She reached a playground with a sand-pit, and three climbing frames covered with screeching kids.
She stopped for a moment.
One boy captured her attention. He was perhaps twelve years old, blonde and frenetically active. He was crawling about the sand-pit with the other children, but what made him conspicuously different was the large cork tyre that permanently confined his entire trunk. He was running about as fast as the others, however, which meant that the cork was light, even if very bulky.
He noticed Rosie's stare.
He ran up to her and his eyes were pleading.
"Help me out of this ring," he begged her sadly.
„Why are you wearing the ring?" she asked.
"My parents abuse me," he said and tears welled up in his eyes.
Rosie was outraged. "How could someone torture a kid like that?"
She bent down to him.
"Of course I'll help you," she assured him and tried to break a piece of the cork off. But the cork was very solid.
"Leave that kid alone!" she heard a voice behind her. "You don't understand!"
She looked round.
Standing there was a large father.
