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‘I’m in RBS27,’ she adds, scribbling the number for the classroom on the form. ‘But she’s been fed and changed so she shouldn’t need much. There’s some spare nappies in here and a bottle. Can you warm it? She takes a bottle from my partner, so she should be OK. Is there anyone else working with you?’
‘Sandra’s gone on her break but she’ll be back in a mo, don’t worry.’ Gail is smiling at her with patient benevolence beyond her years. ‘She’ll be fine,’ she says slowly.
‘Thank you. I’ll be back a little after two.’ Samantha remembers her arrangement with Aisha and Jenny. ‘Actually, it’ll be nearer three, but call me if there’s any problem. I’ll be in the canteen from two.’
Suzanne is already sitting on a wicker chair with Emily in her arms. Emily has fallen asleep, the pale brown brush of her eyelashes, that pink bow of her top lip, the same as her father’s. Samantha sighs, kisses the palm of her hand and presses it to Emily’s head.
‘Bye then, little one,’ she says softly, then, meeting Suzanne’s eye, ‘See you in class.’
Suzanne hunches her shoulders briefly and smiles once again. ‘See you there, hon,’ she calls out as Samantha heads out of the crèche.
Harry Boyd is not in his office. He is not in the admin office either. Penny McKay, the woman who, it appears to Samantha, holds the entire college together, tells her she saw him in the cafeteria a moment ago.
‘Thanks.’
Samantha half runs across the courtyard, through the canteen, the foyer where the art students’ exhibition hangs. Her own wretched little poetry collection comes into her mind. She wishes Peter hadn’t sent it to the university press. She wasn’t ready.Itwasn’t ready. And if it gets published, she will know it is because of his status, not her own talent. She should have argued more boldly. But she was at the end of her pregnancy and more tired than she had ever been. And Peter’s powers of persuasion hit her only afterwards, as is so often the way.
Harry is nowhere to be seen. Time is ticking. She heads for the photocopier to find Sean hovering in the foyer. A stress pain pushes at her sternum. She should ask him what he was doing in her street. But he looks more anxious than she is. He is shifting his weight from foot to foot and fiddling with the zip on his anorak.
‘We’re in PK23 in the old building.’ He zips up his anorak, unzips it a few centimetres, zips it up again, unzips, zips. His brow is furrowed, his eyes round. ‘It says it on the classroom door but it’s not on the noticeboard. How will people know where to go?’
Samantha can’t ask him about his presence outside her house now; he is far too rattled, and besides, any sinister intent just doesn’t square up. Now that they are face to face, the idea that Sean would hurt a fly is unimaginable.
‘Hold on a sec.’ She jogs down the corridor – sure enough, there is a sign Sellotaped to the glass:
Spanish exam. Please be quiet.
Creative Writing for Beginners moved to PK23.
‘Oh,’ she says, a little perplexed. No one told her. She can sense Sean standing behind her, almost touching her shoulder. When she turns, his nose almost grazes hers. She takes a step back. Oh, but how worried he looks. She could cry for him.
‘Actually, Sean,’ she says gently, ‘could you maybe wait in the foyer and redirect the others? Save them making noise outside the classroom, as there’s an exam on? That would completely solve the problem and you’d be doing me an enormous favour.’
He almost beams, nods violently. ‘I can do that.’
‘Brilliant. I won’t start without you, don’t worry.’
‘I’ll stand in the foyer so they won’t disturb the exam. I’ll tell them to go to PK23.’
‘Exactly.’ She gives him a thumbs-up and heads back towards the main building to find keys for the classroom, her heart still with him. There will be a moment to ask him what he was doing in her road, but that wasn’t it.
In the courtyard, Suzanne is heading towards her.
‘Settled in fine,’ she says. ‘She’s fast asleep in her car seat, bless her.’
‘Brilliant. Listen, we’re in PK23 today.’
Suzanne doesn’t appear to register the information. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t make it last week,’ she says. ‘I was under the weather.’
‘That’s OK, don’t worry about it. It’s not like school – you won’t get a detention.’
Suzanne laughs, perhaps more than the joke deserves, and Samantha remembers that she left school at sixteen. At the reception desk, she stops to change the classroom keys and together she and Suzanne take the staircase to the first floor.
‘I’ve booked our Jo in for next week,’ Suzanne tells her. ‘They can have a play date.’
‘Aw, that’s lovely.’
They reach the first floor landing. Aisha and Jenny are waiting outside PK23.
