Chapter Thirteen
William arrived at Brookleigh Bay Community Christian School ten minutes early. It was the first week of April, the Easter holidays still ahead, and the school grounds were dotted with the first signs of spring.
The building looked different from the glossy brochure he’d seen online — less polished, more lived-in, and softened by years of coastal air.
Not quite as perfect as advertised, he thought — and oddly, that reassured him.
Inside, the reception area was bright. A vase of fresh flowers sat on the counter — Fiona Clark’s handiwork, he guessed. Behind the desk, Mrs Rowcroft looked up with a warm, professional smile.
“Good morning, Mr Parker. Mr Harper will be with you shortly.”
A moment later, the headmaster stepped out — tall, kind-eyed, and carrying the quiet confidence of someone who genuinely liked people.
“William? I’m Daniel Harper. Thank you for coming in.”
They shook hands, and Daniel gestured him into his office.
“Before we walk around,” Daniel said, settling into his chair, “could you tell me a little about your children? Just a sense of their ages and personalities.”
William hesitated, then nodded. “Jake is four — full of energy. Sophie’s six — thoughtful, easily overwhelmed.
Ollie is nine — bright, distractible. Mia’s eleven — steady, responsible.
And Ethan is thirteen.” He paused, his jaw tightening slightly.
“He’s… been through a lot and will be fourteen next week. ”
Daniel listened without interrupting. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “That gives me a starting point. Shall we take a look around?”
The corridor of the primary school smelled faintly of crayons and floor polish.
“This is Reception,” Daniel said, as a small group of children sat cross-legged on the carpet. “Julie Carter teaches here. Very gentle, very steady.”
William pictured Jake immediately, talking too fast, asking too many questions.
They passed Mrs Peters’ Year 1 classroom and Mr Clark’s Year 3 class.
At Year 4, Daniel paused.
“Hannah Rowe, our Primary Deputy Head, oversees this area. She’s very good with children who carry a bit of worry.”
Something eased in William’s chest — not gone, but loosening.
At Year 5, Daniel gestured towards Mr Collins’ class. Inside, heads were bent over work.
“He’s very patient. Some children really thrive with his approach.”
William imagined Ollie there — needing room to move without being pushed.
They toured the sunlit library, the modern ICT suite, and the new science labs. In the sports hall, the thud of a football echoed against the walls.
“We have a strong football programme,” Daniel added. “If Ethan ever wanted to join, he’d be welcome. No pressure.”
William swallowed. “He used to love football.”
For a moment, he saw it — muddy boots by the door. Then it was gone.
The secondary corridor was quieter.
“And this”—Daniel paused beside a calm room with soft chairs—“is our counselling space. Izzy Fellows works part-time — she has three little ones of her own — and she’s wonderful.”
As they stepped into the courtyard, Alfie Briggs, the school caretaker, was sweeping a drift of pink blossom into a neat pile.
“Morning, Mr Briggs,” Daniel called.
Alfie looked up and gave a sharp, friendly nod. “Morning, sir.”
The petals lifted briefly in the breeze before settling again in a tidy heap.
Back in Daniel’s office, William sat down slowly.
“So,” Daniel said softly, “how does it feel?”
William let out a long breath. “Good. Better than I expected.”
“I’d like them to start after the Easter holidays,” William said, the decision solidifying. “It gives them a little longer to settle into the house. My parents are helping with the childcare while I’m on shift until then.”
“A wise move,” Daniel agreed. “Starting then is much gentler. It takes the pressure off, and they can even come to the school’s Easter fair first — meet some of the other children in a playground setting before they have to worry about classrooms.”
Through the office window, William watched Alfie work for a moment.
He thought of the games in his boot — tools for rebuilding — and the classrooms he’d just seen.
For the first time, the ‘fortress’ didn’t feel like something he had to build out of stone and locks.
It felt like it was being built out of people.
“It’s a good place, Daniel,” William said, and for once, the brightness in his voice didn’t cost him anything.
He felt that familiar, steadying presence beside him again.
You’re here, too, he thought. In the crayons and the blossom and the quiet.
It was enough to get him through to tomorrow.