Читать книгу Turn a Blind Eye - Vicky Newham - Страница 15

Wednesday – Steve

The staffroom atmosphere was completely different when Steve arrived back. The heating was working and everyone had shed their scarves, jumpers and coats. They sat in huddles, wide-eyed and dazed. As he walked in, was he imagining it, or were there a few nudges and stares? Steve scanned the room for somewhere to sit down. Despite the heat, he was still shivering and felt light-headed. The sense of Linda’s body kept coming back to him: her softness beneath him; the smell of her skin; her hair in his mouth… how he’d thrown up over her.

He spotted a chair by the window, slunk over and slumped down on it, relieved to be out of the deputy head’s office and among other human beings, even if he didn’t know any of them yet. He wanted to reflect on the police interview. He’d burbled about Lucy. How embarrassing. Otherwise he thought it had gone okay but he wasn’t sure. Was he a suspect? After all, he had found the body.

Near the door, a woman was firing out questions, repeating them hysterically to anyone who was in the vicinity. ‘Why is no-one telling us anything? Is Mrs Gibson dead’ Her voice trilled out. ‘Has she had a heart attack? Oh my God, she hasn’t been murdered, has she?’

Her voice grated. Steve felt like snapping at her to shut the fuck up. But this was a new job. He had to be on his best behaviour. Having a row with a colleague on the first day was not the way to go.

Steve could hear the two people nearest to her doing their best to calm the woman down, while a couple of other staff members stared, panicked into inertia and silence. It was as if they had all been plunged into an existence that was cut off from this morning. Set adrift into a new reality that none of them could quite accept.

Then the woman blurted out, ‘He must know.’ She pointed at Steve. ‘He found her, didn’t he?’

Steve’s stomach did a somersault.

‘Is she dead?’ the woman asked in his direction, staring at him expectantly.

Shit. What should he say? The police had told him not to discuss what happened. He looked away, tried to tune out, and a few of the people nearby shushed her.

His thoughts drifted to Lucy and he wondered how she’d felt after she’d seen him off at the airport. And over the next day. Perhaps she would forgive him if he gave her time? He’d just have to be patient. Except he’d been patient over the last few months and it hadn’t made any difference. Cheating was the one thing she’d told him she’d never accept in a relationship. And his stupid pride had got in the way. When she’d told him she wanted to go back home to America, he’d reacted childishly. And now he had to suck up the consequences.

Someone coughed and cleared their throat. Neil Sanderson, the school bursar, was standing at the counter by the kitchen area. He wiped his forehead with his palm. ‘Could you gather round, folks, please?’ His cheeks were mottled, and patches of sweat stained the armpits of his mauve shirt.

Mutterings flew round the room, some of complaint, others of curiosity and dread.

Neil adjusted the rimless glasses on his nose. ‘As you all know, there’s been a serious incident involving Mrs Gibson. At the moment the police aren’t giving out much information. They have a number of teams here carrying out forensic work. We don’t know yet whether the school site will be closed tomorrow, but there will be no lessons or students in school.’ He reached over to the counter and took a swig of water from a plastic cup.

A few people put their hands up and he gestured them down. He checked his notes. ‘Mrs Ahmed and I have been liaising with the police, the LEA and our governors, and we’ve produced a . . . a . . .’ He looked round for Shari.

‘Media and community strategy,’ she prompted.

‘Yes. With a close community such as ours, word travels quickly. We have contacted all parents to inform them there will be no school tomorrow. The police request that you do not tell anyone what has happened. Not even close friends and family.’ He mopped his forehead again, and faced Shari. ‘Is there anything else we need to cover?’

Shari came to his aid. ‘It’s a bit tricky as parents are already gathering outside the police cordon to find out what’s happened. One of our parent governors is here trying to smooth things over.’ She scanned the room, as though trying to gauge the mood. ‘Everyone needs to stay on site until we dismiss you. Before you leave, we will inform you of the plans for tomorrow. The police are trying to speak to everyone as quickly as possible. Any urgent questions, please ask either Mr Sanderson or myself.’

Voices flared up again as soon as she stopped talking and people darted across the room to join groups of colleagues.

Steve felt disorientated. He surveyed the room and saw similar feelings mirrored in his colleagues’ faces. Some were pale and wide-eyed, staring into the distance in a daze. Others were flushed and agitated. On the soft chairs round the coffee tables a group of people surrounded a young woman wearing a silver and black headscarf. Steve recognised Rozina, the head’s PA, who was dabbing at her eyes and adjusting the pin on her scarf. When Steve had come for his interview, Rozina had been kind when he’d forgotten to bring his training folder and needed to print out the details from his e-mail. Poor girl. She had black panda rings round her eyes from crying through make-up. Steve could hear snatches of what Rozina was saying. She could have got help for Mrs Gibson if she’d been at her desk. She felt responsible. If Mrs Gibson died it would be all her fault.

‘Stop being such a drama queen, Rozina,’ said a fierce-looking woman with long white hair, which was parted in the middle so that it hung like two curtains on either side of her face. She was flicking through the latest Times Educational Supplement, licking her finger before each page turn.

‘Moira, that’s not necessary,’ said a girl who was sitting next to Rozina. ‘We’re all extremely concerned and upset.’ The gaggle of people surrounding Rozina stared at the woman.

‘I was just saying.’ Moira spat out the words as though she had bitten on a lemon.

‘Well, perhaps it would be helpful if you didn’t “just say”.’

‘Suit yourself.’ The woman shrugged and flounced away from the group.

Feeling self-conscious with the ambulance rug wrapped round him, Steve pulled it off and got up. He was still shivering so he headed over to the kitchen area and flicked the kettle on to make himself a hot drink. The usual first day of term activities had been eclipsed. The whole day felt unreal, and he wanted to go home. He shuddered, though, at the grilling he was going to get from his sister.

Especially when she found out that, on top of blowing his engagement, he was now a potential suspect in a murder investigation.