Page 48 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

‘Well, if you’re sure… Would you mind signing in please?’

She gestured at a large open book on the top of the desk, and Jo wrote her name and noted down the time.

‘The head’s seeing someone at the moment,’ said the receptionist. ‘But take a seat and he’ll be with you shortly.’

One of the bright-blue, upholstered chairs was already occupied by a ginger-haired, bespectacled child who was swinging his legs at a frenzied pace. Jo sat down a few seats away and wondered if it looked bad to get her phone out.

This wasn’t the first time she had sat outside a head teacher’s office, waiting. Not by a long shot. She was regularly summoned to see the head teacher for retaliating when someone had teased her so much that she couldn’t contain her temper any longer.

Jo glanced over at the boy. There was something in his expression that she recognised; here was a child who did not fit in. Most likely a victim of bullying too. She wanted him to look up, to meet her gaze, so she could smile at him. Communicate some sympathy, perhaps. Show that she understood. But he remained resolutely staring at his feet.

Five minutes passed. And then ten.

The receptionist said, ‘Sorry about this. He won’t be long.’

At that moment, a door opened behind her and woman in a garish, floral dress came out, followed by a flustered man in a grey suit, who, Jo assumed, was the head teacher.

‘Thank you so much for coming in to see me, Mrs Hamilton-Jones,’ he said, ‘and for raising your concerns.’

‘I do hope you can sort something out this time,’ said Mrs Hamilton-Jones. ‘A boy of Alfred’s ability needs to be stretched.’

‘As you’ve said,’ said the head teacher.

‘We don’t want to have to move him to another school,’ she said.

‘Quite.’

‘I don’t want to go to another school, Mother,’ said Alfred.

‘It needn’t be a big thing,’ she continued as if her son hadn’t spoken. ‘He could join Year 6 for mathematics. Or you could run a chess club at lunchtimes. He needs more stimulation, Mr Morgan.’

‘Yes, I’ll certainly consider your suggestions. Now I’m sorry to rush you but my four thirty appointment is here. And Alfred has been patiently waiting for you. After-school club finished nearly fifteen minutes ago.’

Mrs Hamilton-Jones looked at Jo resentfully, gave a sigh of resignation and left, the boy following behind her, his eyes fixed on the ground.

The head teacher glanced at Jo and said, ‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss…’

‘Jo,’ she said.

‘Jo, good to meet you. Come in.’

He shepherded her into his office and gestured at a chair in front of his desk. Jo perched on the edge of it, crossing then uncrossing her legs.

He slumped in the chair opposite her, loosened his tie, then had second thoughts and removed it completely.

‘I have no idea what this is about,’ he said. ‘Clare said you had a proposal that I might find interesting.’

Well, that was a good start at least. His receptionist thought he might be disposed to the idea.

She had rehearsed this in her head, but now she was actually sitting in front of him, she wasn’t sure where to start. ‘Do you know Doctor Rasmusson?’ she said. ‘From the health centre.’

‘Yes, vaguely. The mums all rave about him. Say he’s a good listener.’

That was a good start, Jo thought. ‘Well, Ras and I would like to… are hoping to organise an event to bring everyone together. To raise community spirit.’

‘And what sort of event did you have in mind?’

Jo took a deep breath. ‘A Scrabble festival.’