tightly
across her chest. She did not enjoy being back in the musty,
cluttered office. It still felt overly warm in there, in spite of
the fact that it had not been used since yesterday. The blinds were
drawn, allowing only the tiniest peep of sunlight to leak inside.
She glanced at the door, expecting it to open at any moment. The
thought of being caught terrified her, for it would mean meetings,
phone calls and letters to her father. At least, that was what she
understood of the disciplinary system, and she wasn’t keen on the
attention such things would attract, not least another
confrontation with her father.
And then she caught
sight of the clipboard on the table, and instantly her anxiety was
replaced with curiosity. She found herself wondering what Mr Oakley
had written about her, and whether or not she could use the
information to avoid more counselling sessions. The opportunity was
too good to miss.
She picked up the
clipboard and began reading almost before she even realised it. The
piece of paper seemed quite standard for a counselling session;
Felicity’s name was printed at the top, along with her date of
birth and address. The reason for counselling was listed as
‘maternal bereavement’. There were a few notes from her teachers
about her behaviour, listing words such as ‘quiet’, ‘unresponsive’
and ‘shy’, but that was not what drew Felicity’s attention.
Attached to the top of the sheet was a scrap of paper with a list
of names. She didn’t recognise any of them, but she instantly
noticed that they were all female. A few of them had been crossed
out. One of them appeared to be of particular importance, for it
was both circled and underlined several times. It was Felicity
Lucas.
Confused and
intrigued, Felicity lifted the page to reveal a bunch of newspaper
clippings. They were not front page news stories, and few of them
had pictures, but as her eyes traced the words of the headlines and
scanned the images, Felicity realised that every article was about
a car accident. She flicked through them, skimming the articles,
until she came across one that she recognised. It was the accident
that had caused her mother’s death.
She was so surprised
that she dropped the clipboard and it clattered noisily as it
landed on the floor.
Hollie and Jamie
turned around at the noise. “You okay, Fliss?” Hollie
asked.
“Uh, yes,” Felicity
stammered as she bent down to scoop up the papers that had come
loose from the clipboard, hesitating as she came across the
newspaper clippings. With shaking hands, she piled the papers back
in the order in which she had found them and replaced the clipboard
on the table. The news article relating to her mother, however,
found its way into her blazer pocket.
Something caught her
eye as she was about to stand up. On the floor, next to one of the
chairs, was a briefcase. It was open, and spilling out from the top
of it was a wide variety of papers, folders and books. It must have
belonged to Mr Oakley, for the way in which it had been so
carelessly packed was reminiscent of the cluttered, untidy nature
of the office.
One of the books was
open, and Felicity saw that it was filled with handwritten notes.
The strange nature of this school counsellor caused her curiosity
to get the better of her once again, except it was now mingled with
an unnerving suspicion, though she knew not what for. Without any
regard for the consequences, Felicity pulled the book out of the
suitcase and began hastily flicking through it.
Notes, diagrams,
symbols and images littered the pages. Some of it was in a language
that Felicity couldn’t read and didn’t even recognise. She did,
however, recognise the style of the handwriting. The loops and
curls were unmistakable. It wasn’t Mr Oakley’s harsh, capitalised
style, but the feminine script of her very own mother.
“What?” Hollie’s cry
made Felicity’s jump and slam the book shut. “What do you mean,
he’s not there?”
“His
across her chest. She did not enjoy being back in the musty,
cluttered office. It still felt overly warm in there, in spite of
the fact that it had not been used since yesterday. The blinds were
drawn, allowing only the tiniest peep of sunlight to leak inside.
She glanced at the door, expecting it to open at any moment. The
thought of being caught terrified her, for it would mean meetings,
phone calls and letters to her father. At least, that was what she
understood of the disciplinary system, and she wasn’t keen on the
attention such things would attract, not least another
confrontation with her father.
And then she caught
sight of the clipboard on the table, and instantly her anxiety was
replaced with curiosity. She found herself wondering what Mr Oakley
had written about her, and whether or not she could use the
information to avoid more counselling sessions. The opportunity was
too good to miss.
She picked up the
clipboard and began reading almost before she even realised it. The
piece of paper seemed quite standard for a counselling session;
Felicity’s name was printed at the top, along with her date of
birth and address. The reason for counselling was listed as
‘maternal bereavement’. There were a few notes from her teachers
about her behaviour, listing words such as ‘quiet’, ‘unresponsive’
and ‘shy’, but that was not what drew Felicity’s attention.
Attached to the top of the sheet was a scrap of paper with a list
of names. She didn’t recognise any of them, but she instantly
noticed that they were all female. A few of them had been crossed
out. One of them appeared to be of particular importance, for it
was both circled and underlined several times. It was Felicity
Lucas.
Confused and
intrigued, Felicity lifted the page to reveal a bunch of newspaper
clippings. They were not front page news stories, and few of them
had pictures, but as her eyes traced the words of the headlines and
scanned the images, Felicity realised that every article was about
a car accident. She flicked through them, skimming the articles,
until she came across one that she recognised. It was the accident
that had caused her mother’s death.
She was so surprised
that she dropped the clipboard and it clattered noisily as it
landed on the floor.
Hollie and Jamie
turned around at the noise. “You okay, Fliss?” Hollie
asked.
“Uh, yes,” Felicity
stammered as she bent down to scoop up the papers that had come
loose from the clipboard, hesitating as she came across the
newspaper clippings. With shaking hands, she piled the papers back
in the order in which she had found them and replaced the clipboard
on the table. The news article relating to her mother, however,
found its way into her blazer pocket.
Something caught her
eye as she was about to stand up. On the floor, next to one of the
chairs, was a briefcase. It was open, and spilling out from the top
of it was a wide variety of papers, folders and books. It must have
belonged to Mr Oakley, for the way in which it had been so
carelessly packed was reminiscent of the cluttered, untidy nature
of the office.
One of the books was
open, and Felicity saw that it was filled with handwritten notes.
The strange nature of this school counsellor caused her curiosity
to get the better of her once again, except it was now mingled with
an unnerving suspicion, though she knew not what for. Without any
regard for the consequences, Felicity pulled the book out of the
suitcase and began hastily flicking through it.
Notes, diagrams,
symbols and images littered the pages. Some of it was in a language
that Felicity couldn’t read and didn’t even recognise. She did,
however, recognise the style of the handwriting. The loops and
curls were unmistakable. It wasn’t Mr Oakley’s harsh, capitalised
style, but the feminine script of her very own mother.
“What?” Hollie’s cry
made Felicity’s jump and slam the book shut. “What do you mean,
he’s not there?”
“His
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