Connie pulled up outside the school entrance. The sun was high and pale in the sky, showing through the thin white clouds, dreamlike and golden above her.
She parked by the school gates. The school was set in the grounds of a house built in 1579. It was a sold red brick building with Gothic windows and a weathervane on top of the entrance that swivelled and pointed accusingly in her direction as she went in, hurrying. Her steps quick and light, her heels grating against the loose gravel as she walked.
Inside the building couldn't be more different. It was all bright colours and the loud chatter of children. The air was warm and smelled of school dinners and Pritt-Stick.
The reception area was busy with mothers who all appeared to be asking the same question, although none were listening to the answer. Instead they were checking their iPhones and attending to various demanding toddlers who seemed to belong to no one in particular.
Connie glanced about herself. It was the nanny who took Grace to and from school each day. She tried to remember how many times she had been here herself, for parents evenings – when she found the time, or to pick up Grace when she had been unwell and the nanny had left. She could count these times on one hand.
A receptionist with a pale pretty face and dark hair mouthed an apology to her, signalling that she shouldn't be long, and Connie gave a brief nod of her head and a tight lipped smile. She wasn't used to being surrounded by other mothers so like herself, all busy and desperate to be going, with their expensive high heels and handbags. Though the difference between them, Connie decided, spying the array of wedding rings, was that she didn't have to rely on a husband to provide for her.
She smiled to herself and glanced about the wide reception area. Doing her best to avoid conversation. Over to her left a board caught her eye. It was framed with yellow paper and on it were polaroid photos of each and every staff member. She made her way over to it slowly, scanning each line, peering at the faces, until finally, on the middle row, to the left, she spotted him.
Mr W. Lawson – Head of Music
His name was printed in neat black letters beneath his picture. She moved closer so to avoid the glare from the sun through the window.
She imprinted the name onto her memory. She looked at his face, his hair was shorter than it was now, cut neatly and pushed to one side, reminiscent of how men wore their hair in the 20's. His eyes were the colour of the sky, and though his lips were drawn into a line, he was smiling behind his eyes.
She released a breath. She had him. It was as if hope had appeared out of nowhere to settle beside her and it wasn't going anywhere, it wasn't going to desert her now.
"Excuse me, Mrs..."
A voice behind her startled her and she turned sharply to see the pretty receptionist leaning out through the window of reception.
"Beauchamp."
She answered, and she turned fully.
"Ah...Grace's mother?"
The receptionist smiled and Connie nodded, surprised.
"How can I help?"
She asked, placing her hands on the desk before her.
"I wondered if I could have a word with one of your members of staff? Mr Lawson?"
She asked, and the receptionist looked momentarily taken aback.
"I'm afraid Mr Lawson hasn't been in since last week."
She leant further forward and lowered her voice.
"He and his wife were having some difficulties."
She whispered.
Connie nodded slowly. Some things you carry around inside you as though they were part of your blood and bones, and when that happens, there's nothing you can do to forget about them. For some reason the mystery of this man had become one of those things, and she knew she wouldn't be able to rest until she found out what was wrong with him.
"When is he expected back?"
She asked, folding her arms across her chest.
The receptionist sucked in a breath that puffed out her cheeks and she expelled it as she held up her hands.
"I really don't know. The last time he disappeared he was gone for a month!"
She sighed, and her eyes strayed to the board behind Connie's back.
"A month?!"
Connie repeated, and the woman before her looked back at her again.
"If you're desperate to speak to him, you could always try his wife...she's still here, though I warn you, she's not in the best of moods."
She suggested with a shrug.
"And where might I find her?"
Connie asked, feeling the hope rise within her again. She had never been one to believe in the sisterhood of women. If she wanted to gain information, she wouldn't think twice about prying it from this man's wife any way that she could.
"Mrs Lawson, she's down in the science department, room S4."
She answered, and when Connie looked toward the door, unsure of which way to go, the receptionist gestured with an arm to the left.
"Just down there."
She said, and Connie nodded her head in thanks and pushed through the double doorway into the hallway.
She wondered briefly were Grace may be, and what she may be doing, and she made a mental note to ask her about both Mr and Mrs Lawson that evening.
She clenched her fists by her sides, she would find out, she thought, she would work out why this man simply refused to wake up.
Hello everyone. Thank you for the reviews! I hope you're still enjoying the story. I will try to update again this week. Please let me know if you'd like the story to continue? :) xxx