Chapters (55)
- Cover
- ANNA WHARTON
- Dedication page
- 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
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Praise
- THE IMPOSTER
She pushes back her duvet, and pads across the room. She stands in front of one long wall covered in cuttings and closes her eyes. She sticks out her finger, swirls it in the air and dots it down at random. It lands on a story about police dogs searching Ferry Meadows. She’s already been there. She closes her eyes and tries again. This time it lands on the story about the school children celebrating Angie’s life.
That is how Chloe will start.
She arrives at the school just after 2.30 p.m.
‘Sorry, I’m late,’ she says to the receptionist. ‘I have a meeting with the deputy head at two thirty?’
‘Not to worry, her previous meeting has overrun anyway.’
‘That’s OK then,’ Chloe says.
The receptionist asks her to take a seat. She removes her coat and folds it over on her lap. Then crosses her legs, and refolds her coat. She hasn’t been inside a school since she attended one herself. She feels conscious of her own skin on her bones. She tries to distract herself by looking at the children’s artwork. On the walls are giant red letters, each spelling out one of the school values. Chloe reads them: Empathy, Respect, Courage, Honesty. Her eyes flicker across that last one.
Beside the words are photographs of children in their uniforms. The little girls in the pictures wear blue gingham dresses – a summer uniform Angie never got to wear. Then, along the way, tucked away slightly, not far from the receptionist’s office, is another photograph. Chloe’s breath catches inside her throat. She stands up and steps a foot closer. It’s the same school portrait of Angie that was printed in almost all of the newspapers, and underneath, in copperplate handwriting, no name, just four simple words: Always in our hearts.
She knew she had been right to come here.
An office door opens and a woman says her name as she walks towards her with a hand outstretched.
‘Naomi Taylor, deputy head, so sorry to have kept you waiting.’
‘Oh, that’s OK,’ Chloe says, tearing her eyes away from the photograph. ‘I was late myself.’
The woman wears dangly earrings and for some reason, Chloe flicks her own hair away from her shoulders.
‘Anyway, let’s get on with the tour,’ she says, handing Chloe a school brochure. ‘How old did you say your little one is?’
‘Er, four,’ Chloe replies quickly.
‘Right, and remind me, do you have a boy or a—’
‘Girl,’ Chloe answers.
‘OK, so as she would be entering reception, shall we start there?’