The Mistress - Jill Childs Page 0,31

Prior?’

She shook her head, her thin shoulders hunched. Even her plaits drooped.

‘You’re worried she’ll be angry?’

A fresh tear gathered and splashed down her cheek and she swiped it with the back of her hand.

‘Anna. Listen.’ I lowered my head and inched closer to her. ‘I want to be your friend. See? I want to help you. Whatever problems you have, I’m on your side. Okay?’

She didn’t move. I wondered for a moment what she knew about me, then brushed away the thought. Whatever her mother felt, she’d never share it with her seven-year-old. Helen wasn’t that kind.

I spoke softly. ‘How are things, Anna? You had some time off, didn’t you? Is everything okay, you know, at home?’

She nodded without looking at me. I let the silence expand, waiting for her to say more. She didn’t.

Outside, in the playground, the five-minute bell rang. Very soon, hordes of children would come charging in through the double doors, hurtle up the stairs and hurry along the corridors to their classrooms, marshalled by shouting teachers: ‘Don’t run, children!’ ‘One at a time!’ ‘Edward, don’t push!’

I didn’t have long.

‘Now, about this bookbag. Where did you last see it?’

She screwed up her face. ‘Don’t know.’

‘Could you have left it at home?’

She shook her head.

‘Did you do reading this morning?’

She nodded.

‘Where? In here? In the year two corner?’

She mumbled, ‘In here.’

‘That’s why you came back here, to look for it?’

She nodded.

‘Well, you’re not allowed in here at playtime, are you, Anna?’

Downstairs, the final bell rang. Any moment, they’d be upon us.

‘Look. You run down and join your class, okay? If Mrs Prior asks where you were, just tell her you were having a chat with me. She won’t mind. I’ll have a good look round.’

She jumped to her feet.

I put a hand on her arm as she turned to race off.

‘And remember, Anna, any time you want to talk, you can always come and find me. Okay? I won’t tell anyone. I’m your friend, remember. Your secret friend.’

She fled without answering.

I made a hurried search of the library area and found her bookbag upside down, flattened by a floor cushion. Her daily reading diary was inside and the story she was reading, along with an empty snack box, covered with brightly coloured stickers, and a half-crayoned colouring sheet.

I hesitated. Judging from the stomping feet, my own class were already on their way up. I didn’t have time to fight my way against the flow, take the bag along to Hilary Prior’s classroom and be back before class started.

Of course, I should really have taken it down to Anna at the end of the school day. But by then, I had a much better idea.

Twenty-Two

The Lower School car park was almost deserted by the time I headed out, Anna’s bookbag on the passenger seat beside my work bag. Without thinking, I parked in the next street, out of sight of their house, as I always had in the past when I came to see Ralph. I only realised my mistake as I was walking down to their road. Hopefully, Helen wouldn’t even notice.

I was almost at their gate, striding past the neighbours’ house with the open curtains and large wall-mounted TV – switched on as usual – when I noticed him. He was sitting in a parked car, slightly further down the street from Ralph and Helen’s house. He was in the driving seat but turned away, offering me a hunched shoulder. His head was bowed, his nose was deep in a newspaper. I stopped and looked. My heart raced.

Was it the same man? It couldn’t be. The man I’d seen at a distance, disappearing into the cover of the trees as we walked away from the chapel after the memorial service. The man I’d seen sitting on a wall at the bus stop near my flat. I blinked. He was wearing an old-fashioned cap, hiding his hair. His jacket was different to the one I’d seen him wearing outside my house. I checked out the car. A crimson, four-door saloon. The paintwork along the passenger door was scraped and patched roughly with white.

He was too still. Unnatural. Too long on the same page of his newspaper. Almost as if he knew I was scrutinising him, as if he were waiting for me to lose interest and move on.

I tore myself away, opened the gate and went down the path to the gleaming, freshly painted front door. I pressed the front-door buzzer. It felt strange not to rap