Page 67 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

The hall was buzzing. The queue for the tombola snaked halfway down the hall, several people were already tucking into Annie’s biscuits and the bookstall was doing a roaring trade. Soggy children sporting cardboard letter tile tabards were chasing each other around the hall. The helpers from the PTA were already serving up teas and coffees from the hatch. People were grabbing Scrabble boxes and setting up games. Jo hastily placed her ‘RESERVED, 11 – 5.30’ signs on the sixteen tables she’d earmarked for the tournament.

‘You’ve done a wonderful job, Jo,’ came Florence’s voice from behind her.

Jo turned round to see her and Sylvia.

‘Amazing,’ said Sylvia. ‘You should be proud of yourself. Sorry I didn’t make it last night. I was helping Annie with her lettered biscuits. She’s so talented. I wish my Robert had married someone like that.’ She looked towards the back of the hall, where Annie was already doing a brisk trade in biscuits. ‘He dated a lovely woman when he was at university, but she left him. And then he ended up with Jilly. She’s not much of a homemaker. Never has been. Now where’s that Doctor Ras? All that baking has exacerbated my arthritis.’

‘In the children’s room,’ Jo said, mentally working out that ‘exacerbated’ would score 23 points. ‘He’s found some new fans.’

Cosmic appeared, hovering anxiously around Jo and Gemma.

‘Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday,’ he said. ‘I needed an early night. Before the competition.’

An early night? He was taking it that seriously? Jo hoped he’d at least get through to the second round.

There was only one fly in the ointment now: they were one player short for the tournament. Thirty-two was the ideal number: it meant there’d be three initial rounds before the semis and the grand final. The Scrabble club had all signed up, of course, except for her. She had to be on hand to adjudicate, should that be necessary – and it probably would be with Mr B and Florence involved – so she couldn’t play as well.

She’d arranged to print the list of first round matches in Mr Morgan’s office before the tournament started.

At ten to eleven, she knocked on his door.

‘Am I still okay to use your printer?’ she said poking her head round.

‘Oh, yeah, sure,’ he said.

‘Trouble is, I’m still one player short,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose…’

‘No.’

‘Go on, it’ll be fun. Half the school is here. The kids would love seeing their head teacher in a competition.’

‘No.’

‘You’re not scared of losing, are you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Only I thought you’d be one of those heads who told the children it was all about taking part and not about winning.’

He looked up from his computer. ‘I really don’t think…’

‘Please,’ said Jo.

He sighed. ‘Go on then.’

‘Great, thanks.’ She pulled her USB stick from her pocket. ‘Can I jump on your computer to print the list of players for the first round please?’

‘Sure.’

He stood up and she slipped into his seat. An Excel spreadsheet was open on his screen, the school budget she guessed. Most of the figures had question marks after them. There were boxes highlighted in red, and others in green and yellow. It looked like a complete jumble.

‘Have you saved this already?’ she said. ‘Or shall I save it in case?’

‘It’s a mess anyway. I’m hopeless with spreadsheets. It keeps telling me I’ve put a circular reference in and I’ve no idea what that means. The school manager normally deals with all this but she’s off sick.’

‘I could have a look later,’ Jo said. ‘If you want me to. Unless it’s confidential or something. Not that I’d divulge anything to anyone, obviously.’

She clicked save, plugged her USB stick into his machine and opened the document showing who was playing who in the first round. She typed Mr Morgan into the final box – he’d be playing an outside entrant in the first round – and clicked print. The A3 printer beside his desk whirred into action.