“It’s okay, I’ll catch you later,” she said and moved away.
Miss Heathcliff led the way into her office. “Please take a seat.”
Mitchell followed her inside. Individual black sports shoes, broken trophies and lost sweaters were piled everywhere. She picked up a couple of pieces of paperwork, shook her head at them and set them back down again. “The last day of term is always such a kerfuffle,” she said.
“Poppy was excited by the idea of not doing much work today.”
She didn’t smile at his joke. “The children have been working on some notes for their school holiday project,” she said. “I’m expecting to see some excellent pieces.”
“I’ll make sure she does her best.”
“Good. I do suppose her end of year results came as a surprise to you?”
Mitchell clasped his hands together in his lap. “Um, end of year results?”
“You might have noticed Poppy’s grades in her report are noticeably lower this time around?”
His blank expression must have told her what she needed to know.
“Ah. Another missing report situation.” Miss Heathcliff tutted. “Please remain seated.” She left the room.
Mitchell felt like he was fourteen and sitting alongside Graham again, waiting for his punishment. He cursed himself for forgetting to ask Poppy about her report when he undoubtedly had it noted down in his hallway.
When Miss Heathcliff returned, she passed him two sheets of paper.
Mitchell scanned over them and saw Poppy’s grades had dropped across her subjects. He read parts of the comments. Not meeting her full potential...mind appears to be elsewhere...more effort needed.
“Oh.” He screwed his eyes shut, feeling instantly responsible. This was all his fault. It had to be. Perhaps she needed even more planning and structure to help her.
He couldn’t stop from babbling things Miss Heathcliff already knew. “Poppy’s mum died and I switched jobs to look after her. She’s been coping with everything really well. Or, so I thought.”
Miss Heathcliff observed him kindly. “The latter primary school years can be a time of great change for children and they all manage it differently. We’re here to give Poppy all the support she needs. I suggest we put this aside for now, Mr. Fisher, and start afresh in the next school year.”
“Thank you.”
“Notwithstanding, my expectations are high for Poppy’s holiday project. Perhaps it’s something you can work on together.”
“She says my ideas are boring,” he mused, but then mentally added it to their schedule of things to do together. “We’ll give it a go, though.”
“Good. And there is another important thing for Poppy to do during her break.”
“Yes?”
“She should have plenty of fun, Mr. Fisher. You only have one childhood, and we adults are a strong influence on that. Encourage Poppy to work hard, but to enjoy her time off, too. I understand she’s booked into the activity club here, during the school holidays?”
“Yes, and I’ll be spending time with her, too.”
“Well, that sounds just splendid. I’m sure she’ll have a great time.”
Mitchell left Miss Heathcliff’s office and still had several minutes until the after-school club finished. He peeked into Poppy’s classroom and the quiz was still in full swing. Twenty or so kids sat to attention, waiting for the next question. The box of miniature chocolates sat on tantalizing display on the teacher’s desk.
Mitchell patrolled the corridor, glancing into the classrooms, looking for Liza. The lilting, sorrowful sound of a violin came from the Year Six room and he stuck his head around the door to see Liza sitting on a child’s chair with her eyes closed, lost in the music. He tried to step quietly into the room but kicked a tambourine on the floor.
Startled, she stopped playing and lowered her violin. “Oh, hi. Did you mean to creep up on me like that?”
“Sorry to disturb you. It sounded...beautiful.”
“Thanks. It’s one of my favorite pieces.” She placed her violin in its case and closed it. “Did you know that listening to music increases the neurotransmitter dopamine? It makes you feel better.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You can get it from eating chocolate, too. Though that’s more fattening. I can’t imagine life without it.”
“Music or chocolate?”
“Both.” She gave him a quick smile. “Look, can we talk about Yvette’s lock? What was written on it?”
Mitchell took a child’s seat at the table opposite her, his knees jutting out like frog’s legs. He hoped he’d found the right padlock. “It said, ‘My heart is always yours.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
Liza jerked her head back as if struck. “‘My heart is always yours?’” she repeated. “Those words exactly?”
“Yes. Do you know them?”
“Uh-huh. They’re a song title,” she said. “Our Auntie Jean was a singer in the 1970s. She had a few hit songs in Germany, but nothing big here. I don’t know why because she was really good, like Stevie Nicks or something. Even better in my opinion. That song was her most popular one.”
“I don’t think I know it.”
She glanced shyly at him then began to sing, her voice sweet and mesmeric. The hairs on the back of Mitchell’s neck stood up to attention.
“The days ahead might be long, my friend,
Sometimes we’ll think they’ll never end,
But together we’ll make it, we’ll be strong,
My heart is always yours.”
She shook her head, embarrassed. “Auntie Jean sings it much better than me. She’s got soul, that woman. She wrote it after a doomed love affair, when she hit rock bottom. The emotion in her voice, when she sings, cuts you to the core. So, why would Yvette use it? She’s an accountant and married to her job. I’ve never known her to bother much with relationships.”
Mitchell shrugged. “It sounded, um—” He struggled to find the right word. “Otherworldly, in a good way. I think I might have heard it before.”
Lisa gave him a quick smile of thanks. “I have so many questions running around in my head about Yvette,” she said. “They won’t keep still. I don’t know where to start.”
“Well, what happened on the day she went missing?”
She clasped her hands together tightly. “Everything was so normal. It was hot, like today. That nice kind of heat when everyone is happy, not the sticky type. The three of us were supposed to go to Mum’s house for tea, the four Bradfield ladies together. Naomi was going to drive and pick up Yvette first, and then call for me. Except when Naomi got to Yvette’s apartment, she wasn’t home. Then she didn’t pick up our calls. After a while, Naomi drove over to my place. She was already really worried. We phoned Mum in case Yvette had gone straight there, but she hadn’t turned up. And we all waited and waited. I remember looking out of the window and watching the sun dipping lower and lower. The sky grew red, like fire, and she still didn’t arrive. Naomi had to get back to her kids...” Liza looked down and fiddled with a ring on her little finger. “Later that night, I called the police.”