The Schoolhouse

by Sophie Ward

Genres: Literary Fiction; Domestic Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

LONGLISTED FOR THE POLARI PRIZE 2023

'A compelling, fast-moving narrative . . . delivers real emotional impact' Telegraph

'A literary provocateur' Guardian

Isobel lives an isolated life in North London, working at a nearby library. She feels safe if she keeps to her routines and doesn't let her thoughts stray too far into the past. But a newspaper photograph of a missing local schoolgirl and a letter from her old teacher are all it takes for her ordinary, careful armour to become overwhelmed and the trauma of what happened when she was a pupil at The Schoolhouse to return.

The Schoolhouse was different - one of the 1970s experimental schools that were a reaction to the formal methods of the past. The usual rules did not apply, and life there was a dark interplay of freedom and violence, adventure and fear. Only her teenage diary recorded what happened, but the truth is coming for her and everything she has tried to protect is put at risk.

Set between the past and the present, The Schoolhouse is a masterful and gripping novel about childhood, secrets and trust.

Release date: March 14, 2023

Publisher: Vintage

Print pages: 272

Sample

The university library was housed in an unimposing corner of North London, halfway up the Holloway Road. A small campus occupied the grounds of a former landfill site and seagulls still circled overhead, drawn by the scent of waste. When Isobel walked back from lunch the shadows of the birds followed her in the winter sunlight.

From the safety of her desk, she flinched at the thoughtof the gulls’ swollen bodies. Across the room in the study area, two children sat in modular chairs and read books they had brought with them. The children distracted her. She was used to the research students and teaching staff using the library but visitors had to be registered with the university. The children must belong to one of the faculty. Isobel watched them from her workstation.

The library stood at the back of the campus, a liver-bricked cube with a wide staircase leading from the entrance to the road below. Inside, the books were arranged over two levels. Isobel’s station was placed in the middle of the ground floor. From there, she could see everyone who entered. If she turned, she had a clear view between the rows of shelving behind her and Periodicals on her left. It was among the newspapers and magazines that the children sat. They didn’t speak to each other. The only activity came from Melanie Harris at the front desk, stamping books and stacking them onto the metal trolleys. Isobel imagined that Melanie must stamp books in her sleep.

She shared her desk with Jenny. Since Isobel was not a qualified librarian, she was responsible for the maintenance of the books and some of the filing while Jenny took care of all research enquiries. The senior librarians worked in their offices upstairs, visiting the ground floor when they had specific requests. They were always smartly dressed, the two male librarians in suits, while the women wore silky blouses and woollen skirts. Isobel enjoyed the busy periods at the end of term, when everyone worked on the shelves. The jewel colours of the women’s clothes shone out against the sea of student denim. Isobel did not care to shine, but she admired
the confidence of those who did.

She took a sip of coffee from the Thermos she kept on the shelf under the countertop. Jenny was making a fresh pot in the staffroom but Isobel preferred the way they made it in the university canteen. The liquid was cold now, but she drank it while she watched the children.

The two girls sat with their hair hanging loose, shoulders rounded as they bent over their books. They looked alike, thin bodies in flared jeans and polo neck jumpers, with the floury faces and shadowed eyes of city children in winter. It had been so long since Isobel had spent any time with children. They were young to be on their own in the library, but they knew how to behave. Nine, maybe? Ten? They each turned the page they were reading and glanced up at each other. She could almost read their lips from where she stood.

‘No,’ one of the girls seemed to say, ‘family.’

Isobel looked away.

When Jenny returned from her break, Isobel got her coat and scarf and went outside. Clouds drooped over the campus square. A few students leaned against benches, eating chips and smoking. A solitary Christmas star in gold tinsel shimmered from a lamp post. Isobel walked across the icy concrete, feeling the cold spread through the soles of her shoes up into her toes, and letting her breath condense in the wool under her chin. She went back to the library as the last streetlight flickered on. The children were gone.