’ He soon learned that she was right and far from arrogant and self important; that tip made him one of the favourite teachers at Potters Hill High. As he walked through the halls this morning, he spotted her before she noticed him; she looked amazing, he couldn’t get over how much she’d grown, in more way than one. His little ally was now a young woman. He told himself off the millionth time for that feeling that stirred deep within him. She had her head down as usual, her golden blonde curls perfectly complimenting her pale skin. As she flicked a strand that caught on her lip she glanced up and caught his eye. ‘Morning Mr James,’ she gave him a slight shy smile. ‘Good Morning Isabel,’ she grimaced at him but they both knew well that he was the only one that could get away with calling her that. ‘You ok? You look a little stressed.’ ‘PSATs,’ she replied as if that answered everything. ‘Hmm,’ he wasn’t convinced, ‘Come see me after, let me know how you did.’ She nodded and walked. He stopped by the front door to pickup the post and amongst the usual advertising rubbish was a letteraddressed to Mrs. Joanne Rushbury. Rushbury he knew was his mother'smaiden name but he didn't know a Joanne, then it struck him, it must behis grandmother's name. Apparently she had lived with his parents untilshe died, a year or so before he was born. Intrigued, he opened it andfound it was a confirmation letter for his grandma's placement at a Carehome some 20 miles away from here. Mystery! John had not realised she wasin a Care home. Still puzzled John opened the front door and saw hisformer next door neighbour Mr Dawkins rushing in to his porch out of thepouring rain. Mr Dawkins paused to shout a greeting, "Morning Joanne,filthy weather eh?"John automatically responded, "It certainly is, Robert. You look afteryourself."Moving on to the drive, John realised that Mr. Dawkins had died 5 yearssgo and he hadn't known his first name. Furthermore he had called him'Joanne'. In a way.
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