, her pose and poise reminiscent of church sculpture. She did not, however, feel her exterior stillness within. She was lurching and churning, not knowing what to make of the situation.
    I hadn’t planned this. I don’t quite know what to do. What shall I do? Think. He should not have seen me like this. Soft. Penguins. Clapping. That won’t do. Think.
    Richard was very near.
    â€˜Wait!’ Sally suddenly cried after Diana. But Richard was there and Diana was not. He was unaware of Sally’s sudden crisis.
    â€˜Hello, Sal!’
    â€˜Hello, Richard. I must dash.’
    â€˜Call me.’
    The coach was a zoo in itself. Rubbery spiders careered through the air, jelly snakes and sugary polar bears littered the floor. The children were now chimps, charged with manic chattering, climbing all over the seats. Diana, still mittened, wasn’t that bothered about enforcing order and silence. She was more concerned and extremely inquisitive about Sally’s defiant silence. She nudged her with her elbow. Sally turned slowly towards her.
    â€˜Well?’
    â€˜Well what?’
    â€˜Who was that gorgeous man thing?’
    â€˜Someone I sort of know.’
    The women looked at each other. Sally wanted to look away but found the pull of Diana’s enquiring eyes too strong, too comforting. Still Diana searched Sally’s face. Sally felt safe and she also felt strong. She broke into a broad, conspiratorial smile. The camaraderie between the two women was intense, almost tangible. Knowing full well that she could