At the edge of the world.
Snow crept into her boots, searing her feet. Still, buying wellies was out of the question for Margaret; if it were up to her, shed choose tall riding boots. But here she’d look ridiculous in such city shoes. Not that she could afford any right now her father had blocked her card.
Are you seriously planning to live in the countryside? he sneered, lips curled with contempt.
Her father couldn’t abide anything rural: country cottages, hiking, any place stripped of his urban comforts. George was just the same, and thats exactly why Margaret had come here. Truthfully, she never really wanted to live in a village, but unlike her father, she craved hiking, tents, and the romance woven through them.
But to live in a village absolutely not. Still, shed told her father otherwise.
I want to. And I will.
Dont be foolish. What will you do there, go around twisting cows tails? Id hoped you’d marry George by summer, that we’d start wedding plans soon
A wedding. Her father served up George as if he were cold lumpy porridge, so unpalatable that the very thought of him made Margaret nauseous for hours.
No, outwardly, George wasn’t hideous. He was, even, handsome in a bland sort of way: straight nose, striking blue eyes beneath tidy brows, neatly cropped curls, muscular build. He was her father’s right-hand man, and in recent years her father had become obsessed with marrying her off to that suitable fellow.
Margaret couldnt stand George. His droning voice annoyed her, his sausage-like fingers always fiddling with something, those braggart stories of how much his suit, his watch, his car cost
Money, money, money! Nothing interested them except wealth. But Margaret yearned for love. The sort that takes your breath away, the kind you find in the novels she devoured. She hadn’t felt that yet, but she knew she would. Shed fallen in love easily, again and again, with different boysbut those feelings never left scars on her heart. She longed for drama, not the tepid, predictable life George offered. So she decided to leave for the countryside, take a job in the village school. George would never follow; George feared a world without broadband, hot water, or central heating.
Margaret deliberately chose a village lacking all these city comforts. The headteacher was hesitant, doubting she’d last, but the previous teacher had passed away suddenly and Margaret doggedly chased down the education department, waving her certificates and training awards.
What will such a qualified, young teacher do in a village? the stern woman with fiery orange hair demanded.
Teach children, Margaret replied, matching her tone.
Now she did exactly that: living in a cottage with no hot water or mains sewage, firing up the chilly stove herself each morning. As expected, George visited, spent precisely one night, and then bolted back to London. He called, tried to persuade her home, but, like her father, insisted it was a phase that would soon pass.
At first, Margaret loved it. But then winter arrived; the wind whistled through the house so it was cold even under blankets. Hauling firewood was a task and a half. Sometimes she wanted to run back, honestly. Yet shed never been one to quit. Besides, now she was responsible not just for herself, but for her pupils.
Her class was tiny just twelve children. At first Margaret was in shock: at her old youth centre, children were sharp and talented. Here… at first glance, her new charges felt hopeless. Year Three, yet reading at a snail’s pace. Homework left undone. Noisy during lessons. But that was only at first. Soon Margaret fell in love with every one of them.
Simon whittled animals from branches not clumsy toys but brilliant foxes and badgers and rabbits worthy of any London shop. Annie wrote beautiful, haunting verses. Tom always stayed after lessons to tidy the classroom. Ivy had a lamb that escorted her to school like a faithful dog.
They really could read it just hadnt been encouraged, and the books given to them were dull. Margaret ignored the curriculum, brought in better books acquired from the nearest market town, since mobile reception was sparse and ordering online impossible.
There was just one child she couldnt find a way to reach, and it was precisely her father, William, she saw now, face pinched from the icy wind, arms loaded with firewood.
Good afternoon, Miss Whitmore, he said, stopping a few steps from her garden gate.
Margaret was, frankly, nervous around him. His face was hard. Like a London bouncer. He never smiled. Her heart hammered every time he passed, terrified hed pick up on her nervousness. Or was it fear?
Hello, she managed.
Her voice was higher than she’d meant.
Why is Tessa failing every subject? he pressed.
Because she doesnt do any work.
Make her. Whos the teacher here?
Margaret was the teacher, but she wasn’t about to force anyone. The girl likely had autism, needed a specialist.
Has it always been like this? Margaret asked.
William hesitated.
Before she always worked with Olivia.
And whos Olivia?
He grimaced, as if the cold snow had invaded his boots too.
Her mum.
Then it was clear asking the next question would be awkward. But it had to be said.
And where is she now?
At the churchyard.
So that was it. Her father always said things were never as complicated as they seemed.
Standing there with the firewood was awkward and uncomfortable, but saying so felt shameful. The top log slipped, landed on her foot Margaret yelped, dropped the wood, and barely kept her tears in check. The tears came for two reasons: pain and humiliation, utterly exposed before a grown man. Ridiculous, she was an adult herself, and yet she didnt feel like one.
Let me help, William offered.
No, no, I can manage, Margaret tried to insist.
I can see how well youre managing.
He lugged her wood inside, gave the door a whack with a log so it finally stopped jamming.
If you need help, just ask, he said, then left.
She wasnt sure why hed come at all. Did he think a few piles of firewood would earn his daughter passing grades? Not likely…
Margaret couldnt stop thinking about Tessa. For days, she tried everything to reach her, feeling both professionally defeated and full of pity. Even went to the deputy head.
Thats a lost cause. Give her fail marks well transfer her to a special school over the summer.
What does that mean?
Well send her to panel, let them label her disabled. What else can you do if the childs like that?
But her dad said she used to…
Doesnt matter. Her mum carried her through, he cant cope on his own. Dont listen to him hell tell you anything
Margaret caught on, You dont like him, do you?
The deputy pursed her lips and answered, Hes not a treat, lets put it that way. But the girl needs the right environment.
Margaret wasnt satisfied. She couldnt be sure Tessa needed special school. So she phoned Lydia Harrow, her favourite teaching adviser, got some advice, and steeled herself to visit Tessa at home. She was terrified even made chamomile tea, trying to calm herself, though she hated the stuff. Her own mother used to drink it, swearing by its calming effect. Margarets mother had died as well, so the story hit close to home.
William greeted her gruffly Margaret had hoped he might be pleased she’d shown initiative.
Were not exactly welcoming guests, you know, he said.
Margaret pursed her lips, echoed the deputys manner, Its my duty as class teacher to check on pastoral care.
Tessas room was wonderful: pink wallpaper, soft toys everywhere, stacks of books. Margaret almost envied her her father was a minimalist and disliked frills and bright colours. Margarets own childhood bedroom had been beige, the toys beige too.
She got nowhere during the first visit. Margaret asked Tessa about her favourite books, thumbed through them, asked about crayons. Tessa said nothingjust silently fetched the crayons. Nothing about the books. Only at the end, when Margaret asked the name of her pink rabbit, did Tessa respond:
Floss.
Next time, Margaret brought a little jumper for Floss. Her mother had taught her to knit, and Margaret had kept the habit for sentimental reasons. She wasnt very good, and the wool was thick and odd, but unexpectedly, Tessa was delighted, tried it on Floss and said:
Pretty.
Margaret suggested they draw Floss in her new jumper. Tessa did. Margaret wrote the rabbits name, purposefully misspelled. Tessa corrected her.
Nothing slow about that child.
Ill come and see Tessa three times a week, she told William.
I havent got spare cash, William frowned.
I dont want money, Margaret retorted, offended.
That settled it.
The deputy was not thrilled when she found out.
You can’t single out one child, it’s unprofessional! Besides, it’s pointless. Ive seen their sort.
So have I, Margaret interrupted. But its too early to give up hope.
Tessa was different, sure quiet, shy, avoiding eye contact, preferring drawing to writing. But sharp with numbers, quick with grammar. At terms end, her grades were earned fair and square.
Are you going away for New Years? William asked one afternoon, oddly not looking her in the eye, just like Tessa.
No, nowhere Margaret faltered, her cheeks flushing.
Tessa would like to invite you.
It was odd. Tessa hadnt said a word about it she said little at all. Margaret didn’t want to hurt her by declining, but celebrating New Year with strangers…
Thank you, Ill think about it, Margaret replied.
She slept badly that night, wondering why this simple invitation unsettled her so. After a month working with Tessa, surely it was natural for the girl to open up. Wasnt this exactly what Margaret wanted? Why did Williams opinion matter?
Over these thoughts, Margaret drifted off.
In the morning, George rang.
When are you coming home?
What?
New Years, arent you coming back? Surely you wont spend it in that village.
I will, actually!
Come on, Margaret Dads blood pressures shot, hes in bits.
Her father hadnt called once.
Tell him to see a doctor, Margaret snapped.
Are you actually not coming?
Im not.
So what do I do?
Whatever you want.
Saying those words, Margaret hadnt thought George would take it literally: he showed up on her doorstep with champagne, salads, and gifts.
If the mountain wont come to Mohammed he quipped.
Margaret was flooredif not entirely unpleasantly. She hadnt guessed George so bold. He loved fancy New Years in a London bistro, with contests and live music. Here, she barely had a radio.
So what? Youre here, thats what matters.
Margaret waited for the catch, but found none. Maybe Ive misjudged him? she wondered.
She melted further after finding her favourite dishes in his containers, and gifts that were actually thoughtful: books about teaching, a projector, a teachers planner.
Thank you, she said, close to tears. I thought youd just bring jewellery and gadgets as usual.
George smiled.
Margaret, youre the most precious thing in my life. If you want to live in the village, then well live in the village. Though I did bring the jewellery, too.
He produced a small red velvet boxit was obvious what was inside.
Can I not answer straight away? Margaret asked.
George didnt mind.
I was scared youd say no right off. Ill wait as long as it takes.
Margaret didnt know what to say. She shoved the box in her pocket.
William had her mobile number, but he rang the house phone.
Have you decided? he asked.
Sorry. A friends come.
I see.
And he hung up.
The sour feeling hit Margaret instantly. What did he mean, I see? It wasnt fair for him to be upsetshe hadn’t made any promises! Was he hurt? Probablybecause of Tessa. The girl was waiting, and which father wants his child upset?
Her thoughts spun wildly while George struggled to get enough signal to play a holiday film.
Margaret heard a whistle the sort calling a dog. She recognised it; William used to whistle just like that. She peeked through the window. William and Tessa stood outside the gate.
A blush ignited across her face.
Whos that? George demanded.
A pupil, Tessa squeaked. Ill just be a minute.
Margaret had a gift prepared for Tessa: a companion for Floss, a pink rabbit girl. Her father would call it tacky.
Shed made something for William, too. She wasn’t sure it was right, but shed done it: hand-knitted mittens.
Snatching up the gifts, she dashed outside hair undone, legs bare, forgetting her hat and snow already packed in her boots, but she didnt care.
Tessa, hello, darling! she gushed. Happy New Year! Look what I bought for you.
She handed over the bag. Tessa hugged the rabbit to her chest, glanced at her father. William gave her two parcels: one larger, one small. Tessa opened the big one first inside, a notebook with a homemade comic strip, instantly recognisable as Tessas drawings.
Thank you, what a wonderful comic!
The smaller parcel held a brooch a tiny golden hummingbird. Margaret caught Williams eye, but he didnt look back. Tessa spoke:
It was Mums.
Margarets throat closed up.
Well well be off now, William muttered.
Of course. Happy New Year!
And to you
Margaret wanted to hug Tessa but stopped short; the girl still clung to her new toy, shy and silent.
At her door, Margaret glanced back: something squeezed her chest at the sight of those two, and she stepped inside, blinking rapidly, sniffling against tears.
So? George asked with irritation.
Margaret looked down at the comic, the brooch clenched in her fist. She remembered shed forgotten the mittens, remembered Tessas words: It was Mums And how William smiled only for his daughter, a smile that felt like spring sunshine. Something inside Margaret twisted and bloomed. She pitied George, but lying to him or herself was pointless.
Margaret took the velvet box from her pocket, handed it to him, and said softly:
Go home, George. Im sorry. I cant marry you. Im sorryagain.
Georges face lengthenedhe wasnt used to refusals.
For a second, Margaret feared he might lash out. But George slipped the box into his coat, grabbed his car keys, and left in silence.
Margaret quickly packed up leftover food in containers, grabbed Williams mittens, and ran out, chasing after those distant but desperately needed figures, through the snow.
