The Key to Finding Jack by Ewa Jozefkowicz (best classic books to read TXT) 📕

lessons a week each, so they never got too exhausted. The kids really bonded with them and they would visit them either at home or at the local social club for the elderly – they became like adopted grandparents. It’s a great idea, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose,’ I said. ‘It’s great that they could make it work.’

‘We don’t do anything like that here,’ said Jack, ‘and it’s a real shame. I feel like we forget about older people. Take Grandma, for example – there’s so much about her that we don’t know, because we’ve never bothered to ask. I feel like I’m only beginning to get to know her.’

Something told me that this memory was significant to our current search, but I wasn’t sure why. I jotted it down in the small notepad which Jack had given to me, and which I always carried in my rucksack. It was something that might come in useful later.

Twelve

‘What are you still doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in the operating theatre?’ asked Duncan, striding out of class first as he always did. The operating theatre was our class’s name for Nurse Minton’s room in which nothing medical ever happened.

‘Erm, yeah, I’ve just come back,’ I lied. I couldn’t believe I’d been staring at the display for almost fifteen minutes.

‘Are you feeling better?’

‘A little. Still not a hundred per cent.’

‘Sorry to hear that,’ he said, and then followed my gaze to the photo cabinet. ‘Are you hoping to go on one of these trips?’

‘Maybe one day. Jack went on this one,’ I muttered, tapping my finger on the glass, ‘that’s him.’

‘Oh,’ he said, peering closely at the photo. ‘I really hope you hear from him soon.’

‘Thanks.’

‘At least Mrs Emmett is trying to take your mind off things by getting you to read your Victorian story to the class.’

It took a few moments for his words to sink in.

‘Are you saying that she’s doing it out of pity?’

Any good opinions that I’d formed about Duncan disappeared in an instant.

‘No, no that’s not what I meant—’

‘—You think my writing isn’t any good?’ I interrupted. ‘That otherwise nobody would be interested in the story?’

‘I’m not saying it isn’t good. With some polishing up it could be great.’

‘“Polishing up”? Is that a phrase that you learned on a writing course or something?’

‘Well, actually, my dad runs one and he’s been teaching me…’

But I didn’t stick around to hear any more. Keira appeared by my side and I grabbed her by the elbow and together we walked off in the direction of the canteen for lunch.

In geography, our final lesson of the day, we continued working on our projects and I tried hard to push Duncan’s comments out of my mind. I concentrated instead on researching Rolling Earth, the charity that Jack had volunteered with in India, and which had since extended its work to Nepal, Myanmar and Vietnam.

Frustratingly, there was no mention of any schools being built in South America. We would have to cast the net wider. But how? It would be impossible to contact every school in Peru.

I was struck again by the scale of the task I had taken on. How many clues I’d been presented with, each one as useless as the next, because none of them seemed to bring me any closer to finding Jack. I needed space to think and to make sense of everything I’d found so far. Everything I’d uncovered, all the people I’d spoken to, raced through my mind and Duncan’s words echoed cruelly, ‘It could be great, it could be great…’

While Keira was talking to Mr Bemowski about her project, I dashed out of the classroom before the bell went for the end of the day.

Even though it was barely half-past three, the streets were already cast in the half-darkness of late January. The sky was a murky yellow, like clouded mustard – the suggestion of rain, or maybe a heavy storm. The wind had gathered pace and my ears were hurting from the cold. I pulled my hood up tight.

As I turned into the high street I spotted a smudge of red glowing against the gloomy street. My heart leapt – there she was! The girl in the red beret was walking ahead of me, swinging a spotted umbrella in her left hand. I could tell from her powerful stride and the curl of her hair that she was the same person that I’d seen from the window.

She crossed the road and I followed her as she merged with the afternoon shoppers and crowds of people milling around the bus stop. Then she stopped on a street corner where an older man in an oversized coat was collecting money for a sick children’s charity. ‘Margot’ – because this is what I called her in my head – dropped some money into the collection bucket and spoke to him for a few moments. I was now close enough to see her smile as she shook his hand. Her smile was so powerful that he started grinning too and I felt for the first time since Jack left that everything would be OK.

I wanted so badly to run up to her and touch her hand to make sure that she was real. But I stopped myself – she would probably think I was mad.

I couldn’t resist hurrying after her as she continued down the road, past the old library and the town hall. She walked so quickly that I could barely keep up, and then I saw the red beret dart to the left – she must have turned into one of the side streets.

I picked up my pace, frantically scanning the street that I was sure she’d walked down and then the next one, in case I’d got it wrong. But Margot was nowhere to be seen.

I felt the prick of tears in my eyes.

‘Where did you go?’ I whispered. I was slowly turning around to walk back in the direction of home, when