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Slog’s dad

Slog always said his dad would come back one day. And, in the spring, he got his wish

By David Almond   134

Spring had come. I’d been running round all day with Slog and we were starving. We were crossing the square to Myers pork shop. Slog stopped dead in his tracks.

“What’s up?” I said.

He nodded across the square.

“Look,” he said.

“Look at what?”

“It’s me dad,” he whispered.

“Your dad?”

“Aye.”

I just looked at him.

“That bloke there,” he said.

“What bloke where?

“Him on the bench. Him with the cap on. Him with the stick.”

I shielded my eyes from the sun with my hand…

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