The first day back at school was always nerve-racking but even more so when it was your first day at a brand-new school. Nancy glanced at Lara. Her daughter had always been confident at school. She’d thrived in lessons and had lots of friends, being gentler than some of the other more outgoing children. She was a normal kid with normal interests and normal friends. Then tragedy had struck and Lara had retreated into herself for months. Her teacher would pull Nancy aside at the end of the day saying Lara had spent the breaks wandering listlessly around the playground by herself. Her friends had tried to get her to join in the games, but Lara had shaken her head so many times, they’d drifted off. She’d been the same at home, spending hours gazing out of the window of their second-floor flat. It was only when they were making plans to move to a new house and get out of the city that Lara started to show tentative hints of her old spark.
Nancy squeezed Lara’s hand. Lara smiled nervously then extracted her hand from her mother’s as they crossed the road into Ripton Primary. Nancy hid a smile. This was a good sign. Lara was embarrassed to have her mum hold her hand. It meant she wanted to make a good impression on the other kids and get to know them quickly.
Nancy gazed across the playground. It was like a reunion of long-lost friends. Squeals of recognition as parents and children were reacquainted with those they hadn’t seen for weeks. Nancy watched as women threw their arms around each other, faces aglow with the remnants of summer holiday suntans. Conversations were held at rapid speed, news was exchanged, all against the glossy backdrop of the first day of term. The kids in their brand-new uniforms, their shoes shiny and unscuffed; refreshed mums having made an effort with their clothes and make-up. There was an energy that Nancy could feel in waves but which she wasn’t a part of. So engrossed was everyone in each other that she couldn’t even catch anyone’s eye and give a friendly smile.
She watched as the head teacher, James Whitman, toured the grounds in his suave suit, being welcomed like a revered leader as he approached each group of parents. The tight circles of mums would break open to let him join them, and they would stop talking and listen, basking in his charm. Nancy had had a Zoom call with James when she was applying to Ripton Primary back in the early summer. He’d had an impressive energy for a man in his late fifties and had made the school sound like a progressive establishment full of enthusiasm and opportunity. He’d let slip during the conversation that he advised government on education policies, had the ear of the Education Secretary herself. Nancy admired his achievements but also had an underlying sense he thought a lot of himself. She got an image of him in her mind, in an expensive suit, his sandy hair combed back, accepting an MBE from the King for services to education, and she stifled a laugh. She looked over at him again – he was deep in conversation with a cool blonde woman. Then he glanced up and she was caught in the full beam of his smile and – more cheeringly – his look of recognition. It only lasted a moment before his attention was taken by the cool blonde again and Nancy was returned to the role of Billy No-Mates.
Nancy suddenly pitched forward, open-mouthed with shock. A football had hit her on the head.
‘Are you OK, Mum?’ asked Lara, alarmed, as the ball, launched by Nancy’s skull, bounced across the playground.
‘Phoenix!’ admonished a short woman but half-heartedly. ‘I’m so sorry,’ continued the woman, coming up to Nancy. ‘He’s mad on football, absolutely obsessed with it, and I do try and tell him to be careful. Are you all right?’
Nancy mustered up a smile. ‘Yes,’ she lied. Her head felt as if it was still vibrating.
‘Phoenix!’ called the woman. ‘Come and apologize!’
But Phoenix either couldn’t or didn’t want to hear her and the woman let out a semi-exasperated sigh.
‘I’m Lorna,’ she said, holding out a hand but still keeping it close to her body, a bit like a T-Rex. ‘Chair of the PTA.’
‘Nancy,’ she said, shaking Lorna’s hand. ‘Brand-new parent.’
‘Welcome to Ripton,’ said Lorna warmly. ‘Once you’re here, you’ll never leave.’
Nancy turned to her daughter. ‘This is Lara.’
‘Nice to meet you, Lara. Whose class are you in?’
‘Miss Young.’
‘Oh, you’re with Phoenix!’ said Lorna. ‘And Miss Young’s lovely. Everyone here is lovely.’
That was statistically impossible, thought Nancy, but nevertheless nice to hear. It was good to know she’d moved somewhere friendly.
‘I met her earlier in the week when I was in for a PTA catch-up. We’re really lucky to have her. She’s only young – twenty-five – but was one of the best teachers at her previous school. It was a real coup to get her – she had three other offers locally!’
Phoenix was busy kicking his football against a wall. Lorna rolled her eyes in a faux-vexed fashion. ‘Practise. That’s all he does. We’ve got our eye on Kingsgate for secondary. You know, the private school. It’s the best educational establishment for miles. Their results are incredible.’ She lay her hand briefly on Nancy’s arm and lowered her voice. ‘We’re hoping . . . well, I shouldn’t really say, but we’re secretly hoping he’ll get a sports scholarship. But keep it to yourself.’
Nancy gave a perplexed nod at this premature intimacy and made a mental note never to tell Lorna anything remotely confidential.
‘Anyway, let me introduce you to some of the other mums.’ Lorna coasted around. ‘Oh, there’s Erin. Erin!’
A woman dressed in expensive running gear nonchalantly walked over with a girl in tow.
‘Put me to shame, you do,’ said Lorna, looking at Erin’s outfit.
‘It’s only 10K. Sets me up before I get to my desk,’ said Erin.
‘10K! I couldn’t even run for the bus. Let me introduce you to my new friend, Nancy. Nancy, Erin used to play netball for England.’
‘Wow,’ said Nancy.
‘World Championships. 2008.’
‘Did you win?’
‘No,’ said Erin abruptly, her gaze suddenly elsewhere.
Sore subject, mouthed Lorna. ‘They were robbed,’ she said out loud, her voice loaded with sympathy. ‘Erin has also just bought the local paper, the Ripton Gazette. One of the few still with a proper print run.’
The girl standing beside Erin looked at Lara. ‘Which school are you going to next year?’ she demanded.
Lara was taken aback. ‘I don’t know.’
‘This is Tilly,’ said Erin. ‘She’s in Year 6.’
‘How far can you swim?’ asked Tilly. ‘I can swim three kilometres. No one believes me – well, except for Rosie because my mum told her it was true.’
God, she wasn’t backwards in coming forwards, Nancy found herself thinking. She expected Erin to rein her daughter in from the boasting, but she said nothing.
‘Oh, there’s Hannah,’ exclaimed Lorna, waving at another mum in the playground. ‘Hannah’s a farmer. She has six hundred acres, mostly sheep and arable. Her son is Jakob, he’s in the same class as ours.’
Nancy saw a woman in scruffy jeans and a long-sleeved pink striped shirt walk over. She had dark curly hair that was tied up roughly on the top of her head and the bluest eyes Nancy had ever seen.
‘Nancy’s new,’ announced Lorna.
‘Welcome,’ said Hannah. ‘Been filling Nancy in with all the gossip, Lorna?’
Lorna flushed. ‘Not gossip. Friendly chat. Hey, is anyone doing extra tutoring before the Kingsgate entrance exams?’
‘Tilly’s doubled to two evenings plus a Saturday morning,’ said Erin. ‘Although I’m pretty sure she’s going to be OK. The tutor says she’s already at Year 8 level in many subjects.’ Erin bent down to speak to her daughter. ‘Remember to make sure you mention this morning about eco schools. It’ll get you more votes. You need to get this, you deserve it.’
‘Votes?’ asked Nancy.
‘Head of School,’ said Lorna. ‘Traditionally, first day back the Year 6 kids get to vote for who they want. I’d put Phoenix forward but he’s more sporty than an all-rounder.’ She laughed, a little desperately, thought Nancy.
‘The kids who want to stand are set a summer project to write their speech. Did no one tell you?’
‘No,’ said Nancy.
‘Don’t worry. We all know it’s going to be Rosie anyway,’ Lorna added under her breath.
‘Rosie?’
Lorna nodded over to the blonde woman. ‘Imogen’s daughter.’
Nancy saw a girl with the sort of angelic blonde look that featured in upmarket clothing catalogues. It was obvious she took after her mother. Imogen was elegantly tall, with effortlessly dewy skin. Her long hair fell forwards over one shoulder, contrasting beautifully with the silver-grey blouse she was wearing with her impeccable white trousers. She looked faintly recognizable to Nancy, but she couldn’t quite place her. She felt she’d seen her on TV or something, years ago. Maybe Imogen used to be on one of those plethora of lifestyle shows, but Nancy couldn’t remember which one.
Imogen had stopped talking to the head and was looking over at them, a slight frown on her face. She started to approach and one by one the other women clocked her and turned towards her like flowers radiating towards the sun. Nancy was faintly aware of a nervous hush as they waited for Imogen to arrive.
‘Imogen!’ beamed Lorna quickly, in a one-woman race to be the first to welcome her.
‘Hi, ladies,’ said Imogen. ‘Glad to be back?’
Lorna and Erin voiced their delight enthusiastically.
Then Nancy felt Imogen cast her gaze towards her.
‘Hi,’ said Nancy.
‘Hello,’ said Imogen.
‘Nancy’s new,’ said Lorna.
‘We’ve just moved here,’ said Nancy.
‘To Willow Barn,’ said Lara.
Nancy looked down at her daughter and smiled. She was suddenly aware that it had gone deathly quiet. She looked up and none of the women were meeting her eye and Imogen had seemed to go rigid.
A bell rang from inside the school.
‘Right,’ said Hannah quickly. ‘First day of the last year of primary school has officially started.’ She waved to Jakob as he headed into the building.
‘Remember, I’m going to drop your inhaler in the office so it’s there if you need it,’ Nancy said to Lara. She threw her arms around her and enveloped her in a hug that Lara tried to wriggle out of.
As Lara walked off, Nancy turned back to speak to the other mums but they had all drifted across the playground, away from her.