Chapter 69
SIXTY-NINE
Nancy threw a slab of clay onto her pottery wheel and it landed with a satisfying thud.
She dipped her hands in the water and started throwing her bowl.
Carefully, gently, she pulled up the sides as she’d seen the guy do on the YouTube tutorial she’d watched.
It was relaxing, soothing. She felt in control, a sensation that had been lacking in her life recently.
Until she’d taken on Imogen in the restaurant.
It had felt good to tell her exactly what she thought, to stand her ground for once instead of helplessly watching events unfold.
Not her finest moment perhaps, but necessary.
The bowl was almost at full height. A few more minutes and it would be finished. She focused carefully, making sure the sides didn’t collapse, but then the doorbell rang.
Nancy frowned, her concentration interrupted. She couldn’t go to the door right now, she’d lose everything she’d done. She decided to ignore it.
It rang again.
Ignore it.
Two more long rings followed, a finger left on the button for some time. Nancy flinched and the top of her bowl flopped over. Ruined. She sighed, looking at her clay disaster and then, wiping her hands on her apron, went to open the door.
Two police officers stood there.
Her heart lurched with fear.
‘It’s OK . . . Mrs Miller?’ said the first officer quickly, on seeing her face. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. It is Mrs Miller, isn’t it?’
Nancy nodded.
‘May we please come in?’
She stepped to one side. ‘Of course.’
The two officers followed her through to the kitchen, where she washed the clay off her hands and offered them a cup of tea.
She pulled out some chocolate biscuits. One of the officers, a world-weary man in his late forties, took one with relish and Nancy got the feeling his day had just improved.
The other officer, a younger man, politely declined.
Once they were all sitting down at the kitchen table, he was the one who led the conversation, while the other proved himself a noisy tea drinker.
‘I’m Police Constable Dawes,’ said the younger officer, ‘and this,’ he said, indicating, ‘is my colleague, Police Constable Hollie. We’ve had a complaint about an account of threatening behaviour. Ten days ago, at The Wood Oven in Ripton.’
Nancy placed her mug down on the table, confused. ‘What?’
‘From a Mrs Wood. She says that you went to her restaurant shortly after six p.m. on the eighth of January and threatened her. Do you know what I’m referring to?’
‘This . . . this is ludicrous,’ said Nancy. ‘Imogen went to the police?’
‘So you did threaten her?’
‘I . . .’ Nancy was at a loss as to what to say. ‘You don’t understand. My daughter has been bullied by hers for months and nothing is ever done about it. My God, my daughter even ended up in hospital, airlifted off the school field because of something her daughter did!’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said PC Dawes. ‘Is your daughter OK?’
‘Yes. She is now.’
‘Have you spoken to the school?’ asked PC Dawes.
‘Of course I have!’
‘So they’re handling it.’
‘Yes . . . No! Not properly. Not in my opinion.’
‘Mrs Miller, these things really are best resolved in school. I would suggest you go back and talk to the head. Is it still going on?’
‘Well, yes, no, I mean Lara’s only just gone back.’
‘I understand these situations are hard, and it’s a very emotional time, but you need to know that Section 4A makes it an offence to use threatening, abusive or insulting language with the intention of causing someone else harassment, alarm or distress.’
‘Oh my God, are you serious?’
‘It can lead to a fine of up to five thousand pounds, a community service order, or potentially a prison sentence.’
‘This is a joke, right? What about the bloody threatening and insulting language Rosie has been using on Lara, who has been harassed, alarmed and extremely distressed?’
‘Mrs Miller—’
‘No. You listen to me. What I don’t understand is that if an adult hits you, calls you names, threatens you, then you guys, the cops, are called. When it happens to children, it’s downgraded to “bullying”, when actually there’s your harassment right there, officer.’
PC Dawes waited for her to calm down, and in the silence, PC Hollie slurped his tea. PC Dawes then gave a small, sympathetic smile. ‘Look, I’ve had this with my kid. Got it in the neck at school from another boy. I just told him to walk away. It’s a good tactic.’
Nancy opened her mouth to explain how completely and utterly inadequate this suggestion was, but suddenly all her energy left her.
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said quietly.
‘Stay away from that child and her parents,’ said PC Dawes kindly. ‘It won’t do you any good to get involved.’
I am involved, thought Nancy. How can I not be? I’m her mother.
He got up. ‘Thank you for your time. And the tea,’ he added, as PC Hollie placed his empty mug on the table.
As Nancy closed the door behind them, she rested her forehead on the wood in despair.