Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane, Part Two

Prologue

Fraser Bell remembered with absolute clarity the first time he noticed – really noticed – Maura McKenzie.

School had finished for the day, although parts of the building still hummed with the chatter of students engaged in various after school clubs, and the chill of autumn hung in the air as Fraser hurried to the drama studio on the far side of the playground.

He was late, held up by an uncomfortable conversation with his maths teacher about some uncompleted homework, and his friends had all gone on ahead.

Muttering under his breath, he was intent on reaching the studio; they were supposed to be reading through Romeo and Juliet and he knew the juiciest parts would have been given to those who’d arrived on time.

But he was a favourite of Miss Laing – with a bit of luck, she’d have kept something for him, despite his being ten minutes late.

His gaze was caught by the glow of the art room windows as he passed, cheerfully yellow against the darkening sky.

There were students inside, some seated at tables, others standing at the sinks as they washed brushes or filled water pots.

A teacher was talking to a small group, waving at a Van Gogh print on an easel as she spoke.

Fraser slowed, in spite of his lateness.

He’d never been able to resist peeking into the windows of houses as he walked along the street, wondering what stories were unfolding within, and the art block was not a part of school he had any reason to enter.

Paintings and drawings adorned the walls, a metal sculpture of a horse reared up in one corner.

It was like a mini gallery and he was impressed at the talent it showcased.

And then one of the students sitting a table directly opposite Fraser raised her head to stare out of the window.

He froze, paralysed by the guilt of being caught.

But she wasn’t looking at him, he realised after a moment of panic, as his thudding heart began to beat more normally.

She probably had no idea anyone was even there – the bright lights inside the room would ensure dusk turned into darkness, cloaking him in its shadows.

She was clear enough to him, however; her name was Maura and they were in the same year, although he couldn’t remember them ever having spoken.

Her face was pale, framed by a riot of dark curls that most girls Fraser knew would have straightened into submission every morning.

Their exuberance made him smile a little – she must keep all that hair tied back during the school day; he would definitely have noticed such glorious abundance otherwise.

The expression she wore was far away, as though she saw past her own reflection in the glass.

Perhaps she was considering what to draw, although there was no paper in front of her and no pencil in her hand.

Instead, Fraser saw a square board with a blob of something grey resting in the centre.

Not an artist, he corrected himself with a curious frown.

Was it clay? And then the teacher approached, her lips moving in silent enquiry.

The girl’s daydream was broken – her eyes came into focus and she half-turned to answer.

The teacher paused at her shoulder, spoke again, and this time she smiled.

It wasn’t the kind of sunny smile that dazzled, Fraser thought, but it transformed her even so.

It was moonlight peeping out from behind a midnight cloud, soft and ethereal, slowly gaining in luminosity to bathe the beholder in its gentle glow.

He watched as she gathered her hair into a ponytail, snaring it with a band so that its wildness was subdued.

With a word to the teacher, she reached for the clay and Fraser found himself fascinated by what she would do with it.

But a sudden spatter of rain pulled him out of the classroom, an unwelcome reminder of where he was – or, more importantly, where he was not.

‘Crap,’ he muttered and ducked his head to hurry for the safety of the drama studio. With a bit of luck he might still be in time for the fight scene.