Part three of our serialised story by Queenie Young, Illustrated by Pete Hill
It was unseasonably warm, but it didn’t matter to Lucy what the weather did – as long as it didn’t rain. It had been raining incessantly for the past week, so much so that the local river had swelled dangerously and eventually burst its banks. But now, finally, the sun had come out and Lucy, deciding to make the most of the sunshine, took her mug of tea out into the garden. Balancing her sketchbook on her knees, she began doodling the sheep, which responded by bleating loudly at her for no good reason at all.
Thankfully they hadn’t lost Suzy the sheep after all, which was a huge relief all round. Lucy watched now as Suzy ripped up and chewed a sizeable wodge of grass. Work had picked up too, which had meant that the nights hadn’t been so sleepless, so Lucy had a lot to be thankful for. In fact, with the rain and the quantity of work to be done, she had spent the past few days at her desk, sketching, drawing and designing. To onlookers it might have seemed strange that she should choose to spend a break drawing, but her doodling of the sheep seemed to calm her mind somehow. Being out in the open allowed her to breathe in the clean air and take in the rolling countryside that swaddled her home as though it were an egg nestled on a huge green cushion.
Before long Lucy heard the familiar rumble of the school bus trundling up the lane towards the cottage. It came by daily, collecting and depositing those children who lived in the more rural locations from the local primary school. On seeing her, David, the driver, wound down his window, bipped the horn and waved at Lucy.
‘Making the most of this sun are we?’ he asked, smiling brightly. ‘It won’t last mind, I hear the rain’ll be back again by Wednesday.’
Lucy rolled her eyes to show her disapproval of David’s weather news and watched as Jack appeared in the doorway of the bus, carrying a large rolled up piece of paper.
‘Quite the artist you’ve got there,’ said David, nodding at what Jack was holding. ‘Must take after his mum.’ He winked and Lucy chuckled.
‘Same time tomorrow then?’ he asked Jack, as though going to school was more a choice than an obligation. Jack smiled and nodded emphatically, which made Lucy’s heart swell, and David tooted his horn again as he manoeuvred the bus back down the narrow lane.
‘Wow!’ exclaimed Lucy, as Jack bounded into the garden and unfurled the rolled up poster sized piece of paper to show her. A collage of a countryside scene filled the space – pieces of pasta, glitter, lentils, torn tissue paper and remnants of cloth came together in the composition which, even to Lucy’s biased mother’s eye, showed skill and promise.
‘What did your teacher say to this?’ she asked, pulling Jack into a hug.
‘He liked it,’ announced Jack proudly. ‘He said he’ll talk to you about it at parents’ evening next week.’
‘Did he now?’ said Lucy. She’d forgotten that parents’ evening was coming up and instantly felt guilty at the reminder. Her work had taken over recently, she knew that, and she’d taken her eye off the ball a little. She hadn’t even been to see Jack’s teacher to chat about how he’d been settling in since the move.
Silently, as she and Jack went into the cottage to hunt out something for tea, she resolved to take Jack to school tomorrow and pop in to see his teacher and personally make an appointment for parents evening…
…
‘It’s OK, I’m going to take Jack in today,’ said Lucy when David appeared in the big white minibus the following morning. ‘I ought to have said so yesterday, David, I’m sorry.’
‘No problem,’ called David. ‘Farmer Lynch is moving his sheep up to the next field down at Ingle Farm this morning, so I expect we’ll get stuck among a load of sheep blocking the road and arrive late anyway. Take a detour if I were you,’ he called as he drove off again.
And good advice it had been too. After locating an alternative route on her satnav, and having both bolted down a big bowl of cornflakes in double quick time so they wouldn’t be late, Lucy and Jack had made it to school long before lessons were due to start and, sure enough, there was no sign of the school bus anywhere. In fact, hardly any pupils were arriving, just a steady trickle of cars as teachers were turning up for the day ahead.
‘Mum, that’s Mr Evans, there,’ said Jack tugging at Lucy’s jacket and pointing across the school car park. There was something familiar about Mr Evans’s gait, which Lucy couldn’t quite place and she watched as he rummaged about in the boot of his car, pulling out a cardboard box, brimming with poster paints. As he straightened and closed the hatchback, Lucy stared open-mouthed at him.
She hadn’t recognised him at first without the ridiculous red bobble hat that he had worn when he had come to collect his Aunt Irene from sewing class, but there was no mistaking that face, and those grey eyes.
‘Are you sure that’s your teacher?’ asked Lucy. She knew it was a stupid question, but she couldn’t think of what else to say. Clearly he certainly was Jack’s teacher by the way he waved and smiled at Jack as he headed across the car park to the gates of the playground. He stopped abruptly when he saw Lucy.
Now what? He couldn’t ignore her this time. And she couldn’t hold out on the promise that she’d ignore him after he’d rudely snubbed her at the village hall. An awkward silence hung in the air until Jack broke it.
‘Mr Evans, this is my mum. She wants to know if you think my picture is any good.’ Lucy couldn’t help but smile at Jack’s attempt at an introduction and his skewed understanding of why she was coming to see his teacher.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Mr Evans, and his eyes locked with Lucy’s.
‘Hello Jack’s mum, I’m Guy Evans,’ he said, holding out his hand and balancing the box of paints in the crook of his other arm. ‘We’ve met before, I think.’ Lucy thought she spotted a half smile, but perhaps not. He was looking at her strangely, though, of that she was sure.
She cleared her throat. ‘Mr Evans…’
‘Guy,’ he prompted.
‘I realise that I haven’t been to see you yet to talk about Jack,’ she began, turning to look at Jack who was now engaged in chasing a football around the playground with a group of boys. ‘I wanted to see how he was settling in. What I mean is…’ She couldn’t seem to find the words to convey what she meant. And to make things worse, Guy Evans was frowning at her. And now he was leaning forward…
With horror Lucy thought for a split second that he might kiss her, and with even greater horror that she might not have minded. Instead, however, she watched as Guy’s hand came towards her hair, tugging at a strand of it and holding up a large cornflake between his thumb and forefinger. He could barely contain his amusement.
‘Well at least someone has had breakfast this morning,’ he said with a wink. ‘Look, why don’t you come inside, there’s still some time before school starts. For a start, I’m dying for a coffee, and I still haven’t conditioned my hair with Weetabix yet.’
Lucy narrowed her eyes but followed him as he strode into the small school building. As she did, she considered the idea that perhaps the grumpier, more aloof Guy Evans was an easier person to deal with than this wittier, more attractive version.
