His face falls. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“I overheard a girl from this school say something to her that disturbed me greatly.”
“What was that?”
“She said that Willow’s mother probably killed herself to get away from Willow.”
“Dear God,” he mutters. “When was this?”
“At the weekend.”
He frowns. “In school grounds?”
“No. During football practice, at the playing field.”
His face falls. “Unfortunately we’re unable to do anything about weekend activities.”
“I know. But I wanted to speak to the school counsellor and see if she has noticed anything going on here at school.”
“Yes, of course.” He scribbles a phone number on the back of a business card. “Call that number on Monday morning and make an appointment to see him. He’s very helpful.”
I smile and take the card. “Thank you.” I glance a
