Page 76 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
“Sit down while I put the kettle on.”
Shelley perched on a stool at the granite-topped centre island, wiping her eyes on her cuff. Lisa put a box of tissues beside her, and Shelley took several, scrubbing her eyes and blowing her nose. She had never felt more miserable or ashamed of herself in her life.
“Now.” Lisa brought over two cups of tea and sat down opposite her. “Tell me.”
Shelley shrugged, still feeling sick. “There’s nothing to tell. I can’t read, that’s all.”
“Are you dyslexic?”
“No. Just thick.”
“No, you’re not,” Lisa retorted sharply. “I’ve known you for three years, and I know darned well you’re not thick. So, tell me.”
Shelley drew in a deep breath. “It was just that I changed schools so often, every time I moved to a different foster home. Sometimes I’d be at one only for a few weeks before I got moved again. It was all so confusing.”
She could feel the tears welling up again as the bitter memories surfaced.
“I couldn’t understand what was going on and the teachers never had time to help me catch up. And sometimes the other kids could be really nasty, called me dumbo and that. In the end I just gave up.”
“I’m not surprised. It sounds like a right mess.” Lisa reached across and took her hand. “But you’re bright, Shelley. I know that. You could learn, if you want to.”
Shelley shook her head. “I tried, when I was at the hostel in London. I went to classes, but it was just like being at school all over again.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that. Listen, my mum was a primary school teacher. She’s taught hundreds of kids to read. She’d be really happy to teach you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Shelley drew back. “No. I wouldn’t want to bother her.”
“Rubbish, it wouldn’t be a bother. She’s retired now, and since my nanna died she’s been complaining that she hasn’t got enough to do. She’d really enjoy being able to use her skills again. One-to-one tuition. What do you say?”
Shelley hesitated. “I’d pay her.”
She saw Lisa ready to refuse, but then she smiled wryly. “Okay, if you insist. I’ll call her now and arrange for you to meet with her and talk about it.”
Before Shelley could change her mind, Lisa had picked up her phone and clicked on her mum’s number. It rang a couple of times, then Shelley heard Helen Channing’s voice.
“Hello, dear.”
“Hi, Mum. What are you doing?”
“Not much. Tidying the kitchen drawers, as a matter of fact. Just sandpapering the anchor, as your grandfather used to say. Why?”
“Can you spare half an hour or so?”
“Happily. What do you want?”
“How would you like to take on a pupil for literacy lessons?”
“You mean Shelley?”
Shelley felt that roiling in her stomach again.
Lisa laughed. “How did you know?”
“Sweetheart, I taught primary school for thirty years, give or take. I know how to recognise when someone’s trying to cover up.”
“Brilliant. Look, she’s here at my house. Could you pop down and have a chat with her about it?”
“Right now?”
