‘Leticia,’ I hurry towards her to unlock my office door. ‘I’m so sorry, but we are going to have to postpone our session, there’s a special assembly today. When would you like to come back?’
Her eyes fill with tears. I had half-expected this, but my heart still sinks. ‘How about after school?’ I suggest, forcing the words from my reluctant mouth, knowing that I might be giving up yet more precious time with my daughter. ‘We might not have as long as usual, but I can stay till around four.’
Leticia nods, and without thinking I put a hand on her shoulder and give her a gentle squeeze. She flinches and I realise my transgression. There is no softness to her, only bone – and while she covets it, she doesn’t want me to know.
‘Why don’t you come back at half-past three? Do you want to walk with me to assembly?’ I ask. At her nod I quickly put my bag on my desk, and relock the door. Then we walk quietly but companionably along the corridors. When we reach the double doors, Leticia moves off without a word to take her seat among the crowd. I, meanwhile, head to the group of chairs reserved for the teaching staff at the front. There are only a few spots left, and I take a seat next to Mr Freeman, the head of sport, who is engrossed in a discussion with Mr McDonnell, Georgia’s year head. When I sit down they immediately cease conversation. I suppose there is bound to be speculation about the accident, and I give them both a tight smile as I take my place. As we wait for the headmistress I try not to fidget, which isn’t easy since there’s about 300 kids all fidgeting in front of me. As Mrs Jessop arrives, the place immediately quietens.
There’s no preamble this morning. ‘You will have heard, no doubt,’ she says, ‘that one of our students, Sophia Turner, was seriously hurt last night by a hit-and-run driver. Sophia is in hospital recovering, and our thoughts and prayers are with her.’ She pauses. ‘Sometimes,’ she says, ‘things in life are not very easy to explain. There are not always clear reasons for what happens, nor do we need to look for them. It is perhaps more appropriate to think about what we might do to help Sophia, her family and her friends at this time. As always, we will approach this as a united group, so talk to your form tutors about what you would like to do. It could be fundraising for the hospital, or making meals for Sophia’s family. Meanwhile, the upper-school secretaries will have a card in their office that I encourage you all to sign. And I would like to remind you that if any of you are troubled by today’s events, then you can drop in to see Mrs Wilson or Mrs Turner during breaks or the lunch hour.’
At this point she glances at a sheet of paper in her hand. ‘The local police department have been in touch, asking that if anyone knows anything about what happened last night to make sure you come forward. That said, by all accounts this was an arbitrary event, and I stress that there is no implication that anyone at the school is involved. The police are just doing their job by asking these questions . . .’
As Chris Jessop speaks, I search for Georgia in the crowd. It takes me a while to spot her, hunkered down in her chair, looking so miserable that I have to resist the temptation to cross the room and comfort her. My presence is probably the last thing she wants.
Chris Jessop is still talking. ‘. . . so I will now ask for a short silence as we take time to think about Sophia, either in prayer or with quiet reflection.’
A hush falls over the room. As people bend their heads, I wait, and Georgia’s eyes meet mine. For a fleeting second we are suspended in this moment. The space between us is hardly anything at all, just the width of a few chairs, yet it contains so much that makes my child feel unreachable. We may have grown wary of one another, yet here we are, compelled to seek each other out, to make this tentative connection, before my daughter breaks it, and lowers her gaze towards the floor like the rest.
8
GEORGIA
As Georgia bends her head, the previous night returns to her in a series of disconnected snapshots. When Danny had pulled her away, in the corner of her eye she had seen a flash of white, which she now thought was one of Sophia’s sneakers sailing high through the air. She recalls the dull thump as the car connected with Sophia’s body, followed by the infuriated roar of the engine and squeal of tyres as it raced away. When she had seen Sophia lying on the ground, she looked as though she were asleep. The upper part of her body had no tension to it, but one of her lower legs had an impossible, nauseating kink between knee and ankle. Georgia could feel the bile rising in her mouth even now, reminding her of the shame she had felt as she vomited while Danny ran over to help.