Free Lifesaver by Louise Voss Page A

was a bit ambitious. I quite liked the idea of smashing plates and reassembling them in different formations—there seemed something so gloriously pointless about it.
    Pamela nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, yes, the mosaic courses here are excellent. Excellent. I mean, all the courses we offer are very good, but an outstanding teacher really makes all the difference.’
    I felt strangely joyful. ‘What’s the teacher’s name?’
    ‘Adam Ferris.’
    Questions bubbled up in my throat, and I had to swallow them firmly back down. There was no reason that the departmental secretary would know much about Adam’s private life. Still, there was no reason she wouldn’t, either.
    ‘Has he taught here for long?’
    Pamela’s face lit up, and instantly I knew that she was exactly the right person to talk to about Adam. I sent a silent thank you winging its way to Auntie Lil—it could not have been easier.
    ‘Several years now, since his little boy was born—’
    Bingo! She couldn’t wait to tell me, conspiracy was collecting in the corners of her mouth and in the sideways, excited look in her eyes. Maybe my naked need to know was dragging the information out of her, like a magnet’s pull.
    ‘How old’s his little boy?’ I asked innocently. Reel her in, Anna, I thought.
    ‘Nearly five now. Adam’s really been through it with him. Terrible time, he’s had. But he’s almost five now.’ She had the really irritating habit of repeating the same information in a slightly different way.
    ‘Why? Is he badly behaved or something?’
    She looked shocked, as if I’d blasphemed. ‘Oh goodness no, he’s an angel. Angelic, he is. No—’ she lowered her voice. ‘He nearly died. He was in hospital for two years. Leukaemia, it was.’
    I tutted. ‘That’s terrible. But he’s OK now?’
    Pamela beamed. ‘Fit as a little fiddle. You’d never guess he’d been so ill.’
    ‘His poor parents,’ I said, hopefully.
    Again, I hit the target, bullseye. As Pamela opened her mouth to spill the beans, I wondered if she was this indiscreet about the private lives of all the art faculty. But she must have realized the same thing at the same time, because her lips clamped shut again, and my window of opportunity closed.
    ‘So, anyway, I would thoroughly recommend the Beginners Mosaics class. Eleven until one o’clock on a Tuesday.’
    ‘Right,’ I said. ‘What kinds of things would we make?’
    ‘Whatever you like, really. Most students do small pieces at first: tiled photo frames or mirrors, or perhaps tissue boxes. Whatever you like.’
    I could think of few items less appealing than a tiled tissue box. ‘ That’s lovely,’ I said, pointing at a beautiful mosaic tabletop in the corner of the room. I hadn’t noticed it before, and walked over to examine it. It was circular, with symmetrical patterns of broken flowery china embedded in swirling, flowing lines which seemed almost fluid. The china was minty green and sugary pink on white, colours which would probably look horrible to eat one’s dinner from, but were fresh and vibrant when rearranged, like atoms, into different patterns.
    ‘I’d love to make something like that.’
    Pamela frowned and shook her head. ‘We-ll, that’s a piece that one of our more advanced students has just completed. I think you’d have to talk to Adam about doing something so ambitious, I’m not sure whether he’d think it suitable for a beginner.’
    ‘I could ask him. Might there be a chance to speak to him before the start of the term? Are there spaces left on the beginners course?’
    Pamela swayed across to a shelf at the side of the room, her hips grazing table edges as she passed them. She reminded me of the Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland . She’d have looked perfectly natural with a large tricornered wimple affair strapped under her chin.
    ‘Yes, I think there are still a few spaces. And I’ll just have a look at the diary, to see when Adam’s next in. You could ring