‘At last. Here they come.’ Emily points to the broad, dark-haired figure of their teacher, Mr Jeffries, followed by an orderly two-by-two crocodile of five-year-olds. I’m in awe of how he gets them to come out of their classroom so neatly, especially as he’s newly qualified. I can barely manage two kids. How he does it with thirty is a mystery.
‘Leo!’ I wave my son over from the far end of the playground, where he’s in a huddle with some of the other preschool kids, but he’s pretending not to hear me. Sighing and shaking my head, I scan the line of children. I can see Pip’s daughter Sasha and Emily’s daughter Maisie, but I can’t seem to locate Rosie. The three of them are normally inseparable. I call over to my son once again. ‘Leo!’ This time I manage to fix him with a come-here-right-now stare. His shoulders dip and he scoots over, spraying gravel as he comes to a stop. ‘Stay here. We’re going in a minute.’
‘Where’s Rosie?’ he asks in his little croaky voice that’s so cute I can never stay cross at him for long.
‘Mrs Perry!’ Mr Jeffries catches my eye and waves me over.
‘I’ll keep an eye on Leo,’ Pip offers, then lowers her voice, ‘while you have some extra-curricular time with the sexy Mr J.’ She winks.
‘Er, I don’t think so. He looks about sixteen.’ I shake my head and shoot her a grin before walking across the playground to see Rosie’s teacher, wondering where my daughter could be. He’s definitely good-looking – he has that whole dark-haired, brooding Heathcliff vibe going on – but way, way too young. And anyway, I’m a happily married woman.
‘Hi, Mrs Perry.’ Mr Jeffries gives me a friendly nod. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
I wait while he hands off all the children to their parents, starting to feel a little uneasy about what he might have to tell me. Is Rosie ill? In trouble? Hurt? The playground is emptying. Pip waits under the oak tree with her two and Leo. I shrug my shoulders to let her know I have no idea what’s going on. She waves away my concern. ‘It’s fine,’ she calls out. ‘I’ll wait!’
‘Thanks,’ I mouth back.
‘Thank you for waiting, Mrs Perry,’ Mr Jeffries says in his calm, quiet way.
‘That’s okay. Where’s Rosie? Is she all right?’
‘She’s back in the classroom with our teaching assistant, Mrs Miller. Don’t worry, she’s not hurt or ill. Just a bit upset.’
‘Upset?’ We walk over to the classroom together and it’s a relief to reach the shade of the building.
‘Yes, she’s been in tears on and off since lunchtime.’
‘Tears? Why?’
‘She won’t tell me what’s wrong.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Rosie.’ My daughter is usually a happy-go-lucky chatterbox who never keeps anything to herself.
‘That’s what I thought.’ He pushes open the heavy glass door that leads into the bright, airy classroom. ‘I didn’t want to bring her out with the rest of the children. Thought it best if you collected her from the classroom and maybe try to get to the bottom of what’s going on.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
Inside, Rosie is sitting cross-legged on a cushion in the reading corner while Mrs Miller sits next to her, reading a story about a puppy. But my daughter’s thumb is plugged into her mouth and she doesn’t seem to be reacting to the story at all. Rosie hasn’t sucked her thumb for years.
And then, the strangest thing happens – when Rosie sees me, instead of smiling and coming over, her eyes widen, and she looks… panicked?
‘Hi, Rosie.’ I walk over and kneel in front of her, my heart beginning to knock uncomfortably in my chest. Usually, she gives me an enthusiastic welcome, throwing her arms around me and then talking non-stop about her day. But, right now, she’s staring down at the carpet, a tear sliding down her face. ‘Hey, baby, what’s wrong?’
Rosie scowls and I notice her fists clench by her side. I wipe away the tear from her cheek, but she doesn’t even seem to notice.
‘She’s been like this all afternoon,’ Mr Jeffries says in a low voice, crouching by my side.
Mrs Miller confirms this with a nod, closing the storybook and placing it back on the shelf.
‘Rosie, do you want to tell Mummy why you’re sad?’ I ask.
There’s no reaction other than a couple of furious blinks.
‘Did someone upset you? Did they say something unkind?’ She’s never acted like this before. I mean, she’s had a few sulks and tantrums, like any other child, but never this sad silence. I look from Mrs Miller to Mr Jeffries. I get to my feet and move off to the side. Mr Jeffries and Mrs Miller come and join me. ‘What on earth’s happened?’ I whisper.
Mr Jeffries shakes his head. ‘She won’t say. Mrs Miller, did she speak to you while I was outside?’
‘Nothing. Poor little mite looks like she’s in shock or something.’
My heart pounds harder as my protective instincts start to kick in. ‘And she’s been like this since lunchtime?’
Mrs Miller thinks for a moment. ‘Well, that’s when I first saw she wasn’t her usual self.’
‘So, did something happen? Did one of the other children say something to her? Did any of the lunch staff see or say anything?’ I hear the sharpness in my voice, the accusatory tone.
Mr Jeffries doesn’t seem offended. ‘I asked the teachers on playground duty, but none of them noticed anything out of the ordinary.’
I shake my head and grit my teeth, trying to calm down. I’m not the most laid-back where my kids are concerned, and I’ve always found it hard letting go. Rosie’s first day of school broke my heart; it was the first step in her becoming independent; her first proper move away from me, spending all day with people who aren’t her family. But for all my reluctance to be away from her, she’s never been a clingy child, neither of my two are. When we’re out socially, all I see is the back of their heads as they race off to be with their friends. She loves school, loves her friends. It’s so odd to see her this way.
I stand decisively. ‘I’ll take her home. Maybe she’ll open up to me on the walk back. Come on, Rosie, let’s go.’
She doesn’t move.
‘Rosie, come on, babe, we need to go. Leo’s waiting outside.’
At this, she looks up, her brown eyes huge and glistening. She adores her little brother. Treats him like her baby.
‘He’s wondering why you’re not coming out to see him. Come on.’
She gets up and smooths her skirt. I hold out my hand, worried for a moment that she’ll refuse to take it. Thankfully, she slips her hand into mine, but it feels light and distant, as if she doesn’t want it to be there. Nothing like her usual squeezy grip.
Mrs Miller hands me Rosie’s school bag. We say goodbye and leave the classroom. My daughter feels like a little stranger. My hands are clammy and my stomach flutters. Why is she acting so ill at ease around me?
Back outside in the still heat of the afternoon, the playground is now eerily quiet. I collect Leo from Pip, say goodbye to my friend without elaborating, and the three of us head for home. I decide to take the longer route around the lake to let Leo burn off some energy on his scooter, and to give Rosie a chance to open up.