‘So, Jolly’s starting at the school soon?’ Roz hadn’t forgotten what Mrs Hoolit had told her.
Mhairi nodded, not quite as enthusiastically as Roz might have expected.
‘If they can find a classroom support assistant for him. There’s a shortage of trained specialist teachers.’
Roz became aware of the same conflicting forces at work upon her as she had at the school gates last week: the pull of possibility, and the impulse to hide her face and run.
‘Will he not go if they don’t find him a one-to-one?’
‘I don’t think it would be fair on him, do you? To send him to a school that isn’t resourced for him?’
The question hung in the air as they watched the children play.
‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ Roz tried eventually. ‘So long as Jolyon gets what he needs and deserves.’
‘He deserves what every kid deserves, access to an education that helps him flourish,’ Mhairi said in an exhausted way. ‘Whether there’s funding or staffing or support for that is a different matter entirely.’
Roz was trying to think of a response but Mhairi squeezed her elbow as a way of extracting herself and began crossing the lawn to tend the spring produce with her son.
Left alone, Roz watched the scene going on before her. Everyone was employed in their own tasks. Cary was turning the compost. Murray had finished planting the leeks and was drinking coffee and watching Finlay trying to contain the kids. Dr Alice was chatting with Clyde and Kellie and her other patients while they potted on tomato seedlings inside the new polytunnel. Livvie and Mhairi were standing a little way off under a budding Alder tree and talking in a confiding posture like fast friends while their kids played.
‘I’ll…’ Roz glanced around for a job to do. No one heard her over the hum of chatter and the noisy sparrows in the hedges. Not even Wayward paid attention; she was too busy getting under everyone’s feet to notice the forlorn voice of her mistress. ‘I’ll… leave you all to it then.’ Roz hiked a thumb back towards the mill house, and since no one noticed this either, she left. She had plenty to be getting on with on a Sunday afternoon, anyway.
A notification pinged on her phone as she reached the mill house door. It was McIntyre. He hadn’t forgotten that he had a wife after all, or that it was still the weekend, a time for doing things together. He must be on his way home to her now, her heart said, lightening considerably. There was still time to make lunch plans.
The air left her lungs as she read.
If you’re going online today can you order me another can of rust inhibitor and some cotton swabs, thanks
Roz let the mill house door thud shut behind her, frightening the bluetits from the spring boughs.
7
Six days later and things were looking up for Euan Sparks. He had cash in his pocket and a spring in his step. It was another chilly, sunny Saturday morning, and he was on his way to the repair shop with his grandad, Clyde.
He hadn’t told Clyde much about what had happened at the repair shop last week, beyond how McIntyre was keen to help fix the sidecar, and how he’d helped Peaches McDowell out of a tight spot with her rehearsal. On hearing this Clyde had sucked air through his teeth and said, ‘Peaches? That’s Carenza’s lassie,’ as though this were somehow a problem.
Euan had acted unfazed, but deep down his grandfather’s reaction had unsettled him.
‘Carenza McDowell isnae just a greedy landlady. She’s an absolute scunner!’ Clyde had warned, which to Scots means an especially irritating kind of nuisance. ‘Mark my words! A scunner!’ After that, Euan had given up on his plan to quiz him for info about Peaches and what she was like.
Carenza couldn’t really be as annoying as everyone made out, surely? Aye, she’d been loud and a little bit steely at the rehearsal, but she’d seemed grateful that he’d saved the day, hadn’t she? He’d been the hero of the hour.
Plus, that job on Monday had gone well. He’d biked to Carenza’s offices on the high street ten minutes earlier than they’d arranged, to show that he was keen – and just in case Peaches happened to be there. His grandad had mentioned that sometimes she helped out, answering the phones and manning the front desk. He’d had to mask his disappointment when he was greeted by a woman he didn’t recognise. She had handed him a key with a piece of paper to sign.
‘Make sure you don’t lose it,’ the woman warned in an ominous way. It was enough to let Euan know she’d heard about his mistake.
‘Mrs McDowell hasn’t got wind of what happened at the school, by any chance?’ he’d risked asking.
‘Pfft!’ The woman mugged laughter. ‘If she had, you wouldn’t be standing here collecting that key, I can tell you that for nothing!’
‘You aren’t going to… mention it to her, are you?’
‘I’m no’ a grass.’ This is the universal Scottish assurance that your business is your business, and it was enough for Euan.
‘Right, cheers for that,’ he’d said, ready to get to work.
‘And it’s Ms,’ the woman called out just as he pulled the door handle.
