Who’s a naughty girl, then?’ Sam stared at the candy-striped stand; Punch swivelled around in his pointed hat, with his great hooked nose, rapped his baton down hard on his tiny stage and screeched: ‘Naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty. Who’s been a naughty girl, then?’ One of the children shouted out, ‘Nicky’s mummy has!’ Punch swaggered up and down along the stage, repeating to himself, ‘Nicky’s mummy’s been naughty, has she? Nicky’s mummy’s been naughty, has she? We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?’ ‘Yeah!’ came the chorus. ‘Ooobie, joobie, joobie, who’s been a naughty girl, then?’ He swivelled and stared directly at Sam, leaning forward over the stage and curling and uncurling his index finger at her; it was a long finger, out of proportion with the size of the puppet, and the action unsettled her. ‘Oobie, joobie, joobie,’ he repeated over and over, curling and uncurling, leaning closer; the children were silent now, sensing an atmosphere.
