burn away to ashes.
In the morning we packed up the Blood Hunters' marquee and walked to Hildenborough, where we moved into empty houses and slept all day.
I had been thinking about what Lee had said, about me being the natural leader. Those three months at the farm with the girls had been wonderful, and yes, I had enjoyed being in charge. Lee made it very clear that he didn't want the job any more.
So I called a meeting and we put it to the vote. Should we stay and become part of the Hildenborough community, or should I take charge of the search for a new home, a new school? The vote was unanimous.
Weeks later, when we were having our final meeting to choose between two likely places, Lee took me to one side.
'I'm leaving, Jane,' he said.
I told him to stop being silly. His arm and hand were healing but he still had limited movement. He needed more physiotherapy and time to recover. But he was determined.
'I have to go find my father,' he explained. 'I know he survived the plague, but he should have been back here by now. Something's gone wrong and he might need my help.'
'But where will you look?' I asked, unable to believe this.
'Iraq,' he said simply.
I begged him to reconsider, told him to wait for us to finish our meeting and then we'd discuss it. He promised he would. But when we wrapped up half an hour later, he was gone.
I only spent two years as the matron of St Mark's School for Boys. I'd gone there looking for a refuge from violence, and instead I'd found more death than I could have imagined. And more kindness, too. We took the sign from the front gate with us when we moved into Groombridge, establishing some sense of continuity. 'St Mark's is dead, long live St Mark's,' as Rowles put it.
I was in control and I swore this time it would work, this time everyone would be safe.
I'd make sure of it.
