The Shoplifting Mothers' Club Read Free Page B

Rachel Maroni’s mother?’
    Jessica clutched the phone. No. A mother’s worst nightmare.
    ‘What’s happened?’ She managed to ask.
    ‘There’s been an accident at your daughter’s school. Now, please don’t panic, Rachel is stable, just some broken bones and a few nasty gashes.’
    Oh God. Jessica felt her breakfast moving north. ‘What kind of accident was it?’
    ‘She fell off a roof, apparently. Or, well, might have jumped, we aren’t sure.’
    Jumped? Come on! ‘Why?’
    ‘Something about school, that’s all Rachel’s said. I am sure she’ll explain it all to you.’
    ‘I’m on my way, but she’s by herself, is she?’ Jessica couldn’t bear the thought of her small child in a huge hospital bed, in pain and alone.’
    ‘No, no. The school principal is with her now. She gave us your number, and a work contact for your husband. Would you like us to call him?’
    ‘Yes, please,’ Jessica whispered, standing there mute until the kind woman on the other end of the phone suggested she come to the hospital immediately, as Rachel was asking for her.
    Snapping out of it, Jessica slammed the phone down, grabbed the car keys and raced out to the car, leaping in and starting the engine in less than two seconds.
    My baby. My darling baby.
    What on earth was going on at that school?
    Roaring through two sets of lights, Jessica sped along, assuming the worst and praying for the best - no long term damage and no lasting effects.

    Ronald arrived just as she did and for some reason, Jessica was boiling mad at the foppish, greying man who she’d once described as the love of her life. Was he any longer? Probably not. Not since he had selfishly insisted on making them suffer for his dream.
    ‘What’s happened?’
    ‘I just got here,’ Jessica snapped. ‘I know as much as you.’ It was a lie. She assumed Ronald hadn’t asked the questions of the nurse that she had. Children were beyond him. There was love, but little understanding.
    He looked hurt, but didn’t respond. Rather he shook his head in that way that indicated he was dealing with irrationality and therefore should ignore it.
    Jessica raced to the reception desk, calling out Rachel’s name as she did so.
    ‘Paediatric ward, third floor.’
    Running for the lift, she assumed Ronald was beside her, but couldn’t sense him, and couldn’t much care. When she got in, she saw he’d turned to answer his phone, and was being shooed from the foyer by the security guard. Work, she assumed. It was always work.
    The first nurse she encountered was the one who had called. ‘Mrs Maroni, if you’ll just wait while we . . .’
    ‘I need to see my daughter first.’
    ‘Yes, of course, but I really think I should . . .’
    ‘Mummy?’ A weak little voice from a nearby room.
    ‘Rachel!’ Following the sound, Jessica walked into a room with two beds. Only one was occupied. Ms Scott, the headmistress of Berry Street, stood in the corner, nervously biting on a nail.
    ‘Mummy it hurts,’ Rachel said, holding out the one hand that wasn’t constricted by plaster.
    As Jessica ran to her, she forced herself not to cry, for Rachel’s sake. Even though the sight of the huge gash which covered half her face, and was taped together with tiny white plasters, made her want to fall to her knees and weep. Rachel had one arm and one leg in plaster, the later was raised and there was blood oozing through bandages on the limbs that weren’t in plaster. But it was her daughter’s face that was the most distressing. How would that scar – through which the layers of skin were clearly visible – ever heal?

    Minutes later, Ronald appeared and taking in the dreadful appearance of their daughter, immediately began demanding answers. ‘What happened?’ he asked Ms Scott, the headmistress. The woman, only fifty and extremely youthful in appearance, recoiled. The elephant in the room was the fact that Ronald was a lawyer – and lawyers could cause horrible expense to