Page 26 of Second Story

I should head home right now like Josh wanted, but I can’t help nodding. “I could be.” There is room at the pub for me.

My heart breaks at Isaac sounding this disbelieving. “And you… you really vouched for me? Told them I was a safe pair of hands?”

I nod again.

There are cars between us now. Shadows cast by more trees. I can still see Isaac clearly enough to watch his shoulders bow the same way as when I told him he was his brother’s one and only option to stay out of the care system. And I get to see them straighten when he comes to a second quick decision about keeping someone.

Me.

“If you really want to know what happened to us, you could come back and listen.”

7

ISAAC

Nerves kick in bright and early the next morning, and my hands shake while attempting to tame Lenny’s hair after we both wake in a house full of boarding students. Ruth must notice. She isn’t only a teacher, she’s a houseparent who magics up a box of supplies along with an offer before breakfast. “Let me?” She then makes short work of neatening his wildness.

It’s weird to see someone else take care of him. I have to shove my hands in my pockets. That’s a reminder of Joe, only I don’t do it to hide scars like he does. I’m having to work hard to stop myself from taking over, and I would if Lenny didn’t close his eyes when Ruth smooths baby hairs the same way Mum would. He soaks up this contact, this touch, leaning into her the same way he did last night when she offered to read his bedtime story.

I should be grateful for both reprieves from a role I never asked for.

I’m staticky instead. Twitchy with nerves about telling a second story, and so desperate for a happy ending that I can’t force a single word out.

Maybe she notices that too. Ruth makes conversation that doesn’t require my contribution. “I’ve been a houseparent here since we married.” She tilts her head at a framed photo of a man holding a baby. “Four years later, who knows how many students, and a little boy of my own, and there’s no bedhead I can’t wrangle.” She answers an unasked question. “He’s away with some of the other teachers on an outreach teaching project for migrants. Luke’s partner is out there with him. They’ll be back from France in a month or so.” She rubs her belly. “Can’t come soon enough.”

I find my voice then. “Can I help?”

Keeping busy is so much better. She finds jobs for me when it’s time for her to teach, and the morning passes faster than if I had time to overthink which story to run with later. I save that overthinking for what happened under a weeping willow.

With Joe.

I can’t help touching my lips each time I rewind and replay him rasping a question in its shadows.

“You sure?”

I was sure he was the bad guy in a horror story I told myself over and over. So sure. Now, I’m not sure of anything apart from Joe being on my mind between teaching sessions. My ears prick each time I hear footsteps outside the classroom, and I can’t help checking the car park each time I pass a window. That’s a reminder of when he used to check in on Lenny, and of how I used to watch out for him as if I were the reason for his visits.

I put him in an impossible situation.

Ruth regains my attention. “That was a good morning. Now we’ll work outside. We do that as often as we can here. There’s nothing like fresh air and mixed age groups.” She crouches beside a table to answer a question. “Yes, Maisie. Teo and Noah will be our helpers.” She accepts my help to get up, which is another Mum blast from the past. So is Ruth loading me upwith things to carry when we raid a supply cupboard in another classroom.

“The little ones love it when the older ones help. They learn by example. Get to see what will be possible if they keep trying. The older ones get to feel looked up to and successful. Lots and lots of lovely chances to scaffold learning and grow resilience. You watch, you’ll see.”

She waves at her own son on the way out of the supply cupboard. A whole class of preschoolers wave back, including their teacher—Rowan, I remember from my first time here. He plays a penny whistle tune for us to march those craft supplies across his classroom, to skip in time with, to tiptoe, and then to stamp and twirl, and it isn’t hard to join in with this dance party.

Ruth still spins as I follow her back to that courtyard where she swaps places with another teacher. Lenny hasn’t even noticed I was missing, too busy colouring with a trio of chatty boys who don’t seem to care that he only listens.

Ruth directs me to leave these craft supplies next to another stack of envelopes. “I’ll keep him good and busy with some more time capsule work while you’re interviewing. Until then, can you be an extra pair of eyes for me? The theme today is moving on, and that isn’t easy for everybody.” She scans the courtyard, gaze landing on an older student who could give Hayden a run for his giant money. “Teo will lend me a hand when you’re gone. He’s getting some teaching experience ahead of deciding on his final pathway, and he’s from London too, like Noah. Speaking of, where is he?” She squints. “Ah. There.”

This final student helper is a redhead who hangs back, watchful instead of participating.

She lowers her voice. “I don’t really need his help. We’re all keeping an eye on him.” She sighs quietly. “He was settling in so well. Starting to thaw, you know, but lately?” Her headshake issubtle. “He’s involved in a nasty court case. I think the date must be close. Sword hanging over his head, poor lamb.”

I know that helpless feeling. That dread.

Ruth labels my own emotions.

“He’s frozen because he’s powerless. Scared about a process he has no control over. We’re also observing him for potential additional support reasons, but I’m sure that’s what this stony face is down to. Fear.”

---