‘Hello! Laura? Hi! I’m Margaret Johns, head teacher. I’ll just take you into assembly. The children are all very excited about you coming.’

During the walk to the hall, Laura wondered if she vomited in the playground they’d ring her mother and she’d be allowed to lie down in the staffroom and await collection. Then at last she accepted that she was a grown-up now and she had to just get on with it.

Rows of children sitting cross-legged on the floor confronted her. They were wearing royal blue sweatshirts, and shorts, trousers or grey dresses.

‘Quieten down, children! We have a visitor!’ said Mrs Johns.

There was almost instant calm. Laura had hoped if they took a while to settle, it would use up her time. She had half an hour to fill when she’d have preferred ten minutes, or better, she could have just sent a letter and some forms to each school. But Fenella had pointed out a personal visit would really enthuse the schools and get the community inspired to support the festival.

‘Miss Horsley is going to tell us about a very exciting competition.’ Mrs Johns gestured Laura into centre stage. ‘Miss Horsley!’

Don’t be afraid of silence, Dermot had told her when he’d been coaching her for the visit. Let them just look at you for a couple of minutes. He’d been so helpful, really taking the time to pass on everything he’d learnt about talking to children – which was a surprising amount. Dermot apparently loved going into schools and talking to children. She wanted to be able to tell him it had gone well. She didn’t want to let him down. She surveyed her audience.

‘Hi, guys!’ she said and instantly felt this sounded wrong and went on quickly. ‘How many of you like stories?’

Lots of hands went up. ‘We do!’ they chorused. ‘Me! And Me!’

She raised her own hands to quieten them, which seemed to do the trick. ‘That’s great! And do you know where stories come from?’ Dermot had said he sometimes opened with this question.

‘Books!’ came the reply.

Laura nodded, getting into the spirit of it. ‘Yes they do come from books, but how do the books get them?’

She had liked this image of books marching around on their own capturing stories when Dermot had suggested it and the children seemed to as well.

‘They don’t go around the place listening to stories and snapping them up between the pages like crocodiles, do they?’ She didn’t wait for them to answer this time. ‘No! Well, someone put them there. Someone put the stories in the books. Who could have done that, do you think?’ She looked expectantly at the sea of eager little faces. This time she did want their reaction.

‘Mrs Johns!’ called out a little boy from the front. ‘She’s got stories!’