that it was actually the best, the easiest solution. Mrs.
Murdoch had been with the family for ten years and probably knew Scarlett as well as anyone. In a way, they couldn't have been happier if they had suggested it themselves. It might not be conventional, but it was clearly for the best.
And so it was agreed. A few weeks later, Vanessa left, hugging Scarlett and promising that the two of them would see each other again very soon. And yet, somehow, Scarlett wondered just how likely that would be. She had always tried to be close to Vanessa, recognizing at the same time that they had almost nothing in common. They weren't a real mother and daughter and so — as far as Scarlett was concerned
— this wasn't a real divorce.
Paul Adams left for Hong Kong shortly afterward, and suddenly Scarlett found herself in a new phase of life, virtually on her own. But, as she had expected, it wasn't so very different from what she had always been used to. Mrs. Murdoch was still there, cooking, cleaning, and making sure she was ready for school. Her father telephoned her regularly to check up on her. Vanessa sent long e-mails. Her teachers
— who had been warned what had happened — kept a close eye on her. She was surprised how quickly she got used to things.
She was happy. She had plenty of friends, and Aidan was still around. The two of them saw more of each other than ever, going shopping together, listening to music, taking Aidan's dog — a black retriever
— out on Dulwich Common. She was allowed to walk home from school on her own again. In fact, as if to recognize her new status, she found herself being given a whole lot more freedom. On weekends, she went into town to the cinema. She stayed overnight with other girls from her class. She had been given a big part in the Christmas play, which meant late afternoon rehearsals and hours in the evening learning her lines. It all helped to fill the time and to make her think that her life wasn't so very unusual after all.
Everything changed one day in November. That was when Miss Chaplin announced her great Blitz project — a visit to London's East End.
Joan Chaplin was the art teacher at St. Genevieve's, and she was famous for being younger, friendlier, and more easygoing than any of the dinosaurs in the staff room. She was always finding new ways to interest the girls, organizing field trips to exhibitions and events all over London. One class had gone to see the giant crack built into the floor of the Tate Modern. For another it had been a shark suspended in a tank, an installation by the artist Damien Hirst. Weeks later, they had still been arguing whether it was serious art or just a dead fish.
As part of their history coursework, a lot of the girls were studying the Blitz, the bombing of London by the Germans during the Second World War. Miss Chaplin had decided that they should take an artistic as well as a historical interest in what had happened.
"I want you to capture the spirit of the Blitz," she explained. "What's the point of studying it if you don't feel it too?" She paused as if waiting for someone to argue, then went on. "You can use photography, painting, collage, or even clay modeling if you like. But I want you to give me an idea of what it might have been like to live in London during the winter of 1940."
There was a mutter of agreement around the class. Walking around London had to be more fun than reading about it in books. Scarlett was particularly pleased. History and art had become two of her favorite subjects, and she saw that here was an opportunity to do them both at the same time.
"Next Monday, we're going to Shoreditch," Miss Chaplin went on. "It was an area of London that was very heavily bombed. We'll visit many of the streets, trying to imagine what it was like, and we'll look at some of the buildings that survived."
She glanced outside. The art room was on the ground floor, at the back of the school, with a view over the garden,
Murdoch had been with the family for ten years and probably knew Scarlett as well as anyone. In a way, they couldn't have been happier if they had suggested it themselves. It might not be conventional, but it was clearly for the best.
And so it was agreed. A few weeks later, Vanessa left, hugging Scarlett and promising that the two of them would see each other again very soon. And yet, somehow, Scarlett wondered just how likely that would be. She had always tried to be close to Vanessa, recognizing at the same time that they had almost nothing in common. They weren't a real mother and daughter and so — as far as Scarlett was concerned
— this wasn't a real divorce.
Paul Adams left for Hong Kong shortly afterward, and suddenly Scarlett found herself in a new phase of life, virtually on her own. But, as she had expected, it wasn't so very different from what she had always been used to. Mrs. Murdoch was still there, cooking, cleaning, and making sure she was ready for school. Her father telephoned her regularly to check up on her. Vanessa sent long e-mails. Her teachers
— who had been warned what had happened — kept a close eye on her. She was surprised how quickly she got used to things.
She was happy. She had plenty of friends, and Aidan was still around. The two of them saw more of each other than ever, going shopping together, listening to music, taking Aidan's dog — a black retriever
— out on Dulwich Common. She was allowed to walk home from school on her own again. In fact, as if to recognize her new status, she found herself being given a whole lot more freedom. On weekends, she went into town to the cinema. She stayed overnight with other girls from her class. She had been given a big part in the Christmas play, which meant late afternoon rehearsals and hours in the evening learning her lines. It all helped to fill the time and to make her think that her life wasn't so very unusual after all.
Everything changed one day in November. That was when Miss Chaplin announced her great Blitz project — a visit to London's East End.
Joan Chaplin was the art teacher at St. Genevieve's, and she was famous for being younger, friendlier, and more easygoing than any of the dinosaurs in the staff room. She was always finding new ways to interest the girls, organizing field trips to exhibitions and events all over London. One class had gone to see the giant crack built into the floor of the Tate Modern. For another it had been a shark suspended in a tank, an installation by the artist Damien Hirst. Weeks later, they had still been arguing whether it was serious art or just a dead fish.
As part of their history coursework, a lot of the girls were studying the Blitz, the bombing of London by the Germans during the Second World War. Miss Chaplin had decided that they should take an artistic as well as a historical interest in what had happened.
"I want you to capture the spirit of the Blitz," she explained. "What's the point of studying it if you don't feel it too?" She paused as if waiting for someone to argue, then went on. "You can use photography, painting, collage, or even clay modeling if you like. But I want you to give me an idea of what it might have been like to live in London during the winter of 1940."
There was a mutter of agreement around the class. Walking around London had to be more fun than reading about it in books. Scarlett was particularly pleased. History and art had become two of her favorite subjects, and she saw that here was an opportunity to do them both at the same time.
"Next Monday, we're going to Shoreditch," Miss Chaplin went on. "It was an area of London that was very heavily bombed. We'll visit many of the streets, trying to imagine what it was like, and we'll look at some of the buildings that survived."
She glanced outside. The art room was on the ground floor, at the back of the school, with a view over the garden,