Читать книгу The Secret Letter - Kerry Barrett - Страница 20

2019

I knew that telling the staff that the council intended to close Elm Heath Primary would be terrible. I thought it would be one of the worst things I’d ever had to do.

When the shit hit the fan in Clapham it had been bad, but at the start I’d been absolutely certain that it was all a big mistake and that Grant would never have done the things they said he’d done.

Of course, I’d been wrong, which had made the whole thing even worse, but I didn’t know that at the beginning, even if I started to have some niggling doubts later on.

But the way I’d felt that day when Grant told me he’d been suspended while they investigated some “inconsistencies”’ was nothing compared to the way I felt just imagining the expressions on the faces of the Elm Heath staff.

And so, I decided not to tell them.

‘They’ll just start looking for another job,’ I reasoned with myself. ‘Or they’ll blame me and make things difficult. It’s better if they don’t know yet.’

Instead, at the end of the school day, I took Paula into my office and shut the door on Emma, who was pretending to be absorbed in putting her coat on and absolutely not listening to what we were saying.

‘What’s all this?’ Paula said, looking alarmed. ‘Bad news?’

‘The worst.’

The colour drained from her face and she sat down heavily, looking like the air had been knocked out of her.

‘They’re closing Elm Heath?’

I nodded.

‘I never thought they’d actually do it.’

‘It’s not definite yet.’ I was eager to reassure her, because I couldn’t bear to see how bereft she looked. ‘That’s why I’m only telling you for now – not everyone else.’

She shrugged. ‘What can we do? I know how these things work – once a decision has been made, it’s made.’

‘Not necessarily,’ I said, but my protests sounded weak to my own ears. ‘I spoke to Denise Deacon at the council and she said it wasn’t signed off yet. It’s not official.’

Paula looked up at me, a tiny glimmer of hope in her eyes. ‘What exactly did she say?’

I thought for a moment. ‘She said it was a shame and she wished the school could stay open. I got the impression she’s on our side, thought she couldn’t really say so outright.’

Paula nodded. ‘And?’

‘She said we had to be creative and prove that Elm Heath was a vital part of the community, or that it was of special interest. We’ve got some time – and I’ve had a few ideas.’

‘Hit me,’ Paula said.

I found my scribbled notes and took her through what I’d come up with so far and she listened intently, her mind obviously racing with her own ideas.

‘My friend Joanna is a personal trainer,’ she said. ‘I bet she knows loads of fitness instructors who might want to use the hall. I’ll put the word out. If we’re smart we could get someone hiring it every evening and that will definitely help the budget.’

I nodded, pleased she’d got on board so fast.

‘And I absolutely love the idea of bringing the kids and the elderly people together.’

‘I don’t think that will be a money-making idea really but it will prove we’re important in the community, which is also part of the plan.’

‘And the after-school club will do both,’ Paula said triumphantly.

‘I hope so. I’m surprised you don’t do one already.’

She grimaced. ‘Like I said, we got a bit stuck in our ways. We’d need someone to run it though.’

‘I had an idea about that, too.’

‘You’re on fire today.’

I grinned. ‘What about Sophie Albert?’

Paula clapped her hands. ‘That’s a fabulous idea. She knows all the kids anyway, and she’s got her DBS checks because she’s often helping out at school things.’ She thought for a moment. ‘And I think I’d ask Celeste to coordinate from our side. She’s very organised and she is keen to have a new challenge. Might encourage her to stay.’

‘Great,’ I said. ‘That’s sorted then. I’ll chat to Celeste and Sophie. Could you and Pippa take on the afternoon teas for the elderly people? Maybe speak to some daycentres or whatever? If they work well with the little children, we can extend it to the older ones.’

‘On it,’ Paula said.

I ran my fingers through my hair. ‘I just hope it works,’ I said. ‘Denise seemed to think it was a start rather than a solution. She sounded quite downbeat about it all.’

‘I really believed that once we had you at the helm we’d be fine,’ Paula said, almost to herself.

‘I did worry that this was because of me. That the axe is falling while I’m here, because of what happened,’ I admitted out loud for the first time, my mood going from positive to negative in record speed.

‘At your old school you mean?’

I nodded.

‘Absolute rubbish,’ Paula said firmly. ‘They were fully up to speed with everything that happened when they offered you the job.’

‘I s’pose,’ I muttered.

Paula fixed me with the stern glare that made unruly children quake. ‘You need to stop feeling guilty about something you didn’t do.’

‘I s’pose,’ I muttered again.

There was a pause. I played with the edge of the desk, wondering what to say next.

‘What did you mean when you said interest?’ Paula said.

‘Pardon me?’

‘You said we had to prove the school was of special interest. What kind of interest?’

‘Well, Denise suggested historical, because I mentioned how old it was,’ I said. ‘But anything I suppose.’

‘Right,’ Paula said, fire in her eyes.

‘Do you have an idea?’

‘What about Esther?’ she said, gesturing to the photograph on my wall.

‘I’m a step ahead of you there. But that’s not going to work.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because,’ I said. ‘I googled old butter-wouldn’t-melt Esther Watkins and discovered she was a criminal, that’s why.’

Paula stared at me. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Google doesn’t lie.’

She raised an eyebrow at me.

‘Okay, Google sometimes lies, but the dates match up. I’m pretty sure it’s the same woman.’

Paula didn’t speak; she just looked so upset that I felt bad all over again.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘Let me do a bit more research. Maybe it’s not her. It does sound pretty unlikely.’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’

‘Why would a middle-class schoolteacher go to prison?’

‘Exactly.’

Paula looked at her watch and grimaced. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Keep me posted on anything you discover?’

‘I will.’

Looking harassed, she hurried out of my office, leaving me alone. I looked out of the window at the autumn sunshine. All my best thinking used to be done while I was out walking. And when Grant’s actions made my whole life fall apart, I’d power my way round the commons of south London, working out solutions in my head. I’d go for a walk, I decided, and perhaps inspiration would strike.

As I left the school grounds, and pulled on my denim jacket though, I realised I was stumped. Back in London, I’d head to Wandsworth Common, or Tooting Common and follow the path round. But here in the countryside, I realised, I had no idea where to go. There was so much open space but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to walk there. Surely the fields all belonged to people? Were there footpaths across them? How would I know? What if there were animals? I wasn’t keen on animals – I mostly just liked them from a distance. Especially scary ones like bulls.

Behind the playground was a patch of waste ground with the remains of a building on it and a broken fence. I’d seen teenagers out there in the evening, chatting and watching stuff on their phones, but it didn’t look like somewhere I wanted to be.

Beyond that was a neatly hedged field. I eyed it suspiciously. I couldn’t see a bull, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one there.

Making up my mind, I crossed the road and headed instead to the park. It was only small, with a couple of football goals, and a little fenced-in play area, but I could walk round that without fear of being gored and hopefully clear my head a bit.

I’d only gone a little way round the edge of the park when my energy deserted me and I sat down on a bench, watching the kids running round the play area. I was at a loss about what to do for the best. The ideas we had were good but I wasn’t stupid. I knew they were a drop in the ocean compared to our falling admissions and the squeeze on education budgets. It seemed like an impossible task to save Elm Heath Primary, but it also seemed really important.

The old me would have relished this challenge. She’d have swooped in like a super-teacher, told everyone what to do to improve results and foster a growth mindset in all the pupils, and then swooped off again. But my confidence in my own abilities had deserted me, and this was all just too … huge.

‘You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders,’ said a voice. I looked up to see Danny Kinsella smiling at me.

To my surprise, my heart jumped at the sight of him. Just a bit.

‘School stuff,’ I said.

He sat down next to me. ‘Spill.’

‘I can’t.’

He pinched his lips together tight and made a zipping gesture. ‘I’m the soul of discretion, me,’ he said. ‘And if there’s anything I’ve learned over the years, it’s that a problem shared really is a problem halved.’

I looked at him. ‘You have to promise not to tell anyone,’ I said. ‘Not Cara and definitely not Sophie.’

‘Sophie ignores everything I say anyway.’

‘Promise,’ I said.

Danny looked at me gravely and held out his little finger. ‘Pinkie promise.’

‘Danny …’

‘It’s the most binding promise there is, according to Cara.’

Feeling faintly ridiculous, I linked my little finger with his. His hands were warm and soft.

‘There,’ he said, shaking. ‘Now you can tell me everything.’

And so I did. I told him all about Denise Deacon telling me the school would close unless we could do something to stop it, and about the ideas we’d had. It felt good to unburden.

‘Those are all great plans,’ he said. ‘Sophie’s the perfect person to run the after-school club.’

‘It’s not enough though, is it?’

He shrugged. ‘Possibly not. But it’s a start.’

‘I also had the idea of proving the school was of historical interest, so I looked up Esther Watkins, who founded it back in 1912, and discovered she was a criminal.’

‘What?’ said Danny, delighted. But I wasn’t happy.

‘I feel like I’ve hit a brick wall,’ I said. ‘I can’t tell the rest of the staff because they’ll just look for other jobs and we’ll be left with no one. Paula’s devastated. And the one thing I thought might help – our history – is a non-starter.’