“Now, that was interesting,” Maggie said, and Lucy decided not to ask what she meant.
An exhausting but fairly productive day’s work later, Lucy was closing down the office, the children having all spilled out of the school an hour ago, and was ready to head to the pub with a few of the teachers. Maggie had taken off after lunch, claiming Lucy could handle everything that came her way, although Lucy wasn’t convinced of that. She’d managed to disconnect three calls—two of them meant to go through to Alex—and logging the afternoon register—something she didn’t see the point of—had taken the better part of an hour.
At half past two Alex had come out of his office to inform her he would take his own calls. Meekly, Lucy had agreed. Transferring calls was not turning out to be one of her skills.
Now Diana, the red-haired Year Five teacher, waited for her by the door. “So how are you finding Cumbria?” she asked as they left the school together.
Lucy thought of the endless rain and wind, her sister’s glare and ensuing silence. “I like it so far. I think.”
“So what made you come all this way, then?” Diana asked as she buttoned up her coat. The wind blowing off the sea felt like it was straight from Iceland, which, considering their location, it probably was. “I know you have a sister here, Juliet, but it’s an awful long way from America.”
“I was at a loose end, and I thought I’d like a change.” Diana nodded, and thankfully didn’t press. Lucy imagined telling her, or anyone, the full, unvarnished truth. “What about you?” she asked. “You don’t sound like a local, either.”
“Not precisely. I’m from Carlisle.”
“And your husband works in Manchester?”
Diana grimaced. “Yes.”
“He couldn’t get a job up here?”
“He didn’t really try. I came up here last year to be closer to my mum, who’s still in Carlisle. My dad died a year ago, and it’s been hard on her. Andrew came up planning to get a job locally. He’s in real estate—there are plenty of job opportunities.”
“But?” Lucy prompted when Diana lapsed into silence.
“He didn’t like it here. I don’t blame him, not really. He’s a city boy, and West Cumbria is about as remote as you can get, unless you move to the Outer Hebrides.”
“I don’t even know where those are,” Lucy answered. She felt sorry for Diana; it had to be hard to be separated from your husband for five days out of seven.
“Well, anyway,” Diana dismissed with a smile and a shrug. “At least we’re both working. And this too shall pass, eh?”
Lucy thought of her mother’s scathing editorial, the endless blogs and articles that had covered the whole debacle. “Eventually.”
“And now I could really use a drink.”
A bunch of the other teachers were waiting at the bottom of the school yard, and they all headed down to the Hangman’s Noose. Despite the rather dour name, the pub was cheerful and cozy, with a couple of worn sofas and squashy armchairs set around a blazing log fire.
Lucy sat on the end of one of the sofas with a glass of wine and let the teachers’ chatter wash over her. They all knew each other well, and were catching up on their summers and school gossip, so while Lucy didn’t feel unwelcome, neither did she feel precisely a part of things.
Her mind drifted to Alex Kincaid. He ought to smile more, she thought, especially at the children. She’d watched him give out the Head Teacher Awards at assembly that afternoon, and he had looked so stern. But he’d been kind too, saying something specific about each child—although perhaps he’d been prepped by their teachers.
She wondered how his wife had died, and whether he missed her very much. What was his daughter Poppy like? Lucy had seen the Year Threes file into the hall at lunchtime, but she hadn’t been able to identify Alex’s daughter among them.
“So what do you think of our head teacher?” Diana asked, and it took Lucy a second to realize she was addressing her. Diana was looking a lot more relaxed; she’d kicked off her shoes and was leaning back against the sofa, sipping a large glass of wine.
“Umm . . . he seems fine,” Lucy said cautiously. She didn’t mind a good gossip, but she was pretty sure that saying anything indiscreet in Hartley-by-the-Sea was akin to taking out an ad in a national newspaper. And she’d had enough press coverage to last her a lifetime.
“Fine?Fine?” Tara, a just-out-of-college teaching assistant with the Year Twos, giggled into her near-empty glass. “I’ll say he’s fine.”
Liz Benson, the long-married Year Six teacher, slapped her on the thigh. “Be good, Tara.”
“Well, he is quite good-looking,” Lucy admitted, her tone still cautious. Surely stating the obvious couldn’t get her into trouble.
“Ooh,”Tara cooed, in the manner of one of her pupils, and Lucy flushed. Okay, maybe it could.
“Maggie told me he’s a widower,” Lucy continued.
Liz nodded seriously. “His wife, Anna, died two years ago now. Horse-riding accident. She fell and broke her neck, died instantly.”
