The Apartment - K. L. Slater Page 0,31

from her carrier bag. ‘If you stand on that log, you can reach to sprinkle them here, see? It’s where most of the birds land . . . that’s right, perfect! I can see you’re already a professional at this, Skye.’

Lily winks at me.

‘I’ve nearly finished now, all today’s seed is gone, but do you think you could help me tomorrow morning at the same time . . . and perhaps at the weekend, too?’

‘Oh yes,’ Skye says. ‘I can help every single day, Lily.’

‘And what partners we will be!’ The old lady turns to me. ‘Now that we’re properly introduced, I’d like to invite you both this afternoon for tea and cake at three, if you’re free?’

‘We are free, aren’t we, Mummy?’ Skye jumps in.

I smile. ‘Thank you, Miss Brockley. That would be lovely.’

As I turn to walk back towards the house, a sudden movement at one of the upper-floor windows catches my eye.

I look up, expecting to see one of the other residents waving, perhaps, but to my surprise, there’s no one there at all; so perhaps someone just walked past the glass without pausing to look out.

I do a quick calculation in my head, working out what number apartment the window must belong to, and I conclude it’s apartment number three, which is the home of Matthew and Susan Woodings.

18

We say our goodbyes to Lily and go back upstairs. We both have a renewed spring in our step after such a positive intervention in our morning.

Back in the apartment, Skye grabs her favourite red fleecy blanket and lies down on the sofa, holding the corner of it up to her mouth for comfort. I stroke her hair and her eyes begin to close. She’ll feel so much better if she can claw a few hours of sleep back.

I’m tempted to join her, but there’s something more pressing that needs sorting out.

I’ve saved the number for St Benjamin Monks Primary into my phone. I creep into the kitchen so I don’t disturb Skye and close the lounge door quietly behind me.

Two minutes later, I end the call in frustration. Apparently, the snooty office manager informed me, there’s ‘no possibility’ of Skye starting school so late in the term.

‘I’m afraid it’s quite impossible,’ she said haughtily.

‘My daughter’s very upset about having to leave her old school,’ I implored her. ‘It would really put my and her mind at rest if she could just come in and—’

‘As I say, it simply can’t be done Mrs . . .’

‘Miller.’

‘It simply can’t be done, Mrs Miller. Mrs Grant hasn’t a single space for an appointment in her diary before the end of term.’ She sighed. ‘The best I can do is relay your message to the class teacher.’

Reluctantly, I thanked her and ended the call.

There is no sense in making an enemy of the school office, but why is this proving so difficult? We’re talking about a five-year-old for goodness’ sake, it’s not as if she has advanced geometry to catch up on.

Meeting new classmates and possibly making some little friends she could see again over the summer would have really helped her make the leap from the upset with Petra and what happened in class and put Grove Primary firmly behind her.

Now it’s abundantly clear that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Then I have a bit of a brainwave. Maybe all’s not lost.

I creep into the hallway and peek through the gap in the lounge door.

I can tell by her breathing that Skye is now sleeping deeply, and judging by her fractious night, she’ll probably stay that way for a good couple of hours at least.

Should I risk it? It’s still strange and unfamiliar here in the apartment to her, but it’s not as if we’re in a hotel somewhere. We’re home. And Skye knows she’s safe here.

If my little plan works, then it could make a big difference to her settling in here. I slip my feet into scuffed ballerina pumps and head for the door, praying she doesn’t stir.

I’ll be back in a few minutes and Skye will be none the wiser.

I stand on the ground floor and ring the doorbell by the grand entrance door of apartment one. I feel a bit cheeky just turning up like this. I ought to ask for Dr or Mrs Marsden’s telephone number and then I can call first if I need them.

I hear footsteps on the other side of the door, and Audrey herself appears. She’s dressed in tailored jeans,