Writing in the Sand by Helen Brandom Read Free Book Online Page A

she might need. Give her cushions for support, and put hot water in a flask for her mid-morning drink. I leave her sticks handy, so she can make it to the back door to let Toffee out into the yard. And I remind her, like I always do, to be very, very careful if she wants to go upstairs to the loo. Which she might want to. I know she’ll try to hang on until I get back, but if she gets desperate she’ll make her way upstairs, crawling. I think she’s probably entitled to a kind of portable toilet that could be kept downstairs behind a screen, but making enquiries might open a can of worms we don’t need.
    If we could truthfully say Lisa lives here permanently, maybe we’d relax a little. Age-wise, though sadly not in any other way, she almost classes as a responsible adult. Me, I’ve only got a couple of years to go – though sometimes I feel about thirty-five.
    It’s the first day back after half-term, and the racket outside school is even more ear-splitting than usual. Maybe I’ve got used to the calm while on study leave. Like me, Kirsty usually walks to school, but this morning – I suppose because Shaun is starting today – her dad drops them off at the gates. She gets out of the car, followed by her dad and Shaun, who gets some odd looks. Although he’s not smiling, he’s pleased to see me. When he says loudly, “Hi, Amy,” I notice his voice doesn’t have much of a range. It’s like it’s all on one note. Pupils swarm about, in and out of small groups. Three giggly Year Ten girls nudge each other and give me a look.
    I say, “Hi, Shaun,” and glance sideways at the girls. One, a redhead with way too much make-up, raises her eyebrows at me.
    Kirsty joins me while her dad makes for the main door with Shaun. With a warm smile, Mr Smith, our form tutor, comes out of the building and holds the door open for them. I can’t hear what he says but it’s clear he’s directing them towards the Head’s office. I wonder what Shaun will make of Mr Wilson – who’s not what you might think of as a typical head teacher. Liam described him as dead casual , like he’s on another planet . That’s the impression he gives, but Mum and the Kellys think he’s brilliant. Mr Kelly says he gets what he wants out of his staff. Well, most of them.
    Mr Smith crosses the playground and pushes between knots of students to get to his car. Kirsty watches as the Year Ten redhead sidles up to ask him something. He answers while moving round to the boot. She follows, then looks disappointed when he taps his watch. She joins her friends, who are giggling, and they make their way into school.
    Kirsty’s remark comes out of the blue: “Have you ever seen his wife?”
    I follow her glance. “Mr Smith’s?”
    She nods, and I say, “No. Have you?”
    â€œYeah, last week. She picked Mum up for a council meeting they both wanted to go to.”
    â€œWhat’s she like?”
    â€œA bit stuck-up. She’s a bank manager.” She pauses. “Mum thinks she’s lovely.”
    â€œYou mean to look at?”
    She says, “I suppose so. Though I can’t see it.”
    â€œIsn’t that a bit mean?”
    â€œI’m only stating a fact.” She changes the subject. “By the way, you’ve got a secret admirer.”
    â€œWhat d’you mean?”
    â€œShaun,” she says, “he fancies you.”
    â€œDon’t be daft!”
    â€œHe does,” she says.
    As he closes his boot, Mr Smith spots us and calls out, “Morning, girls!”
    Kirsty hurries towards the car, and I follow. She says, “Can I carry something for you, sir?”
    He reaches for a pile of exercise books. “Thanks, Kirsty.” Taking them from him, she gives me the tiniest look of triumph. He says, “You can put them on my desk,” and there she goes, trotting off, her ponytail