The boys, Lucy had suspected then, had easily understood the subtext. She’d been the only one off in la-la land, feeling sorry for Thomas and his virtually motherless children, and thinking how she could come in and heal everyone and everything.
“Lucy?”
She jerked out of her reverie to see Alex standing in the doorway of the reception area.
“Yes?”
“The photocopier in the staff room needs paper. Would you see to it?”
“Yes, of course.” She stared at him, willing to say something about Saturday, but he looked as purposeful and indifferent as ever.
She watched him disappear back into his office and wondered just what she’d been expecting. For Alex to perch on the edge of her desk and ruffle her hair as they shared some nonexistent in-joke?
Well, not quite.
Actually, sort of.
With a groan Lucy buried her head in her hands. She was so ridiculous. Her insistent sense of optimism verged on fantasy—about Thomas, thinking that their relationship was actually going somewhere; about Juliet, thinking they could reconcile; and even now about Alex. But she wasn’t going to make the same stupid mistake again.
She wasn’t going to fool herself into thinking they were flirting or even friends simply because he’d bought her a cup of coffee.
And anyway, she was here for only four months and as she was coming out of a long-term relationship, she had no intention of dating or even flirting with anyone for a long time.
She heaved herself out of the chair and went to find the paper for the photocopier. She’d get that right this time, at least.
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully save for two scrapes at playtime—a tearful Year One followed an hour later by a stoic Year Five who had bloodied both elbows pretty badly but was determined not to cry. It wasn’t until Lucy had applied the ice pack and filled out the accident report that she realized itwas the boy she’d seen at the top of the village, kicking his soccer ball.
“Hey, you,” she said, and wagged her finger at him. He looked as nonplussed as when she’d said hello.
She stuck her tongue out as a reminder, and after a second’s stunned pause he gave her that cocky grin back.
“I can tell you’re trouble,” Lucy teased. “What’s your name?”
“Oliver.”
“Oliver from Year Five. I’m going to keep my eye on you.” She was only teasing, but she watched as Oliver’s grin slid off his face and he gave an indifferent shrug. Then he slipped from the stool, jamming his hands in the pockets of his gray flannel trousers.
“Can I go out again, miss?”
“Yes, just keep those elbows protected.” Lucy watched him go, frowning. Then she swiveled around to her computer and checked the attendance records she’d been logging in every day. Oliver Jones in Year Five had been late every day since school had started.
She stared at the record for a moment, wondering what was going on, and then glanced up as Diana came into the office with her afternoon attendance log.
“Two children out for dentist appointments.” She noticed Lucy’s frown with one of her own. “What’s wrong?”
“I was just noticing that Oliver Jones has been late every day this term.”
“Ah, Oliver.” With a weary sigh Diana braced her shoulder against the doorway. “Poor little lad.”
“He seems like a cheeky little so-and-so to me,” Lucy answered, and Diana nodded.
“He is, but it’s hard on him. His father works on the oil rigs in the North Sea for eight months of the year, and his mother . . .” She hesitated, and Lucy waited “His mother gets depressed,”Diana finally said. “Sometimes she can barely make it out of bed of a morning.”
“And no one can help?”
“Neighbors help out when they can, but in a place like Hartley-by-the-Sea . . .” She paused, her gaze faraway. “Most people know when to step in and when to butt out.”
But he’s nine,Lucy wanted to say. Instead she just nodded. Her mother hadn’t suffered from depression, but Lucy had gotten herself to school most mornings. She knew what it was like not to be able to depend on your mother.
