giving his grubby silky a disapproving look, ‘you’ll be able to leave that at home, won’t you? Now then,’ she continued to the adults, still using the same patronising tone, ‘I thought we’d have a little look around the school, and then stop for a little chat in my office.’
Where I might give you a little slap, you irritating woman, thought Harriet as they fell in behind her. She wished now that they’d got this over and done with sooner, but not wanting to rush the children into too much too soon, her parents had said that so long as Carrie and Joel had places lined up at the school, having a look around it could wait. It was immaterial anyway. This was the school they were going to, whether they liked the look of it or not. It was more or less on their doorstep, and there was also the link with their mother, which Harriet hoped would mean something to them, maybe even help them settle in.
She certainly hoped this was the case, because precious little else she was seeing gave her cause to hope that Carrie and Joel would feel settled. Reports of schools being woefully under-funded were always in the newspapers, but here was the reality. The building looked as if nothing had been spent on it since Harriet and Felicity had been pupils here. The corridors were just as gloomy and echoey. The walls were all bare and Mrs Thompson was currently explaining the reason for this. ‘It’s always a bad time to see a school between terms, but once we’re underway next week, these walls will be beautifully decorated with children’s artwork. The place will really come alive.’ She pushed open a door and suddenly turned on Carrie. ‘This will be your classroom.’
They dutifully trooped in and stood to admire the book corner, the freshly painted blackboard and the groups of desks. Harriet didn’t know exactly how old she’d been, but this had been her classroom at some stage. She could remember being told off for talking when she should have been listening to the teacher read out some dreary poem. She’d been made to stand at the front of the class and recite her seven times tables. She’d recited them in seconds flat only to be reprimanded again for showing off. She then remembered who it was she’d been talking to: Miles McKendrick. In those days he hadn’t enjoyed English; like her he’d preferred maths and fiddling around with jars of water and food dyes in their makeshift science lessons. Ironically, he’d gone on to study English at university, as his brother Dominic had done, and he now ran Novel Ways, the bookshop over in Maywood. She kept meaning to get in touch with him, but since she’d moved back permanently the days had just slipped by. She was slightly hurt that he hadn’t been in touch himself. His mother, Freda, had mentioned to Eileen something about him being away on holiday, so maybe that was it. She decided to give him a ring. Having an old friend around would go a long way to cheering her up.
Realising that the others were moving on to the next part of the tour, she followed behind. When they were back out into the corridor, she felt a hand slip through hers. It was Joel, and clearly something was bothering him; his eyes were brimming with tearful misery. Her heart sank. What now? ‘You okay, Joel?’ It was a stupid question, but what else could she say? But then he did something that inexplicably made her throat constrict. He leant against her, his head resting on her side, his face hidden. She knew he was trying hard not to cry. Leaving the others to go on without them, she prised him away from her and bent down to him. ‘What is it, Joel?’
He raised his head. ‘I want to go home,’ he whispered, his lower lip trembling.
‘Right now?’
He nodded.
‘Any particular reason why?’
His eyes flickered to the far end of the corridor where the headmistress was opening another door.
‘You don’t like Mrs Thompson?’
He shook his head. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He
Where I might give you a little slap, you irritating woman, thought Harriet as they fell in behind her. She wished now that they’d got this over and done with sooner, but not wanting to rush the children into too much too soon, her parents had said that so long as Carrie and Joel had places lined up at the school, having a look around it could wait. It was immaterial anyway. This was the school they were going to, whether they liked the look of it or not. It was more or less on their doorstep, and there was also the link with their mother, which Harriet hoped would mean something to them, maybe even help them settle in.
She certainly hoped this was the case, because precious little else she was seeing gave her cause to hope that Carrie and Joel would feel settled. Reports of schools being woefully under-funded were always in the newspapers, but here was the reality. The building looked as if nothing had been spent on it since Harriet and Felicity had been pupils here. The corridors were just as gloomy and echoey. The walls were all bare and Mrs Thompson was currently explaining the reason for this. ‘It’s always a bad time to see a school between terms, but once we’re underway next week, these walls will be beautifully decorated with children’s artwork. The place will really come alive.’ She pushed open a door and suddenly turned on Carrie. ‘This will be your classroom.’
They dutifully trooped in and stood to admire the book corner, the freshly painted blackboard and the groups of desks. Harriet didn’t know exactly how old she’d been, but this had been her classroom at some stage. She could remember being told off for talking when she should have been listening to the teacher read out some dreary poem. She’d been made to stand at the front of the class and recite her seven times tables. She’d recited them in seconds flat only to be reprimanded again for showing off. She then remembered who it was she’d been talking to: Miles McKendrick. In those days he hadn’t enjoyed English; like her he’d preferred maths and fiddling around with jars of water and food dyes in their makeshift science lessons. Ironically, he’d gone on to study English at university, as his brother Dominic had done, and he now ran Novel Ways, the bookshop over in Maywood. She kept meaning to get in touch with him, but since she’d moved back permanently the days had just slipped by. She was slightly hurt that he hadn’t been in touch himself. His mother, Freda, had mentioned to Eileen something about him being away on holiday, so maybe that was it. She decided to give him a ring. Having an old friend around would go a long way to cheering her up.
Realising that the others were moving on to the next part of the tour, she followed behind. When they were back out into the corridor, she felt a hand slip through hers. It was Joel, and clearly something was bothering him; his eyes were brimming with tearful misery. Her heart sank. What now? ‘You okay, Joel?’ It was a stupid question, but what else could she say? But then he did something that inexplicably made her throat constrict. He leant against her, his head resting on her side, his face hidden. She knew he was trying hard not to cry. Leaving the others to go on without them, she prised him away from her and bent down to him. ‘What is it, Joel?’
He raised his head. ‘I want to go home,’ he whispered, his lower lip trembling.
‘Right now?’
He nodded.
‘Any particular reason why?’
His eyes flickered to the far end of the corridor where the headmistress was opening another door.
‘You don’t like Mrs Thompson?’
He shook his head. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He
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