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

‘Do you come here often?’ Jennifer asked. ‘The staff seem to very keen to please you.’

He shook his head. ‘Not very often. The kids like to come here when they visit me. I think that’s the best thing about Italian restaurants – the service. Italians seem to be very good at the personal touch. I know Gino makes a point of remembering the faces of his customers.’

The food, when it arrived, was exceptional and, by the end of it, Jennifer was feeling comfortably full and distinctly mellow. The conversation had flowed easily and David had been a charming companion, frequently making her laugh with his observations about some of the characters who lived in Chalkham, some of whom she had met on her evenings at the Fox and Hare.

She had reciprocated with some of her own funny anecdotes about her time in schools.

‘I was doing some phonics with a class who weren’t the brightest. We were working on different ways of making the ay sound. I’d made it into a game. I gave them clues and they’d have to guess the word with the ay sound. Anyway, it was going well until they got stuck on a particular word. The clue was that it’s something Santa rides on. They were all looking puzzled when this young lad, his name was Jay, shot up his hand. ‘What do you think, Jay?’ I asked encouragingly. He was a boy who found spelling particularly difficult. He screwed up his face. ‘I know what it is but I can’t think what it’s called.’ ‘Remember it rhymes with ay, like Jay – that should help,’ I said. He shook his head despondently and then, suddenly, his eyes lit up. ‘I’ve got it,’ he shouted triumphantly, ‘It’s a don-kay!’ My teaching assistant had to go out of the room, she was laughing so much.’

David chuckled. ‘It must have been difficult to keep a straight face.’ He paused. ‘You obviously loved your job.’

‘I did. I don’t miss all the hassle and the endless meetings and the ridiculous amount of paperwork but I do miss the children and moments like that. There was always something to laugh at.’

‘So … why did you retire so early? Look, I couldn’t help but notice your reaction when there was talk of that poor lad who died when we were at the quiz night. It’s fine for you to tell me it’s none of my business … I was just wondering, that’s all.’

Jennifer blanched and stiffened as he spoke and he reached across to take hold of her hand.

‘Sorry. Forget I mentioned it.’ He could have kicked himself for bringing it up. The evening had been going so well and she had seemed so relaxed.

Jennifer took a deep breath. She had nothing to be ashamed of but it was incredibly difficult to talk about it. All of those constantly suppressed feelings of grief and guilt rose to the surface and her eyes filled with tears. Perhaps it would help to talk about it. Maybe then she'd stop seeing things which were not there.

‘He was a pupil at my school,’ she began, her eyes turned away from him. ‘His name was Jasper Jones and he was a lovely lad. He hadn’t been with us long; he’d come from somewhere in Wales. Anyway, he was on a year six residential trip at one of those outdoor activity centres and there was a terrible accident. Somehow, his safety equipment came loose and he fell when he was on a rope course. He died instantly.’

She felt his fingers tighten around hers and shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe it happened. That poor boy …and his family. I can’t think of anything worse than to lose a child. The whole thing was just terrible.’

‘It must have been awful for the other children and his teacher too,’ he said softly.

She nodded. ‘It was. The whole community was devastated and, quite rightly, wanted someone to blame.’

‘Surely they didn’t blame you? Were you even there?’ he asked.

She looked up and saw the concern in his eyes. ‘No, I wasn’t there and no, they didn’t blame me, at least not directly. There were some pretty horrible things said on social media sites about the staff who had been on the trip and, well, it was all a nightmare really …’ Her voice tailed off as she remembered the inquiry that followed and the angry faces of the parents in the playground. ‘All the school staff were completely exonerated by the police and the venue was closed down following an inquiry. Apparently, the webbing on his harness had snapped so it must have been in poor condition. People were meant to check these things but they obviously hadn’t done so.’

‘What happened after that?’

She sighed. ‘We all tried to carry on as before but it was hopeless. How do you recover from something like that? A child in our care had died; we all felt responsible. I had booked the trip myself. We'd often taken children there over the years and they'd always had a great time. But the fact remains that if I hadn’t organised it, he would still be alive today.’

‘You can’t think like that. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known,’ he argued. His heart constricted with pity for her as she shrugged.

‘I was the headteacher and, as such, I was in charge. I have to take some responsibility for what happened.’ She sighed again. ‘The teacher who had led the trip decided to leave the profession and I took early retirement. It was just too painful to stay on; the reminders were there every day.’ She gave him a watery smile. ‘Sorry … that’s well and truly put a dampener on the evening. It was a lovely meal. Thank you, and thank you for listening too.’

He squeezed her hand once more and then let it go. It was strange how adrift she suddenly felt without it to hold on to.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘I feel honoured