she ever talk to me about it back then?’
‘Come off it, Dan, why do you think? How embarrassing or intimidating would that have been for her?’
‘ Does your dad know what happened? I just don’t get how I can be living up in that house after -’
‘Because another man came along who blew Nell’s heart apart. Her whole world apart. In the family’s eyes, he eclipsed what you did.’ Emma held tightly to Truffle’s lead, as if she and the dog were in a tug-of-war contest. ‘Anyway,’ Emma went on, ‘Nell doesn’t trust men. To her, you’re an entirely different species and you messed her up collectively - with about one or two exceptions, like our dad, of course. And right now, she’s projecting her anger on to you, unfortunately, because you’re here, and Silas isn’t.’
‘Silas? Is he the ex-husband?’
‘Not even ex . Although he should be. It isn’t as if Nell hasn’t got cause to file for divorce. So, as it stands, practically all men are cast in his mould. And you’re worse than most, because Nell only knows the Daniel Guthrie you were twenty years ago. It’s not up to me to make her see you any differently. She won’t listen. You’ll have to do that yourself.’
Daniel bit back a groan. ‘That just sounds like an impossible task. How can I even apologise for something I don’t remember, without admitting I don’t remember it? Would it even ring true?’
Emma shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you should just be yourself. Let her get to know you. Don’t go looking for absolution or whatever. You’re a nice guy, and Nell will see that. Eventually.’
‘ Eventually , yeah,’ muttered Daniel. ‘About the same time as hell freezes over. Or Harreloe Rangers win the league.’
Six
Walking into the Victorian building - dated 1894 according to the plaque above the main door - was a little like trespassing on to the set of a film. A movie you had once watched over and over as a child, but hadn’t considered lately. The red brick exterior, the lemony green walls inside . . . Still the same shade, though obviously repainted since.
Did the children these days still whisper about the Edwardian ghost child with the same reverence and fear? Did they play hop-scotch in the playground, marking the lines out with chalk? Or jumping-games with lengths of elastic raided from mothers’ sewing boxes? Did the boys torment earwigs in the mounds of dirt around the boundary fence, while the girls chased each other manically with gleeful shouts of ‘IT!’?
Nell gripped her son’s hand tighter, engulfed by her recollection of this small village school when life had been at its most innocent. When ‘pretty and popular’ had seemed to be a given. Before everything changed.
‘Are you all right, Mum?’ Joshua gazed up at her with those jade green eyes that would never let her forget another age when anything had seemed possible.
‘I’m OK, Josh.’
‘It’s creepy here,’ said Freya. ‘I feel like we’re being watched.’
‘Don’t worry. I think schools always seem eerie when everyone has gone home,’ Nell reassured her. ‘Especially in the winter, when the lights are on and i t feels much later than it is.’
‘It’s not winter until the solstice,’ said Joshua.
‘Information overload,’ said Freya, but without any bite.
Nell shivered, although not from trepidation. Her emotions had simply swamped her for a moment. She needed to get back on track; to concentrate on getting through the next half hour, or however long this meeting and tour was likely to take.
‘Hello?’ A disembodied female voice floated down the corridor from the other end of the cloakroom. The rows of pegs lining the walls were practically bare, apart from a woolly hat here and a school jumper there, like relics from a distant past.
‘Hello,’ Nell called back.
A plump, middle-aged woman came into view, smiling broadly. ‘You must be Ellena, John Mason’s daughter? Your father used to treat my chickens
‘Come off it, Dan, why do you think? How embarrassing or intimidating would that have been for her?’
‘ Does your dad know what happened? I just don’t get how I can be living up in that house after -’
‘Because another man came along who blew Nell’s heart apart. Her whole world apart. In the family’s eyes, he eclipsed what you did.’ Emma held tightly to Truffle’s lead, as if she and the dog were in a tug-of-war contest. ‘Anyway,’ Emma went on, ‘Nell doesn’t trust men. To her, you’re an entirely different species and you messed her up collectively - with about one or two exceptions, like our dad, of course. And right now, she’s projecting her anger on to you, unfortunately, because you’re here, and Silas isn’t.’
‘Silas? Is he the ex-husband?’
‘Not even ex . Although he should be. It isn’t as if Nell hasn’t got cause to file for divorce. So, as it stands, practically all men are cast in his mould. And you’re worse than most, because Nell only knows the Daniel Guthrie you were twenty years ago. It’s not up to me to make her see you any differently. She won’t listen. You’ll have to do that yourself.’
Daniel bit back a groan. ‘That just sounds like an impossible task. How can I even apologise for something I don’t remember, without admitting I don’t remember it? Would it even ring true?’
Emma shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you should just be yourself. Let her get to know you. Don’t go looking for absolution or whatever. You’re a nice guy, and Nell will see that. Eventually.’
‘ Eventually , yeah,’ muttered Daniel. ‘About the same time as hell freezes over. Or Harreloe Rangers win the league.’
Six
Walking into the Victorian building - dated 1894 according to the plaque above the main door - was a little like trespassing on to the set of a film. A movie you had once watched over and over as a child, but hadn’t considered lately. The red brick exterior, the lemony green walls inside . . . Still the same shade, though obviously repainted since.
Did the children these days still whisper about the Edwardian ghost child with the same reverence and fear? Did they play hop-scotch in the playground, marking the lines out with chalk? Or jumping-games with lengths of elastic raided from mothers’ sewing boxes? Did the boys torment earwigs in the mounds of dirt around the boundary fence, while the girls chased each other manically with gleeful shouts of ‘IT!’?
Nell gripped her son’s hand tighter, engulfed by her recollection of this small village school when life had been at its most innocent. When ‘pretty and popular’ had seemed to be a given. Before everything changed.
‘Are you all right, Mum?’ Joshua gazed up at her with those jade green eyes that would never let her forget another age when anything had seemed possible.
‘I’m OK, Josh.’
‘It’s creepy here,’ said Freya. ‘I feel like we’re being watched.’
‘Don’t worry. I think schools always seem eerie when everyone has gone home,’ Nell reassured her. ‘Especially in the winter, when the lights are on and i t feels much later than it is.’
‘It’s not winter until the solstice,’ said Joshua.
‘Information overload,’ said Freya, but without any bite.
Nell shivered, although not from trepidation. Her emotions had simply swamped her for a moment. She needed to get back on track; to concentrate on getting through the next half hour, or however long this meeting and tour was likely to take.
‘Hello?’ A disembodied female voice floated down the corridor from the other end of the cloakroom. The rows of pegs lining the walls were practically bare, apart from a woolly hat here and a school jumper there, like relics from a distant past.
‘Hello,’ Nell called back.
A plump, middle-aged woman came into view, smiling broadly. ‘You must be Ellena, John Mason’s daughter? Your father used to treat my chickens
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