The Girl in the Scrapbook Carolyn Ruffles (read an ebook week txt) 📖

She felt the blood returning to her face in a rush as she made her way to the ladies’. She should have expected it, she realised. After all, it had been on the national news and in all the papers at the time. The memory of it all still made her feel sick, over a year later. It had been a residential trip to an outdoor activity centre run by trained staff and led by her most experienced teacher. Nothing should have gone wrong. Yet it did and a child had died; a likeable, outgoing, cheeky boy named Jasper Jones. His face still haunted her dreams at night. She herself had not been there but, as the headteacher, she felt acutely that his death was her responsibility. An enquiry had exonerated her and her staff and blame instead had focused on the activity centre and some of their procedures but that made no difference. Ultimately, she knew she would have to live with the guilt for the rest of her life.

Remaining in her job became untenable. How could she face parents when something like that had happened? The following term she had written to the chair of governors, tendering her resignation, and had remained in post until her replacement had been found.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and, to compose herself, she splashed her face with cold water. She then took her time reapplying her make up while she considered what she might say in response to further questions. Should she tell them? That would certainly put a dampener on the evening! Well, she decided, she would not lie if asked a direct question but she would not offer information either. She would just have to play it by ear.

Fortunately, when she returned to her table, the preliminaries had started for the first race of the evening and she was able to join the queue to place her bets, unsuccessfully as it turned out. The rest of the evening passed in a blur as the races were shown in quick succession and the raffle was drawn. It was then announced that two thousand pounds had been raised for the Air Ambulance and thanks were given to all who had helped to make the evening a success.

Jennifer realised, as she fetched her coat, that she'd thoroughly enjoyed the evening and the company of the people around the table. She would have to invite them all round to the cottage for a meal perhaps. When she returned to say her goodbyes, she discovered there had been some discussion, in her absence, about who should walk her home. She had to laugh. For years, she had locked up her school late at night and gone home alone, completely unmolested. She was unused to such old-fashioned chivalry.

‘It makes no sense for you to walk Jen home,’ David was saying to Jeremy. ‘You live on the other side of the village. I live next door – I’ll do it.’

‘But I thought you were taking me home,’ Pandora pouted.

‘You brought your car, remember,’ David replied, looking pointedly at her red high heels. ‘You didn’t want to ruin your shoes.’

‘Yes, but I was going to drive you home. I thought we were going to have a nightcap at mine,’ she wheedled, taking hold of his arm and stroking his bicep.

‘Ok, as long as we take Jen home too. Do you fancy a nightcap, Jen?’ he asked, gently extricating himself from Pandora’s grasp. Pandora shot her a venomous look.

‘I’m fine thanks. I could do with some fresh air and I’m very capable of walking home myself. Please don’t change your plans on my account,’ she said diplomatically.

‘I could use some air too. Right, that settles it. I’ll walk with Jen. Sorry Pandora, can we take a rain check on the nightcap?’

Pandora hid her disappointment with a sultry smile and leaned forward to kiss David lingeringly on the lips. ‘Of course, darling,’ she said huskily. ‘Just don’t leave it too long.’

◆◆◆

‘You didn’t need to do this,’ Jennifer said as they were walking home. The indignation she felt at David’s usual high-handedness was tempered by the fact that she felt unexpectedly, secretly pleased he had given her preference over the very glamorous Pandora Pardew.

‘I know.’

‘Pandora was expecting you to go home with her. I feel bad for her.’

‘No need. She’ll get over it.’

‘Have you been together long?’ she asked politely.

‘We’re not together, as you put it. We’re just friends.’

‘Oh, I see.’

They settled into a companionable silence as they walked briskly along Chalkham High Street. Jennifer was feeling distinctly mellow after three glasses of wine and, she rationalised, this made David’s presence more palatable. It was a cold, clear, starlit night and the cover of darkness made her feel much more comfortable with him.

‘She’s lonely,’ he said suddenly. ‘Pandora, that is, and she’s also used to having her own way. That’s a dangerous combination for a single man of a certain age.’

She could feel his smile. ‘I can’t imagine she’s been on her own for long.’

‘About two years. She moved into the old farmhouse with her husband about five years ago. I think she was his second wife and I don’t think he was her first husband. Anyway, he worked in the city so she was left to her own devices quite a lot. I guess she was bored. Well, the upshot of the story is that she had a fling with the gardener, the husband found out, they split up and later got divorced. She got the house so we were stuck with her.’

‘I see,’ she said again. ‘What about you? Have you always been single?’

‘No, I was married. I’ve got two kids, both happily settled themselves. My wife died six years ago.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

Instinctively, she reached for his arm and gave it a squeeze. They walked the remainder of the journey in silence and stopped outside Jennifer’s cottage.

‘Thank you for walking me home,’ she said formally.’

‘Thank you for letting me,’