Contents (71)
- THE
- DAUGHTER
- MICHELLE FRANCES
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
TWENTY-THREE
2005
Kate sat down on the metal-legged plastic chair in the headteacher’s office, Becky taking the seat next to her, swinging her legs quietly back and forth. With a pang, Kate noticed how Becky’s feet just touched the floor now, another marker of how she was growing up.
‘Thank you for coming in,’ said Mrs Parker (‘Call me Mrs P’), going to sit opposite them. Over Mrs P’s shoulder, out of the window, Kate could see the playground teeming with kids and parents – a swathe of blue uniforms ready to go home. She had no idea why she’d been summoned to this private meeting with the headteacher but had been told by the office staff that it was ‘nothing bad’.
‘So, as you’re obviously aware, it’s Becky’s last year of primary school,’ said Mrs P. ‘Have you had any thoughts on where next?’
Kate looked at Becky, nonplussed. ‘Well . . . it would be Priory . . .’ It was the local state school, part of a large Academy chain that hoovered up most of the kids in the area.
Mrs P smiled. ‘Hmm. And I wouldn’t be one to knock Priory, but I wondered if you were aware of Hillcrest?’
Kate was, vaguely, in the same way she was aware of skiing holidays and branded trainers. Things other people did. People with money. She wondered why Mrs P was talking to her about it; surely it was obvious they could never afford a private school – for that’s what it was. She had added to the money her dad had given her at Becky’s birth, a carefully put away ten pounds a month, for that was all she could afford. It was intended to help with Becky’s university costs, so she couldn’t think about blowing it on school fees. Kate inwardly snorted. It would barely cover half a term, anyway. She felt a rosy glow appear at the top of her cheeks.
‘It’s not really an option,’ she said, thinking, you might as well ask me to fund a trip to the moon.
‘I think it could be.’
Kate opened her mouth to speak but Mrs P gently held up a hand.
‘Allow me to finish. Once a year, they take in a child from a local primary school and offer them a full scholarship. As you’re aware, Becky is extremely bright, and she works hard.’
Kate felt Becky bloom next to her.
‘I think she has a good chance,’ continued Mrs P, ‘and I would certainly write her a glowing reference.’
Kate didn’t know what to say. Her daughter at a fancy private school? It was so far from the realm of possibility she couldn’t quite imagine it. And anyway, would she fit in with all those hoity-toity posh kids? Would she be happy?
‘At least go and see,’ said Mrs P. ‘They have an open evening next Thursday.’ She turned to Becky. ‘You’d like to see it, wouldn’t you, Becky? If you got in . . . well, I believe they have horse riding.’