can pick Tom up, if you like. That’s my partner.’
‘We might be away this weekend. We have to see my mother.’
Tom looks up then. ‘You said it would be just us this weekend.’
I feel myself blushing, caught out. But the last thing I need is Tom involved with a troubled family, and by all accounts the Neilsons are very troubled.
In a bid to ease the irritation in Leanne’s eyes, I hold out my hand and say, ‘I never told you my name. It’s … Lizzie.’
I’ve always preferred Lizzie to Elizabeth. It’s friendlier. And in this historical town outside London, maybe I can make friends.
At Tom’s last school, there was a cliquey vibe. Or maybe there wasn’t. Maybe I was just hard to know – the downtrodden wife, hiding in the shadows.
‘Good to meet you,’ says Leanne. ‘Hopefully we can … you know … help each other out.’ She wobbles her head towards the gossipy mothers. ‘Some people here … they couldn’t care less.’
I smile uncertainly. Then I kneel down and say, ‘Are you ready steady for school, Tommo? Take it easy today.’ I kiss him on the head. ‘Okay. Off you go.’
‘Bye, Mum. Take care today, okay?’
‘Okay, love.’
I watch Tom cross the playground. I’m still watching long after he’s disappeared into the classroom.
Eventually, the headmaster comes to padlock the gates.
As I turn to go, I nearly trip over my feet.
Oh God.
A green van cruises past in the distance.
It’s … it’s …
No, too small. Olly’s camper has a pop-top. That was just a trader’s van.
Olly couldn’t have found us. There’s no way he could have found us.
You’re being paranoid. Jumping at shadows …
I’m early for school pick-up today.
It’s been a few days since I saw the van, but it’s put a picture in my head that I can’t shake.
There are no other parents here yet. Standing on the pavement by the black railings, I watch the eerily silent school building, willing the time to pass.
As I wait, the headmaster heads across the playground. He’s wearing another smart suit, jet-black today, and his peculiarly boyish face is stretched in a smile.
‘Mrs Kinnock,’ he says, approaching the gate. ‘Hello again. You’re here early. Is there something I can help you with?’
I try for a smile. ‘I should have said before, Mr Cockrun, but I’m Miss Riley now. You must know that Tom’s father and I are separated.’
‘Yes,’ says Mr Cockrun, all earnest and sincere. ‘I’m always sad when families separate. Let’s hope Tom isn’t too badly affected.’
‘It was for the best in our case,’ I say, surprised by my fierceness. ‘By the way, I need to apologise. My mother said she paid you a visit. I never asked her to. She … doesn’t always read social situations very well.’
Mr Cockrun frowns in thought. Then he has a flash of recollection. ‘Ah yes! I remember now. Tall woman. Nicely spoken. Rides horses.’
My mother doesn’t ride horses, but she’ll say anything to impress people.
‘I enjoyed meeting her,’ says Mr Cockrun. ‘We were in complete agreement when it comes to children’s schooling. Wasn’t she in education herself at some point?’
‘Um … no. She wasn’t. I did tell her not to visit again without me. I know schools are busy.’
Mr Cockrun ignores me. ‘“Act the best and you’ll be the best”– that was her motto. A very astute woman.’
I laugh. ‘My mother certainly knows how to make things look good.’
‘You were very early again this morning.’ Mr Cockrun raises a questioning eyebrow. ‘I saw you from my office. And now early again for pick-up.’
‘I like to be on time.’ I lift my chin. ‘This is a new start for us. A new life. I want everything to be perfect.’
‘Best not to get here too early.’ Mr Cockrun notices a dandelion growing in a crack in the tarmac, frowns, pulls it up and pushes it under a shrub in the flowerbed. ‘The teachers like a bit of peace and quiet, and so do I.’
‘I just—’
‘Now, since you’re here, let’s have a quick word about Tom.’ Mr Cockrun turns serious eyes on me. ‘His form teacher will want a chat shortly.’
‘About what?’
‘About the standards here. The behaviour we expect.’
‘Yes, I—’
‘We were happy to make space for Tom at such short notice. But if he disrupts other children, we have a problem. A big problem. He’s already got a reputation as a bit of a troublemaker.’
Troublemaker. What?
‘My Tom? But he never gets into trouble.’
‘Look, don’t take this the wrong way but parents always think that. They never think it’s their child.’ He gives one of the railings – a rusty-looking one – an experimental tug. When he finds it a little loose, he takes a notepad from his pocket and scribbles something, shaking his head. ‘I’d have a word with him if I were you. Sooner rather than later.’ Then he strolls away.
I stare at the entrance door as it creaks closed.
Around me, other parents begin arriving. The school bell rings, long and loud. Five seconds of calm.
Then, in one great rush, children spill out into the playground.
I look for Tom and see him trudging among the other children, shadowed by an eerily calm-looking teacher, who is walking with a hand on his shoulder.
The teacher has short, salt-and-pepper hair cut in a jagged, youthful style that actually makes her look older, highlighting her wrinkles and large ears. Her hips, which carry a good twenty pounds of excess weight, strain in an unflattering black trouser suit that would be more at home on a London legal professional.
All in all, it’s the look of someone out of place. She doesn’t fit in, but she’s trying.
Her name is Mrs Dudley, I think. Yes, that’s right.
