All That Is Lost Between Us (10 page)

‘Of course, of course. I'll talk to Mr Freeman, and I'll try to have a word with her too.'

‘She was up half the night giving statements to the police, so I wouldn't be surprised if she falls asleep in class.'

Chris nods. ‘I'll try to contact Sophia's parents again later, to see how she is and what more we might do to help. Meanwhile, if you feel any conflict of duty, then I'll ask Mrs Wilson to step in.'

Since I job share with Lucy Wilson, it isn't usually a problem having my own children at the school. If they needed any kind of guidance, then Lucy would take care of them. But occasionally I fear I've made it harder for them – and for my nieces too – by being around. Zac will always chat to me at school, but more than once I've noticed Georgia spot me coming towards her, only to pretend she hasn't seen me, change direction and hurry away.

I can only hope she doesn't do that today. I have an overwhelming urge to stay close to Georgia right now, as though she might need my protection. She might not like it, but sometimes I have to remind myself that my job isn't to be her best friend. My priority is to keep her safe.

I am so lost in these thoughts about Georgia that I jump when Miss Hobbs, one of the administrators, knocks on the door with a pile of paperwork in her arms.

Chris is watching me. ‘Are you sure you're okay?'

I get up quickly, nodding. ‘I'm fine, thank you.'

Miss Hobbs gives me a sympathetic glance as I go past.

I head briskly to my office to get myself sorted before assembly begins. While my workspace is the size of a cupboard, I do have a long vertical window that frames a stunning view. I can see not only the peaks of Loughrigg and the Langdale Pikes, but the northern edge of Lake Windermere is just visible beyond the woods to the south. It's a vista I can easily get lost in while processing my thoughts, and when I don't have a client I spend quite a lot of time staring across the valley. However, when I'm with someone I move my chair so my back is to the view, and instead I let them look out as they talk to me. While I rarely mention it, I hope it helps convey an ever-present backdrop to the problems in their lives.

Leticia Jenkins is waiting outside my door for her appointment, and she gives me a small smile as I approach. I curse the assembly, because now we'll have to reschedule, and this girl really worries me. A few years ago I came across perhaps one girl a year with an eating disorder; now there are two or three, sometimes more. Leticia is one of the most determined girls I've seen, but she has channelled her single-mindedness into controlling her food consumption. While she is a competent all-rounder at school, she is excelling at this. Everything hangs loose on her. There would be no point in her wearing the bangles that are popular with many of the girls at the moment because they would fall straight off her snappable wrists. When she sits down to talk to me her knees often crack, and her face is beginning to show signs of lanugo, the downy hair that plagues the malnourished.

However, in recent weeks Leticia has begun to open up to me. Not about her anorexia, but about other things that bother her. I have been able to give her a few tools to cope with the times she feels most stressed and out of control, and I sense we are finally making progress. I have taken special care to make myself available to her as a reliable source of support. I don't want to do anything to break this fragile web of confidence that we have woven together. It doesn't escape me that I have managed to break through this girl's defences but I cannot yet bring down my own child's barricade.

‘Leticia,' I hurry towards her to unlock my office door. ‘I'm so sorry, but we are going to have to postpone our session, there's a special assembly today. When would you like to come back?'

Her eyes fill with tears. I had half-expected this, but my heart still sinks. ‘How about after school?' I suggest, forcing the words from my reluctant mouth, knowing that I might be giving up yet more precious time with my daughter. ‘We might not have as long as usual, but I can stay till around four.'

Leticia nods, and without thinking I put a hand on her shoulder and give her a gentle squeeze. She flinches and I realise my transgression. There is no softness to her, only bone – and while she covets it, she doesn't want me to know.

‘Why don't you come back at half-past three? Do you want to walk with me to assembly?' I ask. At her nod I quickly put my bag on my desk, and relock the door. Then we walk quietly but companionably along the corridors. When we reach the double doors, Leticia moves off without a word to take her seat among the crowd. I, meanwhile, head to the group of chairs reserved for the teaching staff at the front. There are only a few spots left, and I take a seat next to Mr Freeman, the head of sport, who is engrossed in a discussion with Mr McDonnell, Georgia's year head. When I sit down they immediately cease conversation. I suppose there is bound to be speculation about the accident, and I give them both a tight smile as I take my place. As we wait for the headmistress I try not to fidget, which isn't easy since there's about 300 kids all fidgeting in front of me. As Mrs Jessop arrives, the place immediately quietens.

There's no preamble this morning. ‘You will have heard, no doubt,' she says, ‘that one of our students, Sophia Turner, was seriously hurt last night by a hit-and-run driver. Sophia is in hospital recovering, and our thoughts and prayers are with her.' She pauses. ‘Sometimes,' she says, ‘things in life are not very easy to explain. There are not always clear reasons for what happens, nor do we need to look for them. It is perhaps more appropriate to think about what we might do to help Sophia, her family and her friends at this time. As always, we will approach this as a united group, so talk to your form tutors about what you would like to do. It could be fundraising for the hospital, or making meals for Sophia's family. Meanwhile, the upper-school secretaries will have a card in their office that I encourage you all to sign. And I would like to remind you that if any of you are troubled by today's events, then you can drop in to see Mrs Wilson or Mrs Turner during breaks or the lunch hour.'

At this point she glances at a sheet of paper in her hand. ‘The local police department have been in touch, asking that if anyone knows anything about what happened last night to make sure you come forward. That said, by all accounts this was an arbitrary event, and I stress that there is no implication that anyone at the school is involved. The police are just doing their job by asking these questions . . .'

As Chris Jessop speaks, I search for Georgia in the crowd. It takes me a while to spot her, hunkered down in her chair, looking so miserable that I have to resist the temptation to cross the room and comfort her. My presence is probably the last thing she wants.

Chris Jessop is still talking. ‘. . . so I will now ask for a short silence as we take time to think about Sophia, either in prayer or with quiet reflection.'

A hush falls over the room. As people bend their heads, I wait, and Georgia's eyes meet mine. For a fleeting second we are suspended in this moment. The space between us is hardly anything at all, just the width of a few chairs, yet it contains so much that makes my child feel unreachable. We may have grown wary of one another, yet here we are, compelled to seek each other out, to make this tentative connection, before my daughter breaks it, and lowers her gaze towards the floor like the rest.

A
s Georgia bends her head, the previous night returns to her in a series of disconnected snapshots. When Danny had pulled her away, in the corner of her eye she had seen a flash of white, which she now thought was one of Sophia's sneakers sailing high through the air. She recalls the dull thump as the car connected with Sophia's body, followed by the infuriated roar of the engine and squeal of tyres as it raced away. When she had seen Sophia lying on the ground, she looked as though she were asleep. The upper part of her body had no tension to it, but one of her lower legs had an impossible, nauseating kink between knee and ankle. Georgia could feel the bile rising in her mouth even now, reminding her of the shame she had felt as she vomited while Danny ran over to help.

When Mrs Jessop begins to talk again, Georgia finds herself sinking lower and lower in her chair. It is as though there are a hundred eyes on her. Beneath her striped blazer, her arm throbs. Her body feels so sluggish today, while her mind cannot even stay in the room, flitting between memories of the accident and images of Sophia lying in a hospital bed.

So far she has been bitterly disappointed by most of her friends' reactions. Jennifer can't stop crying. Poppy and Emma are trying to follow suit, but their curious, gleaming eyes and endless questions make Georgia suspect they are actually enjoying the drama. She has already stopped talking to them and plans to avoid them for the rest of the day. She is glad Sophia can't see this – she would have found the whole circus sickening.

She jumps as someone touches her head, but it is only Bethany giving her hair a couple of quick strokes, saying gently, ‘We can go now, Georgie.'

How had she not noticed that assembly had finished? While she is summoning the energy to get up, people are already pushing past her legs. Behind Bethany is Eddie Miles, who catches her eye briefly but then turns away. She remembers Sophia flirting with him last night and wants to grab his arm, ask him if he cares that Sophia is in hospital, because it certainly doesn't look like it. But he is gone too quickly, and the idea fades as the others file past. Oliver Sutton ignores her, while Jamie Clegg looks like he's swallowing a smirk, but she's thought that before – she can't tell if it's an expression of his or just an unfortunate facial tic.

The cacophony of chairs scraping along the floor makes her wince. She looks over to see the teachers filing out, and catches her mother's eye again. Against her best intentions, Georgia feels herself scowl. She reluctantly gets to her feet, collecting her bag and allowing Bethany to propel her along the row of seats.

‘Jeez, Georgia, this is fucked up,' Bethany says behind her. Georgia doesn't reply. She is searching for Danny but can't see him. He's the only other person who might know something of how she feels, but perhaps he had the good sense not to come to school. She longs to go home and lie down. Her body feels all wrong – her legs are weak and her head is full of sawdust. Yet she doesn't want to be alone, nor does she want to give her mum the satisfaction of being right.

She wanders out of the assembly room into the main foyer of the school, and glances towards the long windows on her left, which look out across the valley towards the fells and the northernmost tip of Lake Windermere. She wishes she could see the still, calm spread of the lake, but a squall of rain is lashing the windows, and all she can make out are blurry silver-grey swirls. She wonders if she'll be running in the rain tomorrow – the championships will go ahead whatever the weather.

I didn't think there was anyone else out there as nuts as me . . . Running in the rain.

She can hear his voice, she can see his face, and it is almost too much today. Exhausted, she stumbles over to a nearby bench, tuning out the noise around her, no longer aware of those exiting the hall, now her thoughts have turned to Leo.

•  •  •

Her mother had almost scuppered that first running date by announcing she had planned a girls' day out shopping, then acting all hurt when Georgia didn't respond with enough enthusiasm. ‘Surely you don't mind missing your run for one day?' she'd pleaded.

She was so clueless at times that it made Georgia want to scream. Instead she had said, ‘I can't, I'm meeting a friend,' but of course her mother didn't just let that lie, she had to know which friend, and when Georgina had snapped, ‘No one you know,' her father had looked up and told her off for being rude. Which was a joke considering the number of times she had heard her father bark at her mother lately. Next time perhaps she should tell him off for being rude, except of course it didn't work like that. Parents could do and say whatever, they could make shitty jokes at your expense or get narky because you spoke in a way they didn't like, but turn the tables and they were outraged at your impertinence. When Georgia thought about it she was surprised she didn't yell at them more out of sheer frustration.

The conversation had ended, of course, with her mother's usual guilt trip. A long exhale of breath, and the words, ‘Okay, then, it was just a thought. It doesn't matter,' conveyed in a tone that made sure Georgia knew how much it did matter, and what a disappointment she was.

Worse still, after all that, Georgia had to ask to borrow the car. To her relief, only a small amount of humiliating begging had been needed, and afterwards she had been quick to escape to her room. She had spent the rest of the evening sussing out how much make-up she could wear while still looking natural, and without it sliding down her face once she got hot.

The next morning she had crept around the house praying no one would wake up, grabbing her mother's keys from the countertop and heaving a sigh of relief once she was out the door. She had been giddy with anticipation as she drove out to Tarn Hows, arriving ten minutes early to find he was there already, leaning on his car.

‘How are you this morning?' he asked, coming towards her as she got out and locked the door.

‘Good – and you?'

‘Looking forward to this.' He turned away and indicated the path. ‘It's not as challenging as the Fellmere route, since there's not many gradients. But running alongside the tarn with the mountains in the background is just beautiful, especially at this time of day.'

‘I used to come here a lot with my parents,' she told him as they went into a few warm-ups, and she followed his lead self-consciously.

‘Ah, so you know this place better than I do.' They concentrated on a few more exercises, then as he released the stretch in his arms he asked, ‘Are you ready?'