Page 8 of The First Mistake

It only occurs to me then that he doesn’t know about the conversation I had with Miss Watts this morning. I wonder if the problem is bigger than either of us thought.

‘They don’t sound that concerned,’ he goes on. ‘They’re probably just worried about concussion and need to cover their backs.’

I end the call and turn up the radio in an attempt to drown out the noise in my brain.

When I reach the school, I park in the space reserved for the headmaster and half walk, half run into reception, trying hard not to look how I feel.

‘Ah, hello Mrs Davies,’ says Carole, the school secretary, careful to keep her tone upbeat. I’m quite sure they have a file on me with the words ‘Handle with care – unexpectedly widowed’ written in big red marker pen. ‘Nothing to worry about, it’s just that Olivia had a little fall.’

‘Is she okay?’ I ask, following her through the double doors.

The unmistakable stench of boiled cabbage wafts under my nose as my heels click-clack on the polished wooden floor of the dining hall. It’s the same smell as my school dinner thirty years ago, even though we didn’t have boiled cabbage then, and Olivia doesn’t have it now. I know, because she memorizes the menu every week and tells me what she’s having day by day. I almost feel sorry for her that chocolate sponge and chocolate custard, the monthly treat that was part of the staple diet of inner London schools back in the day, is no longer offered. But even on those special days, the school still smelt like rancid vegetables, and I find myself wondering why that is. Anything to keep my mind off what I’m about to be faced with.

‘Your mummy’s here,’ says the school nurse, smiling at me. I half expect to peer around the curtain and be confronted by Olivia lying unconscious on the bed, with blood pouring from her head.

Relief floods through me as she looks up, a little forlornly. There’s no blood, no bandage, not even a bruise. ‘Hello, baby girl,’ I say, my voice shaky, as I bend down to her level. ‘You okay?’

She nods, and I give her knee a squeeze, fighting the urge to wrap her in my arms and breathe her in, if only for the nurse and Carole, who, no doubt, will add ‘neurotic mother’ to my file.

‘It was only a little knock,’ says the nurse. ‘But just keep an eye on it. If she complains of a headache or experiences any dizziness, you ought to get her checked out at hospital.’

I smile and nod.

‘What happened?’ I ask when we’re back in the car.

‘Phoebe pushed me,’ she says tearfully.

I picture Phoebe’s normally angelic little face twisting into something ugly as she bullies my daughter. I can’t bear the thought.

‘She was being mean to me,’ whispers Olivia, as if someone might overhear. ‘So I did what you told me to do.’

I wait with baited breath, unable to remember what I said. I’m hoping I told her to give as good as she gets.

‘I ignored her and walked away,’ she says.

I can’t help but be disappointed with my own advice.

‘But she pushed me, and I fell onto the floor.’

‘Well, that’s not very nice, is it?’ I’m careful to keep my voice light, all the time wondering how quickly I can get an appointment to see the head. ‘I thought Phoebe was your friend. Is she always mean to you?’

She shakes her head, before immediately nodding. I’m not sure that she knows herself.

‘Only sometimes,’ she admits. ‘She says bad stuff to try and make me cry.’

I gently push her flyaway hair back from her elfin face. ‘What kind of stuff?’ I ask.

She shrugs, as if trying to lift the weight of the world from her shoulders.

‘Come on, you can tell me,’ I press.

‘She says that my first dad is dead.’

I’m momentarily speechless.

‘But ... but you know that Tom was Sophia’s daddy,’ I say, as she nods. ‘He wasn’tyourdaddy.’

‘I know, but Phoebe says that he was my first daddy.’

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