class could enter simultaneously.
Josie fell suddenly and ominously silent.
‘Right,’ said Nico brightly. ‘There’s the sign for reception. We’re to report to Miss Anderton, take a tour and meet the year three teacher, Mr Hodge.’ He hoped Josie wouldn’t decide Hodge was a funny name as she’d decreed Calcashaw to be.
Josie halted.
Nico stopped, too. ‘Let’s go in then,’ he said stroking her hair encouragingly.
The expression on her face was wooden. ‘Is Maria coming in?’
Surprise made him frown. ‘Of course.’
‘When’s she going back to Mum?’
‘When we go to Sweden, I think,’ he answered reassuringly. ‘And when we come back you’ll carry on seeing her.’ At least, there was no reason he knew of that she wouldn’t.
She stared at him with a younger version of the eyes he saw in the mirror every day. He wished he could plug her into his computer and download whatever was going on behind those eyes to understand hidden worries. He’d assumed today’s concerns would be about an unfamiliar school or life somewhere other than Islington but, of course, to Josie it was only one of the changes that had tossed her around lately. Gently he added, ‘Don’t worry.’
Josie nodded and they went together to reception, met Miss Anderton and then the head, Mrs Morrison. Josie smiled and chatted. Then Mrs Morrison escorted them along the corridors, peeping into the school hall and the central garden courtyard. They paused at Mr Hodge’s classroom, where children were grouped around square tables, heads bent over workbooks, hands clutching pencils. On the walls, paintings and drawings were grouped around labels in the form of think bubbles. The classroom smelled of paint and pencil lead and the sound of young voices rippled like water in a brook.
A man of around Nico’s age straightened and picked his way between the children, cautioning those who looked up, ‘We don’t stop work because visitors have entered the classroom, do we?’ He pushed back brown hair and, as Mrs Morrison made the introductions, said, ‘Hello! Nice to meet you.’ He directed the comment first at Josie, as if she was the most important of the group. ‘Over there you can see Miss Lewin, our teaching assistant.’
Miss Lewin lifted a closely cropped dark head and smiled at them before returning her attention to a child beside her.
Maria, who’d quietened during the school tour, began shouting fiercely, ‘Out! Out! Wanna get out!’ A ripple of laughter ran through the class, the children seeing another excuse to look up from their books.
Josie laughed too and a girl on a nearby table said, ‘Is she your sister?’
Smiling shyly, Josie nodded. ‘She’s Maria. Say “hello”, Maria.’
‘’Ullo,’ said Maria, wrinkling her nose.
‘I’m Zelda,’ said the girl. ‘You’re sweet.’
Maria shook her head emphatically. ‘I’m Maria.’
The children laughed again and Nico felt himself relax. Mr Hodge chatted to Josie for a few minutes more, then Mrs Morrison showed them back to reception.
Nico thanked her. ‘I’ll apply for a place immediately.’
She beamed down at Josie. ‘If the local authority sanctions it then the school has ten days to offer a place. We hope to see you in the new year.’ Meanwhile, Josie was off school, into which time the trip to Sweden slotted neatly.
Soon they were outside in the winter sunshine. Josie was relaxed, considering she’d just met an entire class full of new children, and Nico suddenly realised that he was the one feeling odd and unsettled. The village street was quiet now the school run was over and unlit Christmas lights swung between leafless trees that were bent and gnarled like arthritic old men.
Then he realised what felt amiss – he wasn’t in a hurry.
He wasn’t rushing to the tube. He wasn’t squeezing in emails between meetings. The only tasks he absolutely had to do today were shopping, caring for the girls and providing meals.
‘Out, out!’ shouted Maria, jerking forward against her harness.
‘OK,’ said Nico, obligingly. He unfastened the clip and lifted her onto her two feet. ‘Hold my hand.’
Maria tucked hers into her armpits. ‘Nooooo.’
He grabbed the hood of her coat to stop her charging off. ‘Hand or buggy?’
Maria peeped at him to check he meant it then reluctantly gave him her miniature, chilly hand. He had to lean sideways to hold on to her so it wasn’t a fast or comfortable walk home but Josie looked happy enough pushing the buggy while Maria paused to examine every stone or gate post and shouted, ‘’Ullo!’ to a beagle looking out of a window.
He spent the saunter home, apart from answering Maria’s