Читать книгу A Dozen Second Chances - Field Kate - Страница 11

The last thing I expected to see, when I pulled into the school car park the following morning, was a racy, low-slung sports car occupying a space. And not just any space; it was parked in mine. We didn’t have official named spaces, but by convention we all had our regular spots and would stick to them, unless there was a torrential rainstorm in the morning, in which case it was every staff member for themselves in parking near the door.

‘Look at that,’ I said to Tina, who shared the journey in with me. I pointed at the offending vehicle.

‘Graham would love one of those,’ she said, referring to her mild-mannered husband. ‘He fancies himself as James Bond in disguise.’

It was an excellent disguise: plump, quiet and kind, he suited his ancient Volvo estate more than a sports car.

‘I wasn’t admiring it,’ I said, pulling in to the space next to it, and already dreading the backlash from the head of languages. ‘It’s in my space.’

‘So it is. Who do you think it belongs to? Has someone been on a spending spree this weekend? My money’s on that new maths teacher. I’ve caught him using my mug, and he definitely has an inflated notion of his own sex appeal.’

‘I saw it here on Saturday, and it wasn’t the maths teacher driving. It was a woman, but I didn’t recognise her. We’re not expecting a new teacher, are we?’

‘Only the interim head, and I’m sure she wasn’t due to start until next week.’

Tina promised to send me a text if she discovered a stranger in the staffroom, and I headed the opposite way to my desk in what was laughingly called my office, although it was no more than a cubbyhole outside the head’s room, and the enormous multi-function printer took up more space than I did. This morning, I was surprised to see a scruffy cardboard box occupying the centre of the desk, in the one area that had been free of detritus when I had left on Friday night.

As I was staring at it, wondering where it could have come from, and what unpleasant task it must contain if someone had dumped it and run, the door to the head’s office jerked open, giving me another surprise. Our head teacher, Mrs Armstrong, had gone off on long-term sick leave a couple of weeks ago, and we’d bobbed along in rudderless fashion since then as the deputy head had also moved on at Christmas and not yet been replaced; for some reason, our middle-ranking school buried in the Lancashire countryside wasn’t attracting many applicants for the role.

A woman stood in the doorway, looking me up and down in a swift appraisal that immediately raised my hackles. Not that they needed to be raised much further – even without the scowl I recognised the driver who had knocked me over at the weekend. What was she doing here?

‘Ms Roberts?’ She buzzed the ‘Ms’ in an unnecessarily emphatic way, and glanced at her watch – another unnecessary affectation, when there was a perfectly good clock on the wall between us. ‘Eve?’

‘Yes?’ I waited to see if she would remember me as her weekend victim, but there was no hint of recognition.

‘Jo Blair.’ She approached and stretched out her hand for me to shake, smiling in a way that seemed calculatedly hearty, putting me on edge rather than at ease. ‘I’ll be interim head for the next few months, until a permanent head is recruited. I’m glad you’re early. I’m told that you’re a wonder and will be my right hand. Come in and have a chat.’

Without waiting for my agreement – as my working hours hadn’t technically started yet – she turned and walked back into Mrs Armstrong’s office – or her office, as I supposed I would now have to think of it. I followed on behind, feeling uncomfortably like a naughty child about to learn my punishment. It was a pleasant room, with windows on two walls overlooking the playing fields, but as Jo took a seat behind the desk, I could sense that the atmosphere had changed already. Mrs Armstrong had made it warm and welcoming, so even the most wayward pupil or anxious parent had felt at ease. Now all that warmth seemed to have been sucked out through the open window. The room felt cold and impersonal; even the desk had been cleared, so all that remained on it were a computer and keyboard, telephone and a paper coffee cup from the petrol station on the Yorkshire side of town.

Jo waved at me to take a seat opposite her.

‘I didn’t think you were due to start until next week,’ I said.

‘I was due to go on holiday, but cancelled when this job came up. It was clear when I looked at the figures and statistics that I couldn’t start a moment too soon. The exam results aren’t impressive, are they? You must be aware of that.’

‘We’re low in the league tables, but …’

‘Exactly.’ Jo interrupted before I could point out that the school excelled in so many other areas – in sport, in music and, most importantly, in sending confident, well-rounded young adults out into the world. ‘That’s going to have to change. There’s been too much slack management. We need to see streamlining and efficiencies. I’m meeting the staff this morning to outline the vision for the way forward. Good teachers and good results will be at the heart of it.’

‘We have some excellent teachers here. They couldn’t be more dedicated …’

‘Some? That’s not enough. We need all the teachers to be excellent.’ Jo leant across the desk towards me. ‘The governors assure me I can rely on you. You’ve been here a long time. You know all the staff – who isn’t on their game any more, who has lost their motivation, who is letting standards fall. You’ll hear things that I won’t. I’m counting on you to help me, for the good of the school. I need you to be not only my right hand, but also my eyes and ears.’

It normally worked like a magic charm, someone asking for my help – I could rarely resist. But this? Spying on my colleagues, who I had worked alongside for years? Betraying the teachers who had taught Caitlyn, kept an eye on her for me, shaped her into who she was? I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.

‘I’ll help in any practical way I can,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘But I won’t spy on my friends, or tell tales about hardworking teachers who care passionately about this school and their students, and who are doing their best in difficult circumstances. That’s not in my job description, and not in my nature either. But if there’s anything else I can do, you need only ask.’

If I’d thought the atmosphere was cold before, it was nothing to how low the temperature dropped now. Jo sat back and crossed her arms, sending me a patronising smile.

‘I think you misunderstand, Eve. I never suggested you should spy, only to work with me to identify areas of improvement. Of course, if you don’t want the increased responsibility, I respect your decision. It is disappointing, when I had heard such good things about your commitment to this school.’

Jo tapped at her keyboard, and I took this as a sign that I was dismissed. I stood up, feeling bizarrely as if I had done something wrong. Had I? If nothing else, I’d clearly annoyed Jo, and that would make working in such close proximity awkward. But I couldn’t regret my decision. I hesitated, wondering whether I ought to say something else, to try to smooth things between us.

‘Oh, Eve?’ Jo didn’t look up. ‘There’s a box on your desk. It contains Mrs Armstrong’s belongings. Please get rid of it. And on the subject of your desk …’ Now she looked at me, and it wasn’t a friendly look. She clearly wasn’t in the mood to smooth things out. ‘I intend to introduce a clear desk policy. Have you any idea how much a data protection breach would cost, financially and reputationally? Everything confidential must be locked away. Your first job this morning is to clear your desk.’

She focused on her screen and started typing before I could tell her that I was fully aware of the rules and regulations concerning data protection, and that whilst my desk may look untidy, there was nothing confidential on there. I walked back out to my cubbyhole and glanced over at the desk. Perhaps untidy was an understatement. How long had it been since I last sorted through the piles of stationery catalogues, magazines and junk mail? Mrs Armstrong had kept me too busy. Well, I would soon show Jo Blair that a clear desk policy held no fear for me …

It was lunchtime before I could catch up with Tina, and she did a double take when she saw me sitting behind my immaculate desk. I had reproduced Jo’s minimalist look to perfection, with the exception of the photo of Caitlyn beside the computer monitor. No amount of arm-folding or disapproving looks would persuade me to part with that.

‘Have you been fired?’ Tina asked, goggling at the expanse of clear desk between us. Not even a paperclip besmirched the tidiness now. Of course, the desk drawers were bulging, but Jo couldn’t take control of those too, could she? ‘Have you managed to irritate our new boss already?’

‘It wouldn’t take much, would it? She’s not fired me yet, but I’m wondering if it’s only a matter of time. We’ve worked together for one morning, and so far, she’s objected to the state of my desk, the smell of my peppermint tea, that I didn’t divert my phone when I nipped away for two minutes to go to the loo, and that she doesn’t like the way the computer files are labelled and arranged. She’s also told me that I won’t need to do any more typing for her, as she has a digital dictation system on her computer, which is more efficient. If I hear the word efficient one more time, I’ll …’

The door to the corridor was flung open and Jo strode in, abruptly cutting off my rant.

‘The lunch system is inefficient,’ she said. ‘There’s a queue halfway down the corridor, and staff members are wasting time having to police it. Make a note for the next staff meeting.’

I nodded but didn’t move, and she continued to stare at me until I reluctantly opened a drawer a crack to try to remove a notebook and pen without her noticing the untidy state of the drawer.

‘Can I help you? Mrs Wade, isn’t it? History?’ she said to Tina. Assuming Tina had only come around to gossip, I began to give a spurious excuse for her presence, but she waved at me to stop.

‘I have some excellent news, Ms Blair,’ she said, in a fawning manner that I thought unworthy of her. She held up a sheet of paper that I hadn’t noticed before. ‘The popular TV archaeologist Paddy Friel has agreed to come and give a talk one evening. It’s excellent publicity for the school, and a great enrichment event for the students.’

‘We won’t be able to fit it in,’ I said, glaring at Tina. How could she go ahead with this, after what I had told her about Paddy? ‘Next term is too busy already, with the prize-giving and end-of-year musical evenings, and the hall will be set up for exams for most of the time.’

‘I know all that, so I begged him nicely and he’s agreed to come in the last week of this term. Isn’t that great?’

The last week of term? There were only two weeks left until we broke up for the Easter holidays, which meant Paddy would be coming in next week. That was too short notice to arrange an event with anyone, let alone with someone I didn’t want to see within twenty miles of here.

‘That doesn’t give us time to organise it,’ I said. ‘It’s not just a question of advertising the event, but we need to make arrangements for school to be open late, and for staff members to stay behind … Think of the costs for the small benefit it might have.’

I thought that pointing out potential financial implications would bring Jo over to my side, although it seemed incredible that we were battling over her. But Tina sent me a smile full of mischief.

‘I’ve thought of all that. We could have it a week on Wednesday. There’s a Year 10 Information Evening at six, so we could invite Paddy to start his talk at seven-thirty. As the school will be open late anyway, and staff present, it would be an efficient time to do it. You could include it in the newsletter tomorrow.’

I had to smile, and acknowledge her skill, even though my heart sank as Jo nodded in agreement.

‘It’s an excellent idea, Mrs Wade, well done. We can charge for tickets and drinks, to make a profit from the event. This is exactly what we need to see – initiative and positivity from the staff.’

I didn’t know why she looked at me when she said that: I could be extremely positive when I chose. Just not where Paddy Friel was concerned. I was still smarting over the whole business at the end of the day when I met Tina at my car to share the drive home.

‘You deserve to walk,’ I said, unlocking the door and throwing my bag onto the back seat. ‘How could you have arranged this with Paddy behind my back? You knew I didn’t want him here.’

‘But you heard how good he was at the other school. We hardly ever have events like that here. We’re too out of the way to draw big names. Why should our students always miss out? If it inspires one of them it will be worth it.’

I shrugged and reversed out of my space with unnecessary speed. She was right, and I couldn’t argue with her. I just wished it had been anyone but Paddy who was offering this golden opportunity.

‘Besides, you don’t need to come,’ she added. ‘He won’t turn up until long after you’ve gone home. If you really don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. Forget you ever heard about the event.’

If only it were that easy.

*

Caitlyn telephoned at the weekend, brimming with excitement about her new life in Paris and her job as an au pair. Everything was fun and interesting; the family she was working for were lovely, and the children she was looking after were adorable. The weather, the food, the flowers, the improvement in her accent already … she was enthusiastic about every detail.

My heart ached to hear her. She was so happy – happier than I ever remembered hearing her before. Was that my fault? Had I held her back, in our quiet Lancashire town, taping up wings that were twitching with the urge to fly? Had I held her close, when she wanted to be set free? Protected her, when she needed to test herself and learn from her own mistakes? I had done what I thought was best, for Faye’s sake, but it was agonising to think that I might have promoted her safety above her happiness.

‘How are you getting on with the Be Kind to Yourself vouchers?’ Caitlyn asked at last, when even her enthusiasm for Parisian life was exhausted. ‘You’ve only sent me one so far.’

‘There will be another one on the way soon.’ I laughed. ‘You might not think it exciting enough. I had to buy some new running clothes, and I didn’t go for the cheapest own brand this time.’

In a moment of mouse madness, I had clicked on a hi-tech outfit that apparently could breathe, sweat and possibly even do the running for me, or that’s what I expected for the price. It was due to arrive on Monday, in time for the first running group meeting on Tuesday. After a sustained campaign of persuasion from Lexy, I’d given in and agreed to lead it for her. I was trying not to worry about what I had let myself in for.

‘Is it going to make you look young, gorgeous and athletic – unlike the baggy things you’ve worn in the past?’

‘I don’t think it can perform miracles, even at that price.’ Caitlyn’s laughter floated down the line. I closed my eyes, and for a bewitching second it could have been Faye on the other end of the phone. ‘I thought I ought to look the part, if I’m leading the group. That’s if anyone turns up. Lexy has set up a Facebook event, but no one has signed up yet. No one has even said that they’re interested.’

‘But the middle-aged people who need exercise might not use Facebook.’

‘That’s a fair point. I’ll tell Lexy that we need to write out flyers on parchment with our quill pens, and send them off attached to a pigeon …’

‘I didn’t mean you. You’re not middle-aged. Not yet.’

‘Thanks!’ Of course, I spoke too soon.

‘Not until August, when you turn forty and officially go over the hill …’

I clutched the phone more tightly to my ear, staggered by the overwhelming nature of how much I missed her, felt in every fibre and follicle of my being. Her absence was like a physical force, buffeting me from all angles.

‘I can tell you’re not missing me at all,’ Caitlyn said. ‘You’re having too much fun with your running club and nights out with Tina. Where did you go? You didn’t say. I hope it wasn’t just cinema night with Gran Gran and the Chestnuts gang.’

‘No, we went to Yorkshire.’ I realised that probably didn’t sound much of a treat to someone currently living in Paris. ‘We attended an evening lecture.’

Caitlyn’s silence confirmed that the extra detail hadn’t helped elevate the outing in the excitement stakes.

‘You did get the concept of the vouchers, didn’t you?’ she asked. ‘You were supposed to be having fun.’

‘It was fun!’ Or it had been until a certain fake Irishman had barged into my personal space. ‘It was all about Roman Britain and what the archaeological evidence tells us …’

I trailed off. I had deliberately not given Caitlyn any details of the talk when I filled in the voucher. She knew my history, of course, and knew about my degree, but I had tended to play it down as a subject in which I had a passing interest, not one that I had intended to make my career. I had never told her about the plans Paddy and I had made before she came to live with us; the plans to take time out and join archaeological digs across the world. We had both been juggling a variety of part-time jobs to fund our travels; my share of the money had ultimately been used to fund time out with Caitlyn and our travels to Lancashire.

I had never mentioned Paddy to her at all, and as far as I knew she had no memory of him. I hoped not, anyway. But I certainly didn’t want her to think that I’d been desperate for her to leave home all these years, so I could pick up my old life again.

‘It was only …’ I began again, but Caitlyn interrupted.

‘That’s fantastic! I didn’t realise you were still interested in all that old stuff. Are there any more talks you can go to?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ I conveniently forgot the fact that one was taking place at our school.

‘That’s a shame. What about going on a dig? Is that the sort of thing you used to do? You should definitely have another go. I bet you could volunteer for something over the holidays. Why not?’

‘Well …’ Caitlyn was reminding me of someone again, but it wasn’t Faye this time. It was me. Wasn’t this exactly the same cajoling voice I’d used countless times to encourage her to join in with things she wasn’t keen on? Since when had our roles reversed?

We said our goodbyes, and Caitlyn returned to her busy, delightful French life while I slumped on the sofa in front of the television in my empty house. I had no plans for the rest of the evening, or for Sunday either. Rich was busy with his children, Tina was away, and even Gran had told me to keep clear of The Chestnuts or face the consequences of a nasty gastric bug. I had no plans for the rest of the year. No plans for the rest of my life, whispered an impish voice in my head.

I thought about Caitlyn’s suggestion of volunteering on a dig and the stir of excitement I had felt when she had mentioned it. Could I pick up where I had left off all those years ago? Could I volunteer on a dig over the summer? Why not, Caitlyn had asked. I thought about it all night, and couldn’t think of an answer.