Chapter Three
Sylvie was awake before the dawn broke. Today was Sam’s first day at school and she was veering from excitement to worry to disbelief and back again to celebration. She had been keeping a close eye as the day approached and he didn’t seem to be displaying any of these emotions just yet, but then with Sam anything was possible. As long as she held it together and set a good example all she could do was hope it would be fine.
His only other first day had been at playgroup and that had been as far removed from fine as possible. He had burst into tears the minute he realized she was leaving and clung to her leg, rather as he had the man at the beach the other day. After a substantial period of trying to calm him as the other mothers looked on with sympathy, and some with an element of smugness, she ended up having to drag him to the front door, attached to said leg with the tenacity of limpets on the rocks scattered across Penmenna beach. The playgroup supervisor dragged him off and she made a hasty escape, tears welling in her eyes as she was unable to believe she had just abandoned her distraught son, despite her strict inner voice explaining all the reasons it was the best thing to do.
She had stood for a full five minutes with her ear against the old battered wooden door that was the entrance to Penmenna’s playgroup, straining to hear if her son continued to cry. It was apparent after thirty seconds that he had stopped once she was out of sight, but her predilection for self-torture meant she hadto stand there for another few minutes just in case he started again.
It was only the fact that she had needed, at that time, to get back to the farm to help care for her mother, who had been living with motor neurone disease for the past couple of years, that propelled her feet away from the little door.
Today there would be no burning rush to get back to the farm. Not any more.
But she did have to get out of bed, make a cup of tea and get on with some chores, before waking Sam up with her very best excited aren’t-you-a-big-boy face on.
Thus, a couple of hours later, she stood over him, watching as his little eyes blearily opened and he shifted from asleep to awake. Her heart filled with pride and an intensity of love she would never have believed possible before motherhood.
‘Hey, you. Wakey-wakey. How you doing?’
‘Mmm, hey, you,’ he snuffled back in his sleepiest tone. She sat next to him, perched on the side of his bed as his eyes flickered from closed to open, back to closed and then open once more.
‘Come on then, I’ve got pancakes downstairs with our name on it.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Come on, up you get.’
He managed to drag himself into a sitting position, his red hair all mussed and his eyes now open, a slow smile creeping across his face. ‘Pancakes? With strawbries?’ His tone was still sleepy but a bit more engaged. If the old adage about men and their stomachs was true, it had started young in her son. Although to be fair, it might have little to do with gender and more with genes – she was a sucker for them too.
‘Yes, pancakes and strawbries.’ She deliberately echoed his mispronunciation. ‘Tell you what, I’m going to sit and close myeyes and I bet if I count to ten to give you a head start, I can still beat you to the kitchen.’
‘No chance.’
‘Every chance’
‘Go on then, close your eyes, and… ready for action!’
Sylvie closed her eyes, smiling at her son as he shouted his latest favourite catchphrase. She felt him jump out of the bed and race to the door.
‘Hey, I hadn’t started yet!’
He responded with a laugh and bounded down the stairs as she started to count.
Several pancakes and a short car journey later, Sylvie and Sam pulled up outside Penmenna School. Being the very first week the Reception Class started a little later in the day and was only lasting two and a half hours today, slowly inching the children in before they realized this was how they were expected to spend every day for the next fourteen years.
She felt a surge of comfort and familiarity as she returned to the school that she too had attended until she was eleven, happy that her son was carrying on the family tradition.
Sam clasped her hand as they headed through the big Victorian doors, the school itself having been there since the 1850s, tall, imposing and built from the granite that dominated the Cornish landscape. It was the central feature of the village that had sprung up around it. He looked so smart in his uniform, all of which he had insisted on putting on for himself. Sylvie knew for a fact his pants were on inside out.
They found their way to the Reception Class, and saw they were one of the earliest with only five or so other children there and a couple of mums lurking. Miss Winter, the Reception teacher and head, was there with her colleague, Lynne Rowe, the teacher who job-shared the responsibility for Class One.Sylvie raised her hand to the both of them – she knew Rosy from before, having taught her in a self-defence class a few years back – before going to find Sam’s peg. Knowing Rosy Winter, as well as the school itself, made today so much easier; it meant she knew that Sam would be in the best hands. And thankfully, so far he had shown no sign of repeating the playgroup incident.
Sam grew excited as he recognized his name next to a peg with a spaceman on it. He was so clever. He hadn’t needed a jacket this morning but hung his brand-new Lego-themed bag on the peg with pride. Then he remembered that his school bag had not just the book he had picked up on their introductory day the term before but also his PE bag inside. Carefully he unzipped the school bag and took the sports one out, also placing it on the peg.
‘Good job, that boy!’ Sylvie smiled down at him as he looked up at her. They headed back into the classroom just as his nemesis from playgroup came whirling in, a particularly rambunctious boy called Alfie who meant no real malice but was fond of dressing up as Batman and shouting in the other children’s faces. Playgroup had never dealt with him particularly well, although Sylvie had sent him more than her fair share of withering looks in an attempt to warn him off. Sam’s smile faded a little. Harry, Alfie’s best friend and Spider-Man fan, came hurtling in next and the two boys high-fived boisterously. Sam looked at her for reassurance.
‘Let’s go and have a look at these jigsaws. You’re always super-quick at them, I bet you can do these easily.’ Sylvie led him to a table full of puzzles, one of his favourite things to do, logical tasks where he could create order. ‘Hello, Alfie, Harry.’ Sylvie made sure to address them in a friendly tone as they walked past.
‘Hello, Sam.’ Rosy joined them at the table. ‘Are you excited now you’re here at big school? I saw that you found your peg really quickly. That’s pretty cool.’
‘You gave me the spaceman badge.’
