my heart; it was the first step in her becoming independent; her first proper move away from me, spending all day with people who aren’t her family. But for all my reluctance to be away from her, she’s never been a clingy child, neither of my two are. When we’re out socially, all I see is the back of their heads as they race off to be with their friends. She loves school, loves her friends. It’s so odd to see her this way.
I stand decisively. ‘I’ll take her home. Maybe she’ll open up to me on the walk back. Come on, Rosie, let’s go.’
She doesn’t move.
‘Rosie, come on, babe, we need to go. Leo’s waiting outside.’
At this, she looks up, her brown eyes huge and glistening. She adores her little brother. Treats him like her baby.
‘He’s wondering why you’re not coming out to see him. Come on.’
She gets up and smooths her skirt. I hold out my hand, worried for a moment that she’ll refuse to take it. Thankfully, she slips her hand into mine, but it feels light and distant, as if she doesn’t want it to be there. Nothing like her usual squeezy grip.
Mrs Miller hands me Rosie’s school bag. We say goodbye and leave the classroom. My daughter feels like a little stranger. My hands are clammy and my stomach flutters. Why is she acting so ill at ease around me?
Back outside in the still heat of the afternoon, the playground is now eerily quiet. I collect Leo from Pip, say goodbye to my friend without elaborating, and the three of us head for home. I decide to take the longer route around the lake to let Leo burn off some energy on his scooter, and to give Rosie a chance to open up.
We walk in silence for a while, just the pad of our footsteps and the whirr and scrape of Leo’s scooter wheels on the pavement, until we reach the cut-through that leads to the lakeside path. It’s usually thronged with parents and kids on their way home from school, but we’re late today so the way is empty.
The lane opens up onto a vast swathe of blue sky and lake – a beautiful vista that still has the power to make me catch my breath despite having lived in Ashridge Falls all my life. The waterfall that gives the town its name is set further up the hillside in Ashridge Forest, but the lake itself is situated on the eastern edge of Ashridge – the posh side of town – with multi-million-pound houses ranged around the shoreline. The lake is so vast, you can’t even see the other side. You could almost imagine you were by the ocean.
Half a mile west of here, the town centre is made up of a couple of main roads with all the shops and eateries a town could ever need. For more serious shopping expeditions, I head into the city, which is an hour out of town, but Ashridge can give any city a run for its money, with several cool boutiques of its own.
A sudden breeze skips across the water, throwing up silver ripples that wink and flash like fish scales. And then a movement catches my eye. ‘Look!’ I point up at the sky above the lake. ‘Rosie, Leo, look over there! Geese!’ They’re honking over the lake, several of them coming into land with inelegant splashes. Usually Rosie would laugh and point at them. Today, she barely even looks up. By contrast, Leo scoots ahead along the path, trying to copy their cries. Normally his antics would make us both giggle, but Rosie is withdrawn and I’m too worried about her to be amused right now.
‘Hey, Rosie Posie, shall we make some cakes when we get home? We need to make some good ones for the regatta on Saturday. I thought we could ice some sailboats onto them.’ I pause to let her reply, but she simply takes a deep breath and lets it out again. ‘Daddy’s racing, so we’ll need to cheer him on. Maybe you and Leo could make him a good-luck card?’
She bites her lip. I want to reach down and scoop her up into my arms for a hug. But she’s never been one for prolonged cuddles and I think the hug would be more for me than for her. This is ridiculous; I’m going to get to the bottom of this.