Nico hesitated, trying to sense what was behind the question. Checking whether Nico wanted her around? Prodding boundaries? Did she not want to visit her mother? It wouldn’t be the first time and while he hoped it came from a wish to be in two places at one time his radar always beeped in case there was more to it. ‘Don’t you want to go?’ He made it a casual question, hoping for a genuine reaction.
‘Yeah, if Maria will still be up,’ Josie said, after a moment. Having tested the Weetabix had reached perfect sogginess, she scooped the first spoonful.
‘I don’t know Maria’s bedtime.’ Nico crunched granola, reflecting that Josie was a better example to him than he was to her, eating-wise.
She wrinkled her small brow. ‘I think it depends on how Mummy’s feeling. Maria always wants to share my room.’
‘Do you like that?’ Nico knew that Maria was a good sleeper and eater because, during civilised conversations as Nico picked Josie up or dropped her off, Loren would droop and sigh and murmur, ‘It’s a good job Maria’s an easy child or I don’t know what I’d do.’
He’d murmur, ‘Yes, good job.’ What was the point of observing acidly that her choices had put her in her current situation of bringing up Maria alone and being glad to let him have the major responsibility for Josie?
He was glad too. He’d have been miserable to only see Josie at weekends and for a holiday. Single parenthood was a hundred times better than that, even if holding down his demanding job and ensuring Josie was happy left him feeling as if his treadmill was set to its maximum and he could only just keep up.
‘I don’t have to go to school today, do I?’ Josie said suddenly, through her Weetabix.
‘No, it’s half-term. Back on Monday.’ Nico took another mouthful of granola, though he wanted to put down his spoon when he saw the apprehension that pinched Josie’s face. Till this year, Josie had loved Barrack Road Primary School, a couple of streets away. Having lapped up pre-school work books she’d had a head start on reading and writing, had made friends readily and come home babbling about the games they played.
This year school meant anxiety and isolation.
Another school, St Kits, had been suffering falling rolls and then the ageing school building had developed problems at about the time the head teacher wanted to retire. A decision had been made to erect temporary buildings in the grounds of Barrack Road and amalgamate the two schools, meaning two classes to each year group. Josie, unfortunately, had been chosen to balance numbers in a class of mainly St Kits children who’d already formed their friendship groups and, transplanted, clung to them.
She didn’t care for her new teacher, Mrs Calcashaw – also late of St Kits. Her objections were vague: Calcashaw was a funny name or Mrs Calcashaw’s shoe had a crack in it. Josie yearned to be allocated to the other class, taught by Mrs Symonds.
Now she sighed. ‘I suppose I have to go back next week, don’t I?’ Her eyes shone with tears.
Hardly able to bear even this tiny sadness, Nico wanted to scoop her up and declare that she didn’t. He wouldn’t go to work, he wouldn’t travel on to Surrey for a meeting about a new ice rink and snow dome and how sports teams could be encouraged to make it their home turf. He’d stay at home with Josie and fend off any dragons trying to bring her grief.
But that wasn’t pragmatic. ‘Hey,’ he murmured softly, rubbing a back that felt so small and vulnerable that he could distinguish every bump of her backbone. ‘Tell me what’s making you sad, sweetheart.’
Josie sniffed. ‘Don’t know.’
‘You can tell me anything.’ Nico reached out and picked her out of her chair. He should be heading for work but he wasn’t leaving Josie like this. His twanging heartstrings would yank him back like elastic.
In slow motion, Josie’s face crumpled. Her eyes scrunched shut and her mouth stretched wide as words tumbled out. ‘Jessica doesn’t want to be my friend any more. She says everyone in Mrs Calcashaw’s class is dirty and stupid. She told Sadiq and Ira not to be my friends either. And I won’t have anyone to play with at playtime after half-term,’ she wailed.
‘Oh, baby.’ Nico rocked his slender daughter, his heart clenching in rhythm with her sobs, aware of Emelie giving a soft ohhhhh of sympathy. ‘That’s not