‘Right,’ she said, putting a sheet up on the overhead projector. ‘We’re going to do some comprehension questions on the text you’ve just been reading.’ Rebeccascrutinized Rosie’s face again but it was completely devoid of guile.
Rebecca had been right about Rosie canvassing in the playground that morning but what she hadn’t realized was who Rosie was telling the kids to vote for.
‘We’re changing,’ Rosie said to Tilly. ‘Tell everyone to vote for Lara.’
‘What?’ said Tilly, astonished. ‘Why would you do that? It’s yourpony!’
Rosie shrugged. ‘I’m kind of bored with the whole Spring Queen thing. So Lara can do it.’
Tilly was still looking at her, gobsmacked, but Rosie walked away and, approaching the next child, began her campaign.
SIXTY-NINE
Monday 18 January
Nancy threw a slab of clay onto her pottery wheel and it landed with a satisfying thud. She dipped her hands in the water and started throwing her bowl. Carefully, gently, she pulled up the sides as she’d seen the guy do on the YouTube tutorial she’d watched. It was relaxing, soothing. She felt in control, a sensation that had been lacking in her life recently. Until she’d taken on Imogen in the restaurant. It had felt good to tell her exactly what she thought, to stand her ground for once instead of helplessly watching events unfold.
Not her finest moment perhaps, but necessary.
The bowl was almost at full height. A few more minutes and it would be finished. She focused carefully, making sure the sides didn’t collapse, but then the doorbell rang.
Nancy frowned, her concentration interrupted. She couldn’t go to the door right now, she’d lose everything she’d done. She decided to ignore it.
It rang again.
Ignore it.
Two more long rings followed, a finger left on the button for some time. Nancy flinched and the top of her bowl flopped over. Ruined. She sighed, looking at her clay disaster and then, wiping her hands on her apron, went to open the door.
Two police officers stood there.
Her heart lurched with fear.
‘It’s OK...Mrs Miller?’ said the first officer quickly, on seeing her face. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. It is Mrs Miller, isn’t it?’
Nancy nodded.
‘May we please come in?’
She stepped to one side. ‘Of course.’
The two officers followed her through to the kitchen, where she washed the clay off her hands and offered them a cup of tea. She pulled out some chocolate biscuits. One of the officers, a world-weary man in his late forties, took one with relish and Nancy got the feeling his day had just improved. The other officer, a younger man, politely declined. Once they were all sitting down at the kitchen table, he was the one who led the conversation, while the other proved himself a noisy tea drinker.
‘I’m Police Constable Dawes,’ said the younger officer, ‘and this,’ he said, indicating, ‘is my colleague, Police Constable Hollie. We’ve had a complaint about an account of threatening behaviour. Ten days ago, at The Wood Oven in Ripton.’
Nancy placed her mug down on the table, confused. ‘What?’
‘From a Mrs Wood. She says that you went to her restaurant shortly after six p.m. on the eighth of January and threatened her. Do you know what I’m referring to?’
‘This...this is ludicrous,’ said Nancy. ‘Imogen went to thepolice?’
‘So you did threaten her?’
‘I...’ Nancy was at a loss as to what to say. ‘You don’t understand. My daughter has been bullied by hers formonthsand nothing is ever done about it. My God, my daughter even ended up in hospital, airlifted off the school field because of something her daughter did!’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said PC Dawes. ‘Is your daughter OK?’
‘Yes. She is now.’
