a place.’
The clouds gathered and the moisture thickened until it officially became rainthe steady sort of rain the birds carry on singing through.
Kate tried to breathe in but there was no air anywhere, her nostrils were full of rain and it seemed as though the Reverend Walker was staring at her from the end of a long green tunnel.
‘We’ve been coming to St Anthony’s every Sunday,’ she said again, before realising that she was repeating herself.
Somebody’s voicea long way offwas saying, ‘Only fifty per cent of places are offered on the basis of faith; the other fifty are offered according to catchment area criteria and whether a child has siblings at the school. Do you want to come inside?’ the Reverend said at last.
‘We’ve done everything righteverything,’ Kate yelled. ‘Right down to sitting through sermon after sermon on those fucking Sudanese orphans.’ She broke off, vaguely aware that the rain was running so steadily down her face now it was impairing her vision. The right-hand side of her head seemed to be filling with blood, and the weight of it was pulling her down through the rain towards the lawn. She stumbled, but managed to regain her balance. This prompted the Reverend Walker to say, ‘Come inside,’ again.
Kate stared at her, suddenly intensely aware of the fact that she was, in effect, accosting the vicar in her garden. If she took a look around her, the evidence would be there: her footprints in the gravel on the drive, and across the wet lawn behind her. God. This was exactly the sort of thing her mother would have done. God.
The church bells began ringing and, pushing the vicar’s hands away, she turned and ran back across the lawn and gravel drive, her head thumping so badly with migraine now that it was beginning to seriously affect her balance. She staggered towards the Audi. Somewhere beyond the bells there were screaming children and, beyond them, a dog was intermittently whining and yapping.
A workman standing in front of a Portaloo on the drive next door was staring at her. How long had he been standing there?
Ignoring him, she yanked open the driver’s door and fell into the carthe sound of the wet afternoon immediately muffled by safety glass as she slammed the door shut.
What was it she’d yelled at the Reverend Walker? Something about Sudanese orphans…?
Afraid, she phoned Robert, but Robert didn’t answer his phone.
Chapter 9
She pulled up in front of Village Montessori nearly twenty minutes latewhich, following stringent regulations, she’d have to pay for by the minutewith a full-blown migraine; but at least the rain had stopped. She retrieved Flo from the sensory room where she was lying on her back with fifteen other babieswho looked as if they’d just been thrown out of heaven, and landed on a rug of synthetic furall jerking their arms and legs towards the ceiling where silver spirals were revolving, overlooked severely by the black and white faces on the Wimmer-Ferguson Mind Shapes mural. There was a CD of rainforest sounds playing.
Mary handed her Flo from among the minute bodies jerking on the floor, and Kate wasn’t entirely sureif it hadn’t been for Marythat she would have recognised her daughter. The lighting in the sensory room was eerily low and Kate wondered how Mary coped, sitting among the parakeets and the jerking, snuffling bodies, with the door shut. Surely Village Montessori was in breach of EU health and safety regulations?
Once in her mother’s arms, Flo showed absolutely no sign of recognition. It must have been the same with Findlay atthis age, but with Flo, for some reason, Kate felt less able to cope. Flo twisted her head blearily from side to side, blinked her wet eyes at nothing in particular, posited a dribble of something white and curdled on Kate’s lapel then concussed herself on her collarboneand started to cry. Kate felt a wave of violence pass through her that she found difficult to controlbecause of the
The clouds gathered and the moisture thickened until it officially became rainthe steady sort of rain the birds carry on singing through.
Kate tried to breathe in but there was no air anywhere, her nostrils were full of rain and it seemed as though the Reverend Walker was staring at her from the end of a long green tunnel.
‘We’ve been coming to St Anthony’s every Sunday,’ she said again, before realising that she was repeating herself.
Somebody’s voicea long way offwas saying, ‘Only fifty per cent of places are offered on the basis of faith; the other fifty are offered according to catchment area criteria and whether a child has siblings at the school. Do you want to come inside?’ the Reverend said at last.
‘We’ve done everything righteverything,’ Kate yelled. ‘Right down to sitting through sermon after sermon on those fucking Sudanese orphans.’ She broke off, vaguely aware that the rain was running so steadily down her face now it was impairing her vision. The right-hand side of her head seemed to be filling with blood, and the weight of it was pulling her down through the rain towards the lawn. She stumbled, but managed to regain her balance. This prompted the Reverend Walker to say, ‘Come inside,’ again.
Kate stared at her, suddenly intensely aware of the fact that she was, in effect, accosting the vicar in her garden. If she took a look around her, the evidence would be there: her footprints in the gravel on the drive, and across the wet lawn behind her. God. This was exactly the sort of thing her mother would have done. God.
The church bells began ringing and, pushing the vicar’s hands away, she turned and ran back across the lawn and gravel drive, her head thumping so badly with migraine now that it was beginning to seriously affect her balance. She staggered towards the Audi. Somewhere beyond the bells there were screaming children and, beyond them, a dog was intermittently whining and yapping.
A workman standing in front of a Portaloo on the drive next door was staring at her. How long had he been standing there?
Ignoring him, she yanked open the driver’s door and fell into the carthe sound of the wet afternoon immediately muffled by safety glass as she slammed the door shut.
What was it she’d yelled at the Reverend Walker? Something about Sudanese orphans…?
Afraid, she phoned Robert, but Robert didn’t answer his phone.
Chapter 9
She pulled up in front of Village Montessori nearly twenty minutes latewhich, following stringent regulations, she’d have to pay for by the minutewith a full-blown migraine; but at least the rain had stopped. She retrieved Flo from the sensory room where she was lying on her back with fifteen other babieswho looked as if they’d just been thrown out of heaven, and landed on a rug of synthetic furall jerking their arms and legs towards the ceiling where silver spirals were revolving, overlooked severely by the black and white faces on the Wimmer-Ferguson Mind Shapes mural. There was a CD of rainforest sounds playing.
Mary handed her Flo from among the minute bodies jerking on the floor, and Kate wasn’t entirely sureif it hadn’t been for Marythat she would have recognised her daughter. The lighting in the sensory room was eerily low and Kate wondered how Mary coped, sitting among the parakeets and the jerking, snuffling bodies, with the door shut. Surely Village Montessori was in breach of EU health and safety regulations?
Once in her mother’s arms, Flo showed absolutely no sign of recognition. It must have been the same with Findlay atthis age, but with Flo, for some reason, Kate felt less able to cope. Flo twisted her head blearily from side to side, blinked her wet eyes at nothing in particular, posited a dribble of something white and curdled on Kate’s lapel then concussed herself on her collarboneand started to cry. Kate felt a wave of violence pass through her that she found difficult to controlbecause of the
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