Chapter twenty-five
Lucy
The Wednesday after half term Lucy watched with a sinking heart as Oliver Jones was marched towards reception. Diana stopped by the counter, her mouth tightening as she watched the boy slouch into Alex’s office.
“I try to cut him some slack, honestly I do, but he pinched another boy in the class, hard enough to leave a bruise. I can’t have that.”
“I know,” Lucy said, but her heart ached for Oliver.
Alex’s door closed and fifteen minutes later a woman came hurrying up the lane. She stepped inside the foyer, her expression pinched her eyes dark and shadowed.
“I’m here for Oliver,” she said, and with a start Lucy realized this was Mrs. Jones.
“He’s just in with Mr. Kincaid,” Lucy said. “I’ll go check for you.” She knocked on Alex’s door, and after he answered tersely, she opened it and stuck her head around the doorframe. “Mrs. Jones is here.” Oliver, she saw, had his head bowed and was scuffing his shoes along the floor.
“Please send her in,” Alex said, and Lucy motioned the woman forward.
She felt twitchy and tense for the next half hour; she could see the tops of all their heads through Alex’s window, but she had no idea what was going on. She hoped Alex would consider Oliver’s situation and not come down too hard on the boy.
Finally the door opened and Mrs. Jones came out, one hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she murmured to Alex, who had walked out behind them, looking unhappily resolute. “Come on, sweetheart,” she murmured to Oliver, who was leaning into his mother. “Let’s get your things.”
Lucy watched them covertly, surprised by the tenderness Oliver’s mother showed the boy, and the way he clearly craved her comfort. She’d assumed Oliver’s mother was both uncaring and indifferent, but in that moment she realized Mrs. Jones was doing the best she could, just like everyone else.
They left a few minutes later and she turned to Alex. “Why is he leaving school in the middle of the day?”
“He’s suspended for two days.”
“That seems harsh—”
“It was his third infraction,” Alex said flatly. “I can only make so many exceptions, Lucy.”
“You know about his mother—”
“I make it my business to know as much as I can about every pupil’s home situation. But I can’t let Oliver’s behavior go unpunished, no matter what’s going on at home.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “This job is hard sometimes, and there are no easy answers. But Lena Jones said she’d try to get some help, so that’s something.” With another sigh he disappeared into his office.
The Saturday after half term Lucy boughtthe Whitehaven Newsand scoured the Help Wanted section. There were plenty of jobs she wasn’t remotely qualified for, and a few she wasand didn’t want. Nighttime office cleaning? No thanks. Working in the cafeteria at the secondary school? A possibility, but she wanted to stretch her wings a little more, maybe even do something with art, as Juliet had suggested.
Well, she had time, she told herself. It was only the first week of November, after all. Plenty of time.
Guy Fawkes Day was that week, and the following Monday was Bonfire Night for the village.
“You do remember Guy Fawkes Day, I hope,” Juliet said severely, on the morning of the bonfire. Lucy gave her a sheepish look.
“Umm, sort of . . .”
“Guy Fawkes almost blew up Parliament in the early sixteen hundreds,” Juliet explained, sounding very much like a schoolteacher. “So since then, to celebrate the king’s escape from assassination, we have fireworks and a bonfire.” She paused, wrinkling her nose. “People used to put a straw man on the bonfire, meant to be an effigy of Fawkes. Some still do.”
“You burn a straw man on a bonfire?” Lucy exclaimed. “And this is a holiday for children?”
Juliet shrugged. “It’s just an excuse to have fireworks, really,” she said. “But I’m in charge of Bonfire Night, as you know, and I could use some help running the thing.”
The whole village, Lucy saw that evening, came out for Bonfire Night. It was held on a sheep field at the bottom of the village; men in fluorescent vests guided cars into a makeshift parking lot on another field, but most people just walked. Lucy watched them come down the high street in a steady stream; she was meant to be collecting tickets, but judging from the other woman who was collecting, it was more of an excuse to chat with various people. More than once, the woman waved someone towards the bonfire, smiling. “Ah, you’re areet, John. Come along, then.”
Lucy felt rather shrewish demanding people show her their tickets, and so she ended up just smiling at everyone and waving the tickets she’d already collected rather feebly. Maybe Juliet should have assigned her to the food stall.
The bonfire was impressive, though, the flames leaping twenty feet towards the sky. The smell of woodsmoke drifted on the air, and people laughed and chatted as they sipped from paper cups of soup and nibbled sausage rolls bought from the food stall, run by a formidable Liz Benson, wielding a large ladle and sternly informing everyone not to jump the queue. Since it seemed as if most of the people had already arrived, Lucy abandoned her post as ticket collector and went to join the line for a cup of soup.
“How was the week in Manchester?” she asked Diana after she’d gotten her soup and was standing near the leaping flames of the bonfire.
