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‘Would you mind? That would save me time after school. I’ve got so much work to do.’ And I’ve got a stubborn, angry girl in there to deal with, she thought.
‘Of course, that’s fine. Lily’s mum and I have a long relationship,’ Kate said with a roll of the eyes. ‘We’re on first-name terms,’ she added.
Sophie laughed.
‘I’ll phone Mrs Hawthorn now,’ Sophie said.
Kate did a thumbs up and left.
The phone rang and it went to answerphone. The generic recorded voice directed her to leave a message and hang up.
‘Hi, this is a message for Mrs Hawthorn. It’s Miss Lawson calling from Cranswell Primary. I’m sorry to say that there’s been a bit of an unpleasant incident today. Nothing to worry about, but we’ll need you to come in at the end of the day to have a quick meeting and sign the accident form. Cassie’s fine, by the way,’ she added as an afterthought, annoyed that she’d not thought to begin the message with the reassurance.
Sophie looked at her watch. Three and a half minutes until afternoon lessons began. That sounded about right. In fact, three and a half minutes was positively ages. Ten years of teaching had taught Sophie exactly how to make a cup of tea and get it down her in less than that amount of time. She hurried around the corner into the staffroom. Kate was there, also attempting to get a warm drink in before lessons began.
‘I thought you’d be in here in a moment,’ Kate said, standing over by the kettle. ‘It’s brewing already for you.’
‘Thanks.’ Sophie reached out for the cup and dumped the tea bag in the bin. A dash of milk and an inch of cold water from the tap and it would be ready to drink straight away.
‘Another crazy day,’ Kate said. She leant against the countertop, looking uncomfortable.
‘And it’s only just the end of lunchtime.’ Sophie sighed. ‘We’ve got the nativity rehearsal to get through this afternoon before we can call it a day.’ She ran a hand through her hair and rubbed her eyes in an attempt to banish the post-lunch lull. If there was anything she needed to feel energetic for, it was a nativity rehearsal.
‘Yep. And we really must get Ethan to realise it’s a muslin cloth he offers to wrap baby Jesus in, not a Muslim cloth.’
They laughed. They’d been trying for a fortnight to get six-year-old Ethan to say the right thing, but Sophie doubted that he’d ever get it right. And on the day of the nativity, it was completely out of her hands.
Sophie looked out the window at the children who were being called in by the whistle.
‘Off we go,’ Kate said. She pushed herself up from the counter and picked up her belongings from one of the dilapidated mustard-coloured chairs.
‘Hey, Kate …’
‘Hmm?’ She turned, a pile of exercise books in her arms.
‘You know Cassie Hawthorn? Do you know what happened with her parents? She said something about her mum leaving. Grandma picks her up, though, doesn’t she? I couldn’t find anything in her file when I had a quick glance just then.’
Kate shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. As far as I’m aware, they’ve been a single-parent family since she joined the school in September. Maybe divorce brought them to the area and her mum’s made herself scarce. Grandma picks her up because her dad’s busy. The grandfather owns the farm out past the new housing development. Dad’s helping out there, I guess.’
‘Oh,’ Sophie said. ‘Maybe that’s it then. I wish parents would tell me these things so I can brace myself for when their children bring it up. Her file just lists grandma’s contact number and dad’s work, which isn’t very helpful and doesn’t really tell me anything.’
‘We should go,’ Kate said, looking at her watch. ‘Ready for nativity fun?’
‘Always,’ said Sophie, downing her tea and heading to her classroom, but not feeling entirely satisfied that she’d got the answers she wanted.
Chapter Five
The last lesson of the day went by far too quickly and Sophie emerged from it covered in tinsel and singing ‘Little Donkey’ over and over again. She hummed it mindlessly as she turned the corner into reception. There was a man waiting on one of the chairs. He was wearing large work boots, caked from top to toe in mud. She wondered whether Cassie’s father had turned up for once. His head was low as he scrolled through his phone, but he sat up and ran a hand through his curls when he heard Sophie coming.
‘Mr Hawthorn?’ Sophie extended her hand and looked up to his face, meeting his familiar hazel eyes. She went to withdraw her hand and took a step back. ‘Liam,’ she said, her voice thin.
‘Miss Lawson,’ he said, without missing a beat, moving to shake her hand despite her recoil.
His hand dwarfed hers and it felt rough on her skin – workingman’s hands.
The silence stretched before them as Sophie grew acutely aware that she was shaking his hand for far longer than necessary. His arms were strong, muscular where he’d rolled up the sleeves of his jumper. In the harsh electric strip light as opposed to a dingy bar or a dimly lit town hall, Liam’s hazel eyes smouldered and his dark hair was even more glorious than she remembered. She attempted to refocus her attention on the task at hand.
‘Lovely,’ she said, inexplicably breathless before finding her senses, ‘of you to come in so quickly,’ she added, recovering, she hoped, seamlessly.
