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You could say I’ve run this place for thirty-five years.
So how, how, did Miss Georgia Smith wind up back inside without my knowing?
That’s the question I should have stormed in to ask the moment I saw her. But I didn’t, and now Jenna is missing.
No. Enough. The two things aren’t necessarily linked and my baby must be fine.
What was that line I saw on Insta yesterday? Face the sun and the shadows fall behind.
Outside, a couple of schoolgirls scurry past with linked arms, heading for the boarding halls. Inside my car, the air-con has surrendered to the sun. The engine plinks.
I remember when Jenna was still a baby, the night I finally moved her to her own room, crying, bereft, staring at the empty cot pressed against my bed. It felt like something essential had been ripped out of me.
And I had gone through to the anteroom and scooped her up, breathed in her fresh honeysuckle smell, and carried her back into bed with me. She’d stayed with me for another three years till she was nearly four. Dan was very patient.
I’m being crazy. She can’t be gone. Surely even Georgia wouldn’t do something to a child?
How would I know though – what such a twisted little girl could be capable of as a grown woman?
I see Jenna suddenly, last week, or the week before, or maybe both, sliding onto the armchair while I sat on the sofa, reconciling Dan’s expenses, half-watching Grey’s Anatomy. And then yesterday, coming into our bedroom after I thought she’d gone to bed.
What had she been going to say before she saw the dress? Had I stopped my daughter from telling me something?
I sigh at the unfathomability of teenagers.
I need to call my brother. I know he’s on campaign, but I can’t walk into school, go asking about Georgia Smith, without talking to him first. And I’m meant to be checking with all friends and family.
I dial and watch the froth of the fountain in the sunshine as I climb out of my car. I can barely believe it, but he picks up, and I explain.
‘I’m sorry, did you say Georgia Smith is teaching at our children’s school?’
‘Yes, and Jenna didn’t come home with the twins.’
He murmurs something about Theo having told him then goes quiet. I hear a siren in the background, someone honking. Outside, some teachers wander past carrying thermos cups and tote bags.
‘Oh, Frankie – what a shock.’
‘I know. I don’t know where she is.’
‘I’m sure Jenna’s fine. I mean about Georgia. Are you okay? Is Dan with you?’
‘I… I’m okay. No, he’s in Exeter. Meetings all day.’
‘Georgia has every right to be here, Frankie, you know that, don’t you?’
I catch my breath. The way he said it makes me feel small, like I’ve misunderstood something important. Last I heard, she was never coming back. We were safe.
I try to remember something that might have changed this, but I don’t like being reminded of ‘all that silliness’, as my father calls it. I know he’s just trying to make me feel better, as if it was no big deal, but I just end up feeling pathetic, when normally I’m just like the rest of my family: indomitable, surefooted.
The final year or so of school is hazy and then everything, everything, seemed to be over. For six months, a year maybe, I shrank into myself. The world went dark.
It’s not so unlikely that I’ve forgotten something.
But how can I let my brother be the clear-headed and calm one about this? Jenna is just gallivanting somewhere with Rose. Our bigger problem is that Georgia’s back. I should be being strong for him.
‘I know, it just seems a bit… audacious.’
‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘Look, there’s really no need to worry. It’s been – what? Just over an hour. Georgia is a teacher and PES is a school. I’d say… I’d say tread lightly where Georgia is concerned. Probably nothing’s up. But on the off-chance, it would be good to keep our cards close to our chests and get under the situation.’
