Hearts of Stone Read Free Page A

Amelia was the last to leave and she flashed a quick smile as she handed in her sheet, each answer box filled in neatly and fully. There was something about her smile that told of the embarrassment she felt for her teacher, and Anna nodded her head subtly to share the brief moment of understanding.
    Then Amelia was gone and Anna was alone in the classroom. She wondered why so many schoolkids found it difficult to share her passion for history. It was hard enough battling a system that seemed intent on marginalising the subject in favour of ‘relevant skill sets’. It was even worse when politicians used history as an opportunity to ram home some patriotic ideology, or to raise awareness of whatever contemporary social issue vexed the more progressive members of parliament. Sometimes it seemed that there was no love of history for its own sake.
    Anna opened her eyes and stood up, sweeping together the thin sheath of completed worksheets, and paused. There was a sheet of paper still on the table where Jamie had been sitting. With a sigh she crossed the classroom and picked it up. A series of ink swirls surrounded two lines written diagonally across the sheet. ‘History should be fucking history.’
    Anna shook her head, then considered reporting this to the headteacher for him to take further action against Jamie.
    ‘What’s the point?’ Anna asked herself quietly. She tucked the sheet under the others in her hand and turned to leave the classroom and make her way down the corridor to the staffroom. When she opened the door the scene was as familiar to Anna as the living room of the small terraced house she rented. More so, in many respects. The same people were sitting in the same chairs opening their plastic tubs and taking out their sandwiches, fruit and crisps. The sharp tang of filter coffee wafted from the short stretch of kitchen counter where the staff stacked their mugs. A few faces looked up and nodded a brief greeting.
    Anna made for the doorway leading through to the narrow room lined with work cubicles. She had been allocated one as a newly qualified teacher when she first came to the school but no one had thought to re-allocate it and now Anna regarded it as her spot. She placed the worksheets on the shelf above the cluttered desk space and sat down. The school’s IT technician had replaced the usual screen saver with a cosy animated fireplace surrounded by holly and Christmas stockings with a digital clock on the mantel counting down the seconds to the end of term.
    The image vanished as Anna flicked the mouse, and then moved the cursor over to the login box and tapped in her email address and password, and the folder containing her applications appeared. She moved the cursor on to Facebook and double tapped. The familiar blue masthead appeared with the drop-down timeline and she quickly scrolled down the newsfeed. There was the usual round of personal updates, adverts and offers to join games or take part in a quiz. Anna read them without interest and then turned her attention to the three red icons at the top. Two friends of friends wanted to be accepted. She hit the not now button and moved on to the messages. There was one new item, from someone named Dieter Muller. Not a name she recognised and she opened it with a mild sense of curiosity.
> Is this the Facebook account of Anna Thesskoudis? Daughter of Marita Thesskoudis. Granddaughter of Eleni Carson (née Thesskoudis).
     
    Anna was surprised. She did not know anyone called Dieter Muller, and she felt uneasy that he seemed to know something about her family. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard and and then tapped out a quick reply.
> Who wants to know, and why?
     

Chapter Two
     
    O nce the reply was sent, Anna switched to the BBC news website and glanced over the headlines before she went back into the main staffroom and made herself a coffee. Strong, black and sweet, just as her mother had always made it. The Greek way. Returning to her