11 June 2021
Friday. There are little glass eyes in the corners of every room. They never blink. I asked Pudding whether they belonged to him and he rocked no.
Somebody behind the glass eyes watches my friends the whole time. If a friend gets too frightened, they press the Goodbye Button and a grown-up comes and walks them out, just like that, in the middle of a game. Tonight a man pressed it before I had even said hello. He went home with his jumper on inside out.
I never touch anybody. I want that written down, because people say things. I don’t pull hair. I don’t grab ankles. I make noises, and move the light about, and leave things where they weren’t a moment ago. That isn’t touching. That is decorating.
His friends kept playing without him and got very nearly to the end. Margery calls that loyalty. Margery doesn’t know what loyalty is. She has never had to share a nursery.
— Cathy (please come back)
