The Drowning Lesson Read Free

operations …’ She didn’t need this litany but it had been in my head since five a.m. Zoë, tucked in beside her, was deeply asleep, her face pushed sideways by her sister’s elbow, a moustache of milk and crumbs around her mouth. A strand of blonde hair stuck to her lips.
    I saw in the mirror that she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. I’d forgotten. The cars were parked bumper to bumper both sides of the road. I’d have to stop in a driveway, more time lost.
    ‘It’s not allowed to drop me off so early.’
    ‘Of course it is, Ally.’
    ‘There’s nowhere for me to go.’
    ‘You can read in the classroom, talk to the others…’
    I twisted round to smile at her and looked back at
the road just in time to take in the red lights up ahead. I jammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt. A young woman with rain-flattened hair glared at me as she shepherded her bundled child over the road. Behind me, Zoë started to cry loudly. She had been jerked forward and was crumpled in the trough between the seats. Sweating with guilt, I got out of the car, and yanked the door open. She was tightly wedged, her face streaked with tears of shock. I pulled her out and stood her upright on the pavement. No damage. I gave her a short, hard hug and put her back into the seat, this time fastening her belt. Behind us a line of traffic was forming. There were angry faces and horns blaring. I got into the car again, trembling. I rarely made careless mistakes but this morning I’d been in a hurry and distracted by the day ahead, forgot to check if I’d fastened the seat-belt. Was I becoming the kind of mother who put her career before her children’s safety?
    ‘I feel sick.’ Alice’s voice was unsteady.
    At school, she got out of the car and walked slowly across the empty playground without saying goodbye; she knew it was my fault. She disappeared down the steps leading to the cloakroom, her narrow back bent by the weight of the rucksack, shoulders hunched against the drizzle.
    Despite what had happened, Zoë had fallen asleep again. I carried her to Reception, trying not to
dislodge the thumb from her mouth. We were greeted by Susi, the teacher’s assistant, who smiled as she took her. Too late, I noticed Zoë’s hem was coming down, her cuff was stained with felt tip and she was wearing unmatched socks. Susi carried her carefully from the door. I imagined how gently she would lay her on the deep cushions in the rest room. I had seen them when I’d looked round the school before the children had started there; that detail had been decisive. Now I was worried: why had Alice’s teacher asked to see me?
    Mrs Philips was waiting for me in the empty year-five classroom. She must have been cleaning the board – chalk dust hung in the air. She watched me, her head held sideways, a long orange earring touching her shoulder. Her fingers, tipped with matching orange, rested on a small picture of Alice that was fastened to a closely typed sheet; the nails were sharp and shining like the talons of a minor bird of prey.
    ‘I got your email,’ I began.
    ‘Thank you for coming in. I’ve sent Alice to breakfast with the boarders. I wanted to share my concerns in private, Mrs Jordan.’ Her voice was burdened with sincerity. She leant forward. ‘I think you should know that Alice has been taking things, small things.’ The earring swung and trembled.
    I had a vision of a shining pile of mobiles, watches and coins. ‘What kind of small things?’
    ‘Pencils, rubbers, scrunchies, a pair of socks.’
    ‘Is that all?’ I wanted to laugh. ‘She was probably only borrowing this stuff temporarily and then forgot. At home we tend to share things, so –’
    ‘The items were found in her desk, in a little box, labelled with her name.’ She smiled gently.
    ‘Does she know you know?’
    ‘I removed them and told Alice I would have a discussion with you. No one else is aware of the situation.’
    I glanced out of the window; I disliked this woman