This started from the idea of fear getting in the way of human relationships, and also seemed to tie in quite nicely with the theme of "Adoption", in a recent Writing Magazine competition.  It didn't get anywhere, but there we are.  Any comments welcome.

“Don’t run!”  A strident female voice rang out down the corridor.

The bell had rung for the afternoon break and the children were spilling out into the wide expanse of the playground.  It was a dark October afternoon, with heavy clouds threatening rain. 

“Come in,” Sandra said, in reply to Rita Manning’s urgent knock.  “I was just about to call the police – oh, hang on.  There’s Sharon Ainsworth now.”

A man in his late fifties, at least as far as she could tell from her office window, wearing a long grey overcoat and carrying a white plastic bag, was standing just outside the gates, motionless, looking through the railings. 

Rita joined her and they watched together as their colleague spoke to the man.  Most of the children remained absorbed in their various games and songs, but there were a few near the gates that had stopped playing to watch the unfolding drama.  The Deputy Head’s admonitions didn’t appear to be having much effect.  The man had begun arguing, and was seemingly not to be so easily put off.

“I don’t like the look of this.” Sandra spoke matter-of-factly.  “I think I’m going to call the police just to be on the safe side.”

“Hang on,” said Rita.  “I think he’s going now.”  The man had turned and was walking over to the pelican crossing.

“Thank God for that,” sighed Sandra.  “All we need at the end of the week. But I think I’ll just go round the classes when the children get back in, make sure they’re not worried at all.”

 “Perhaps we shouldn’t make too much of it,” thought Rita out loud.  “We might frighten them unnecessarily.”

“You can’t be too careful, Rita,” replied Sandra, still very much the professional.  “It won’t hurt to warn them again about talking to strangers.”

Their deliberations were interrupted by the babble of young voices and the clatter of feet along the corridor outside, heralding the beginning of the last two periods of the day.

Half an hour later, having satisfied herself that she had reinforced her school’s message about safety, Sandra re-entered her office.  Her heart sank at the pile of paperwork on her desk.  She would get started in a moment, she told herself, but first went to look again across the playground.

The man was back, standing just as he had before, staring toward the school.  She made up her mind again to call the police, but first resolved to be as informed as possible.  She walked briskly along the corridor to Sharon Ainsworth’s classroom, and opened the door.

“Mrs Ainsworth, could I see you for a moment?”

Her colleague turned from the class, who were obediently reciting their three times table.
 

“Yes, of course.  Shall I get Sally to sit in?”

“The assistant?  No, this will only take a moment.”

“Fine. Children, read your books for five minutes – and I’ll be just outside the door, Nigel Woolley, so don’t start anything!”

The boy did his best to look astounded, and the two adults left the room.

“Sharon,” began the Head, “I’m afraid that man’s back at the gate again.”

“Oh, no,” sighed Sharon. “Do you want me to…?”

“No, no,” interrupted Sandra.  “I’m going to call the police.  I just wondered, what did he say to you when you asked him to leave?”

“Oh, you know.  He called me one or two names which I won’t repeat, said I didn’t know who I was talking to and I’d regret it when I found out.  Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“And he didn’t give you any good reason why he was there?”

“No. Not really.”

“Alright, Sharon, thank you.”

The noise level in the classroom was beginning to rise.

“I’d better get back to them,” said Sharon apologetically.

Sandra nodded and returned to her office, checking once more to see that the man was still there, before picking up the phone and ringing the school secretary.

“Rachel,” she said, “can you get me the local police station?”

She put down the receiver and went back to the window.  Looking at him again she became aware of a very strange feeling inside herself. She tried to put it down to the tension of the moment, but couldn’t shake it off.

The phone rang.  “Rachel? Oh, thank you.”  Then in a more official tone, “Good afternoon, I’d like to report a man loitering outside the school.  He’s been asked to go away once but we can’t seem to get rid of him.  I wonder if you could send someone.”

It was becoming darker and colder as evening drew in.  The traffic was building along the roads outside the school, and Sandra knew that parents would soon be arriving to collect their children.  Of course, it was equally significant that some children would not be picked up and might be walking home alone, but at this point she found herself focused on the effect that the incident might have on the school’s reputation.

She tried her best to continue with her paperwork, but was unable to concentrate.  Turning back to the window, she was relieved to see a uniformed officer addressing the man, whose resolve seemed to weaken after a couple of minutes. Eventually, nodding as if in agreement, he left with the policeman.  Sandra suddenly found herself feeling a little sorry for him.

There were no further problems that week, and in time Sandra was able to put the incident to the back of her mind, lost in the humdrum of board meetings, staff meetings and parents’ evenings.

Days turned into weeks and eventually a year had passed.  She was standing at the rear window of her modest house, her eyes fixed on the growing carpet of leaves covering the lawn.  A letter lay unfolded on the coffee table, next to the torn envelope in which it had arrived. 

She felt a burning sense of guilt and sadness, but when she thought about it logically she knew she had nothing to reproach herself with.  Her main concerns had been the reputation of the school and the welfare of the children.  It had never even crossed her mind that the man might have a legitimate reason for being there. 

How could she have had any idea of the tangled history that had led him to her gate?  She knew she had been adopted, of course, but as far as she knew her real father had died before she was born, her mother committing suicide not long after.  This at least was what her adopted mother had told her.

She looked again at the solicitor’s logo, and the general layout.  Could it be some kind of strange hoax?  No, she had seen plenty of crank letters in her job, and somehow this had the mark of authenticity.

It told her the man had died, having left most of his estate to her, and a substantial donation to her school in his last will.  The solicitor’s letter had directed her to another enclosure, marked, in spidery handwriting, “To Miss Sandra Pellow.  To be opened only in the event of my death.” 

She read again the significant portion of the letter.

“Well, when I heard Marie was pregnant, that was it.  I got the wind up, and ran away to sea.  I was very young, and I couldn’t face it – owning up to my parents, and hers.  But all the time I was away I kept thinking about it, and I knew I’d done wrong.  So a year after I came back, hoping I could patch things up.  But your mother was dead and you were nowhere to be found.  The people next door said you’d been taken into care.  Of course, I tried to find out where you’d gone to, but I couldn’t get anywhere with the authorities.  Some of my mates persuaded me it was best to move on, so I decided in the end to go back to sea, and make the best of it. 

“Eventually I settled in the states, got a regular job and that was that, up until last year anyway, when I found out about the cancer.  I decided to come home.  See I knew if I didn’t find you soon it would be too late.  It wasn’t easy, but what with the records being so old now, no-one was all that bothered.  I got to know the right people, and a few back-handers got me a look at the adoption papers.  After that it was pure detective work. 

“Of course, I know now I should have written or rung or something before turning up like that.  But somehow I didn’t know where to start.  When you saw me I was trying to pluck up the courage to come in.  But that woman in the playground didn’t help, and then when you set that copper on me, I thought, well, it would only make things worse to carry on.

“So I don’t want you to feel bad.  I know you were thinking of those kids, and I’m proud of you.  I don’t really know how to show it, other than to leave you this money.  There’s no-one else with a claim.  There was someone for a while, but we split up a long time ago.  I know this won’t make up for not being there, but it’s the best I can do now.  Good luck, Sandra.  Be happy.”

She dropped the letter on the table, suddenly aware of being very tired.  She decided to have an early night, and try to make sense of things in the morning.  Switching off the light, and leaving the pages of the letter lying scattered on the table, she left the room and shut the door firmly behind her.