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  “I know why you want to keep her where she is, and I totally get that you think you’re doing the right thing, but I think you need to really be sure. You don’t want to throw away a chance for Rosie just because you had a bad time at school.” Adrian gestured towards the door with his mug. “I better get set up for Mr Jensen. He’ll be here in a few minutes. Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for being honest. I needed to hear that.”

  “You know I’m here for you. And Rosie. Whatever you need.”

  She looked up at him, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “I appreciate that. More than you know.”

  He smiled softly and left the staff room. She closed her eyes and flopped forward onto the table. I knew being a mum would be hard, but why is it this hard?

  12 ROUND TWO

  Alice looked at the tall, rickety wooden ladder suspiciously.

  “It’s safe, right?” she asked.

  The school caretaker, Jim, nodded quickly. “Had it for fifty years. Never had a problem. Not like these new metal ones.”

  She’d bitten the bullet and decided to give the room a lick of magnolia paint herself. She’d been at the local hardware store, purchasing items for her new house, when a multi-buy deal on large decorator pots of paint had spurred her on.

  It wasn’t until she got the paint to the school and asked Jim to help her carry it to her form room’s storage cupboard that she’d thought about the high Victorian ceilings. They were at least three meters high, well beyond the average set of domestic steps.

  Jim in turn had offered his ladder, but not his assistance.

  He was seventy and refused to allow her to carry the paint from her car to the classroom. But helping her to paint wasn’t mentioned, even though she suspected it was somewhere in his job description.

  She’d gotten used to Willows School’s lethargy when it came to change and improvement. Hardaker’s attitude had infected everyone. No one seemed to see a problem with the crumbling building, and no one agreed with her that a better working environment would benefit the children.

  Still, no one was standing in her way, so she would do it herself and prove them all wrong. She’d brought some old clothes in and had gotten changed as soon as school had finished for the day. Now she had brushes, rollers, paint, Jim’s ladder, and sheer terror at the prospect of using it.

  “If that’s it then, Miss Spencer?” Jim asked, itching to go home.

  “Yes, thank you for your help.”

  “Good luck,” he said as he left.

  She looked at the ladder again and shivered nervously. She hated heights with a passion, and now she was about to climb a fifty-year-old wooden ladder in order to paint her classroom. If her ex-colleagues from the city could see her now.

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to get on with it. Natural daylight wouldn’t be around much longer, and the lights in the building were unreliable at best. The last thing she needed was to be stuck up the ladder when the lights went out.

  Jim had also kindly lent her a smaller pot for the paint. She poured some from the bigger pot into the smaller container and put a paint brush into the thick liquid.

  There was no more delaying it.

  She looked up at the ladder and swallowed.

  She climbed slowly, leaning her weight forward, clutching the ladders with one hand, and balancing the smaller paint pot with the other.

  “Fucking place,” she mumbled under her breath.

  Eventually, she arrived at the top of the ladder. She focused on the wall, refusing to look down. She adjusted her position, took the paintbrush in her right hand, and shakily leant forward to apply some paint the wall.

  “It will all be worth it,” she reminded herself.

  The wall thirstily sucked up the paint. It took several applications before the paint started to cover, and she’d only managed to do an area thirty centimetres square in what felt like several hours because of her pounding heart.

  She heard a cough and turned her head. Hannah Hall stood in the doorway, looking up at her.

  As if the evening couldn’t get any more pleasant. Oh great, is this round two? she wondered.

  “Hi, can I talk to you?” Hannah asked.

  Alice breathed in and then out deeply. She didn’t know if she’d get back up the ladder once she got back down to solid ground, but she couldn’t have a conversation with a parent while up a ladder.

  “Of course, one moment,” she said.

  She rebalanced the paint pot and slowly made her way down. Her hands shook, and she had a mental image of falling and breaking her neck. At least someone would be there to dial 999. After what seemed like an age, she touched a shaky foot to the wooden floor.

  “Sorry,” she apologised, “I’m not good with heights.”

  “I can tell,” Hannah said. “Should a teacher be painting the classroom? Isn’t that Old Jim’s job?”

  “Old Jim draws the line at providing equipment,” Alice explained, pointing to the ladder. “I told him I had a fear of heights, and he recommended facing my fears.”

  “How’s that going?” Hannah asked with a disarming grin.

  “I’m still terrified I’m going to die.”

  “I wonder what he’d suggest if you were scared of spiders?”

  Alice shivered and held up her hand. “Please.”

  “Oh, you are? Forget I mentioned anything. Any other fears I should avoid talking about?”

  “Let’s see, spiders, snakes, heights, the dark, fire… most things, really,” Alice put the paint pot down and wiped her hands on a rag. “I’m a bit of a coward.”

  “You’re not, I just saw you up that ladder,” Hannah said.

  Alice rolled her shoulders. “Necessity. Anyway, can I help you?”

  Hannah clasped her hands in front of her and looked at the floor for a moment. “I wanted to apologise for this morning. I was rude. And wrong. I didn’t have the best time in school, and I didn’t want Rosie to have the rough time I had.”

  Alice felt the tension leave her shoulders. It wasn’t a second round, thank goodness.

  “That’s quite all right, I understand.” She gestured for Hannah to take a seat. “I looked at the papers. Rosie demolished the Key Stage One tests. The only questions she struggled with were the ones where the phrasing was something she probably wasn’t familiar with. I’m sure she knew the answers, but not the way that part of the curriculum is taught.”

  Hannah nodded her understanding. Her shoulders were tight, and her eyes looked panicked. “So, what now?”

  “Well, Rosie should take the Key Stage One test in two years, but she’s already beyond that. In fact, I suspect she is even beyond Key Stage Two. But I won’t know without further tests. Rosie is still very shy and not communicating much in class. Definitely not with me. I’d love to find out more about her academic skills, but I don’t want to push her or upset her. And I certainly don’t want to single her out from the rest of the group.”

  She noticed Hannah’s shoulders lower, but there was still a tension surrounding her.

  “I’ve worked with gifted children before,” Alice explained. “If they are not nurtured and given the correct education and challenges, they can become bored. Sometimes that leads to them becoming angry or even depressed.”

  Hannah’s expression changed from guarded to concerned. “What do you recommend?” she asked.

  “I’d like to test Rosie and see what her level of education is at present, what gaps there are, and work out a plan for her.”

  Hannah bit her lip and looked away for a moment. Alice regarded her. It was obvious that Rosie was her world. Not that any parent didn’t feel that way about their child, but it seemed more evident with Hannah.

  “Okay. But only if Rosie agrees. I know that sounds crazy, but she knows her own mind. I think you should ask her, she likes you.”

  Alice blinked. “Does she?”

  “Yep. At home it’s, ‘Miss Spencer say
s this, Miss Spencer says that’ all night.” Hannah chuckled. “I’m sick of you,” she said with a wink.

  “Apologies.” Alice smiled playfully. “I’d happily talk to her, but she seems painfully shy around me. Unless you are there. Would you be willing to come in after school one night? I’m sure she’ll be much more comfortable if you are there with her.”

  Hannah nodded. “Yeah, sure. We can’t do tomorrow as we’re going swimming after school. Monday would be best.”

  “Monday sounds great. Thank you. I know it’s a lot to take on, but Rosie is an exceptional child and I want to ensure that she gets the best care and education possible. I’ve seen children’s personalities change when they become bored with their schoolwork, either because it’s too simple or too advanced for them. I just want the best for you and Rosie.”

  Hannah stood up and stuck her hands into her jean’s pockets. “Rosie is my everything. I just want her to be happy. I’m sorry I overreacted this morning. As I say, bad memories of this place.”

  Alice wanted to ask about this, but got the impression that Hannah wasn’t ready to talk. She knew that their parent-teacher relationship needed a little more time and nurturing before she could be that bold.

  “Think nothing of it,” she said. “Water under the bridge.”

  “Thank you.” Hannah smiled, and Alice had to break eye contact before she got too lost in those soulful eyes.

  “So, I’ll see you on Monday. Unless I see you before, in the playground,” she said, attempting to draw the conversation to a close. She knew she was blushing and didn’t want to embarrass herself any further in front of Ms Hall.

  “Cool. Good luck with the painting.” Hannah nodded towards the death-trap ladder.

  “Thank you, goodnight.” She waved.

  “Night.” Hannah grinned at Alice’s waving hand before walking away.

  Alice stared angrily at her hand, wondering what the traitorous appendage was thinking. She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and forced herself to return to the ladder.

  13 COLIN STRIKES

  Alice enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face. September was squeezing out a last burst of pleasant weather before autumn took hold. It was still a little windy, but Alice was determined to soak up a little more vitamin D while on playground duty.

  Lucy Gibson joined her again, and while Alice was glad of the company, she had gotten the distinct impression that Lucy was an unstoppable gossip. Even as the children ran around them, Lucy continued telling her the story of a local supermarket worker being caught in a compromising position with a delivery driver.

  Alice had no interest in the tale. Nor in any other tales about the residents of Fairlight.

  She tried to distract Lucy from her narrative or look like she was uninterested, but Lucy continued on regardless. Alice didn’t want to be rude, and it was nice to have a friend. Or something resembling one. So, she tilted her face slightly towards the winter sun and counted down the minutes until the afternoon break was over.

  A scream echoed out across the playground.

  The first thing Alice had learnt as a teacher was to distinguish between real screams and play screams. Children loved to shout, and girls in particular were never shy of showcasing their impressions of a murder victim. The first few weeks of her teaching career had been filled with Alice assuming someone was horribly injured only to find that an innocent game of chase was being played.

  But that was a long time ago and Alice could easily identify a real scream now. She turned and headed toward the sound without a second thought.

  A group had gathered, another indication that something serious was going on.

  “Let me through,” she commanded as she eased children out of the way.

  In the middle of the crowd she was completely unsurprised to see Colin. He was still too young to have mastered the ability to look innocent or to try to blend into the crowd. Instead, he was standing over someone and looking every bit the bully she knew he was.

  On the ground was Rosie Hall, tears running down her face.

  Alice took a breath, trying to contain the anger she felt bubbling up inside her.

  “Colin, go to Mr Hardaker,” she said, even though she knew it was a pointless exercise. It was the only thing she could do. Sending a child to the headmaster would usually set in motion a chain of events that would stop the behaviour, but when the headmaster was as laid-back as Mr Hardaker, nothing was likely to change.

  “Nothing to see here,” she told the children who had gathered around. Being nosey seemed to be genetic in Fairlight.

  She crouched down and looked Rosie over. There was a nasty-looking scratch on the girl’s temple. “Are you okay?”

  Rosie nodded, even though it was painfully clear that she wasn’t.

  “Can you stand up?”

  Again, Rosie nodded. Alice held out her hand and helped guide her to her feet, brushing dried leaves and dirt off of her uniform as she did.

  She noticed that some of the gawking children had yet to disperse. She looked up at them, and they soon scattered at her glare.

  She looked back at Rosie and saw more tears fall down her cheeks and a quivering bottom lip.

  “Let’s get you to the school nurse,” Alice suggested. “You’ll be as good as new in no time.”

  Rosie held out her arms shakily. Alice realised then that Rosie wasn’t going to be able to walk herself into the school, not because she was injured but she because she was so shaken up.

  It wasn’t normal procedure to carry a child to nurse’s office, but it wasn’t explicitly forbidden either. Not to mention that fact that Rosie was tiny, and Alice knew she could easily carry her.

  And knew that she would.

  Rosie desperately needed comfort. She may not have spoken with Alice much during class, but she was now reaching out to her.

  Literally.

  Alice heard Lucy speaking with Colin, getting his version of events and preparing to accompany him to the headmaster’s office. Good, she can deal with him, she thought.

  She reached out, pulled Rosie into her arms, and stood up easily. She was lucky that Rosie was a five-year-old that weighed next to nothing.

  Lucy gave her a nod as she passed by, confirming that she would deal with everything and Alice was to check Rosie was okay.

  Rosie’s arms wrapped around her neck, and Alice quickly walked her to the nurse’s office. She was fairly certain that Rosie hadn’t sustained any real injuries aside from the scratch on her forehead, but she was still anxious to be positive of the fact.

  Why in heaven’s name had Colin pushed the quiet girl over? She knew that bullies seldom had good reasons and that now wasn’t the time to ask. She’d need to get both sides of the story, but she needed Rosie to be in a better state when she started prodding.

  The nurse was just finishing patching up a scraped knee when they entered the small room. Alice placed Rosie on the edge of the medical bed. The student with the scraped knee was sent on their way, and the nurse, Brenda, turned to Rosie.

  Alice stood back and allowed the woman to do her work. Questions were asked, appendages were moved, and it was concluded that the cut above the right eyebrow and a bruised bottom were the only injuries.

  The nurse doused a ball of cotton wool in some kind of cleansing liquid and approached Rosie, who quickly flinched back and hid her face.

  “We need to clean that wound,” she said, bedside manner presumably having been lost in between the countless scrapes and cuts that passed through the small room on a daily basis.

  Rosie shook her head.

  Brenda made another attempt, and Rosie pushed herself further away.

  “Maybe I can try?” Alice offered, hating to see Rosie being tormented by the well-meaning nurse.

  “If you like,” Brenda said, she gestured her head towards the plastic gloves. “Cotton wool balls and plasters are in that cupboard.”

  Alice pulled out two gloves and snapped them onto her hands. Brenda w
as already walking out of the room to give them more space. Alice wondered if the disenfranchised mood came after working at Willows for too long, or if people who felt that way were drawn to the school like moths to a flame.

  She got a fresh cotton wool ball and put an antibacterial solution on it.

  “May I?” She gestured toward Rosie’s cut.

  Rosie regarded her for a couple of seconds. She slowly shuffled her way back to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

  Alice approached slowly. She held Rosie’s chin in one hand and ever so gently started to clean the wound with the cotton wool.

  “Is that okay?”

  “Yes,” Rosie said softly.

  “What happened?” Alice asked, trying to get information and distract Rosie from any pain at the same time.

  “Colin pushed me over,” Rosie said.

  “Why did he do that?”

  “He said my mummy is a lesbian, and then he pushed me.”

  Alice paused for a moment. She wondered if it was true. Was Hannah a lesbian? Or was it just the worst insult an immature mind like Colin’s could produce? She certainly wasn’t about to ask Rosie.

  “He said that his daddy said that my mummy was a lesbian. He’s mean, and I don’t want to go back to class. I don’t want to see him ever again,” Rosie said.

  Satisfied the wound was clean, Alice dropped the used cotton wool into the bin and picked up a sticking plaster to cover the cut.

  “I understand why you feel that way,” Alice agreed, “but if you do that, then you let the bully win. You like school, and if you stay away from class then you would be letting Colin take away something that you enjoy. And that’s not fair, is it?”

  “No. But I won’t want to see him.”

  “I wish I could make that happen, but you live in the same small town and you go to the same school. You’ll definitely see him again, no matter how hard you try,” Alice said. “A better solution might be for you and me to speak to him and explain that what he said was mean. You’ll be surprised how cowardly bullies are when confronted.”

  She applied the plaster, softly pressing down its edges.