School Run (41 page)

‘I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard.’

They stood in silence as she pushed Jack on the swing.

‘What will you do?’

‘No idea. There aren’t many vacancies for a magazine editor approaching forty.’

‘But it’s experience that counts, surely?’

‘You’d think so.’

‘Have you heard of that new magazine that's about to launch?
Fabulous Forties
, I think it’s called.’

Evie shook her head. ‘Mind you, I haven’t had my ear to the ground as much as I should recently. I’ve had a lot on my mind.’

‘Worth checking out.’

She looked brighter. ‘Maybe. Although, to be honest, I’d quite like some time with Jack. I’ve missed out on so much already. But thanks anyway, Nick.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ He looked at his watch. Julie would be back from her driving lesson. ‘Come on, Mutley, home.’

‘Dog,’ cooed Jack.

‘He’s a natural model,’ commented Nick.

‘I wouldn’t want him to get into that world.’

‘Right.’ Nick swallowed hard. ‘I know what you mean. ’Bye, then. Maybe see you next term.’

‘Probably not. We’re moving. My husband’s got a new job. To be honest, I’m looking forward to a fresh start.’

‘Well, good luck.’

‘Thanks.’ She smiled at him. She ought to do that more often, he thought. It made her seem softer. ‘See you around maybe.’

He nodded, whistled to Mutley and walked on. He’d spent most of the morning at the police station, telling the superintendent what he knew and showing him the note Julie had left. He’d also given a statement, which had been scary. On Monday he would phone his solicitor for advice. The superintendent had indicated that the coroner might have to reopen that poor kid’s case in the light of new evidence. Nick knew it would be almost impossible to keep Julie ignorant of what might have happened but at least he had done the right thing. If his own daughter were run over, God forbid, he would want to know the full facts.

At least they couldn’t put Juliana in prison, he thought grimly. And there was still the outside chance that her ramblings on paper might not be seen as proof – even the garage bill might be innocent.

God, it would be good to talk to someone – and not just anyone. Nick’s right hand closed round the mobile in his pocket. Should he? No. What the hell? ‘Harriet? It’s Nick. From school. Sorry, is this a bad time? . . . Oh, right. Listen, I was just wondering if you were free for coffee next week?’

HARRIET

‘It’s nearly five o’clock on a warm Sunday afternoon and we’re going to wrap up now with some gentle music to ease you into the week ahead.’

Harriet turned off the engine. It had been a long drive to Sussex with those roadworks and the children had fallen asleep on the way, their heads peacefully slumped together. She looked at them tenderly. They’d all been through so much and in just one week.

Stiffly, she got out of the car. Through the cottage window she could see her mother waiting for them. ‘Mum!’ she said, as her mother came out to the gate. She looked older, Harriet thought, with a pang. I should have come down before.

‘Darling, I’m so glad you got here safely. I always worry about you on the motorway.’ Harriet’s mother glanced into the back of the car. ‘What poppets! Do you want to wake them? Otherwise they won’t sleep tonight.’

Together, they woke Bruce and Kate and brought them into the kitchen for a drink.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ Harriet said again, allowing herself to be enveloped in her mother’s arms.

‘You too, sweetheart. Shall we take our tea into the drawing room and let the children get on with theirs?’

Harriet only just managed to get out of the room before the tears started. ‘Sorry, Mum, but I can’t help it,’ she said, and buried her head in her mother’s shoulder. ‘Something really terrible has happened.’

‘You know,’ said her mother quietly, ‘I never thought you and Charlie were very well suited.’

Harriet blew her nose on the handkerchief her mother had given her. ‘You didn’t say so.’

‘I didn’t want to interfere.’

‘I’m scared, Mum, of being alone.’

‘Scared?’ Her mother put an arm round her. ‘Look at me, darling. I’ve done it.’

‘Exactly! And you’ve found it hard.’

‘Well, it was at the beginning but, darling, you found it harder than I did when your father left. I was almost relieved because I didn’t have to pretend any more.’

Harriet nodded. ‘I can understand that.’

‘If it makes you feel any better, darling, there’s something I’ve been trying to tell you for ages but it’s been difficult on the phone.’ She flushed. ‘I’ve met someone else. He’s a widower and he moved into the village two years ago. His name is Michael. I hope you’ll like him. He’s going to come over tomorrow for tea, if that’s all right.’

Harriet could hardly believe it. ‘You’ve met someone else? That’s wonderful.’

‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’

‘Why should I? I just want you to be happy.’

Her mother looked relieved. ‘Thank you. And one day, Harriet, you will, too, although it may take time.’ She put down her cup and gazed across the lawn. ‘Do you see anything of your father?’

‘I sometimes ring him but we haven’t met for ages,’ said Harriet, quietly.

‘Well, do so, dear. Sometimes I wonder if I put you against him. You do things like that, during a divorce, and you need to consider that with Charlie. It would be good for you to meet and, besides, the children shouldn’t be deprived of a grandfather. Promise?’

‘I’ll think about it, Mum.’

‘Mum.
Mum!
’

Harriet jumped up as Kate appeared in the doorway.

‘What?’ She hadn’t heard anything, had she? ‘Bruce has just knocked over the Ribena on to the floor and it’s stuck to my feet.’ She held up a pretty heart-shaped box. ‘And I don’t know why you got me this, Mum. I’m too old for Polly Pocket now. Besides, it’s really weird inside. There’s a plastic space capsule for Polly and some metal circles.’

Harriet didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Did you find that in my bag?’

Kate nodded. ‘Sorry.’

‘If I were you,’ said Harriet’s mother, gravely, ‘I wouldn’t go looking in other people’s bags or pockets. You don’t know what you might find.’

Harriet’s skin crawled. ‘Mum,’ she whispered, when Kate had gone back to the kitchen, ‘perhaps I shouldn’t have gone through Charlie’s suit. If I hadn’t found that hotel bill, none of this would have happened.’

‘Darling, I didn’t think when I said that. No, you did the right thing. Besides, you weren’t snooping – you were trying to take it to the dry-cleaner.’

‘But would it have been better if I’d pretended not to know?’ persisted Harriet.

‘If I were you I’d stop thinking about what might have happened and get on with the present. You’re young enough to start again – we all are, whether we’re thirty-five or sixty-five. The world out there is a lot more exciting and less terrifying than you think. Trust me.’

BETTY

‘Well, Gaby, this is what all parents have been waiting for! Your tips on how to keep the kids happy and quiet in the summer holidays.’

I like Sky. It’s much better than ordinary television or the radio. And fancy me forgetting it’s the summer holidays next week! I don’t have to worry about getting Terry ready for school.

Just as well, really. They make you go to bed so early in this place that it’s hard to fit it all in. Television, talking to people, the craft class. I hadn’t realised I was so good at watercolours or finger painting. I must tell Terry about that when he gets back from Tesco’s. He used to be good at art when he was little. I’ve got all his paintings at home, in a folder marked ‘Terry’s Art Work’. It’s next to ‘Terry’s School Reports’ and ‘Terry’s Swimming Certificates’.

I could find his birth certificate at the drop of a hat.

That reminds me. Must get his new school uniform for next term. Better check his collar size too. Harold was a seventeen and a half, you know, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Terry was heading that way.

He’ll be visiting me any time now. Maybe he’ll bring me some more roses. I need a fresh bunch for the lamp post. Otherwise people will think I’ve forgotten.

SUNDAY P.M.

‘Night, Dad. See you next weekend? . . . Alton Towers? Cool. Do you want to talk to Bruce? He’s abseiling off Granny’s sofa. I can spell “abseil”. Want to test me? . . . Yes, I know it’s difficult over the phone but I learned it specially for you.’

‘Mum, if Aunt Susie goes tomorrow, I promise I’ll be good. Really good. Get rid of her. Please.’

‘Dad, I forgot to say. The agency wants me to do something on Thursday. I can, can’t I? It’s the holidays. It’s for a new magazine for teenagers that’s going to be really big. You won’t believe what they’re paying me! I thought I could start saving for a car of my own. Mum would have been proud of that, wouldn’t she?’

‘Dad? It’s Harriet. Yes, I’m fine, thanks. And you? Listen, I wondered if I could bring the children over to see you during the summer holidays. No, no one’s ill. There are just a few things I need to talk to you about. Good. See you, then.’

‘No, Mum, I said I wanted a Croatian au pair. Not another French one. I bet he can’t even play football. Look at his picture – he’s a real prat with those sticky-out ears and goofy grin. And turn off that radio. I don’t care if you’re on
Desert Island Discs
next week. I want to hear
my
music. If you don’t do what I say, I’ll get my stutter again. You know what the doctor said yesterday. Hugo’s caught my stutter now his dad’s gone. His mum says it’s stress.’

‘Yes, that is what he does for a living and when you meet him you’ll understand. Really? Champneys? Gosh! Good old Rod.’

Dear Miss Hayling,

My husband and I have separated and, as Bruce’s new form teacher next term, I thought you ought to know. Bruce is naturally upset but he will see his father regularly and I am hoping we can get through this difficult time in as civilised a manner as possible. I would be grateful if we could have a meeting early next term to discuss his progress.

Yours sincerely,

Harriet Chapman

‘Bonne nuit, chéri.’

NEXT TERM

‘It’s a bright autumn morning, and this is Capital Radio bringing you the latest . . .’

‘Kate, Bruce? Omigod, getupnow, we’relateforthefirstdayofschool. Is that the phone? Who’s got the receiver? Pippa? . . . Oh,
Nick
. Hi. Sorry, can’t make tonight – I’m starting that new course . . . Tomorrow? Great! Charlie’s having them then. Must dash. It’s a bit hectic here at the moment . . .’

‘Wake up, Mum. Come on, Dad. It’s late. The alarm went off ages ago. Lucy’s making breakfast and it’s all over the floor. Aren’t you going to get us to school? And why are your pyjamas on the floor, Dad? Aren’t you cold?’

‘Jack, come on, love. First day at your new nursery school. Won’t that be fun?’

‘I don’t like my new school, Chris. Can you ask Mum if I can go to another? What about that one near Dad and Evie?’

‘There aren’t any flowers on that lamp post any more, Mum. Why not? Do you think that person loves someone else now, like Dad and Thérèse?’

‘And on tomorrow’s brand new breakfast show, Simon and Sally will be asking how we can make our schools safer in the wake of the recent sieges both in Britain and the States. They’ll also be calling on the government to tighten up laws on au pair employment and their employers’ right to privacy.’

‘I’ll be fine, Dad. Stop fussing. Everyone drives themselves to school. And I’ll wear the P-plates. Promise.’

It’s Monday. If Terry were alive, he’d be going to school. But he’s not. He’s never going to school again. There’s another woman here whose son isn’t going to school again, either. Sometimes we talk about it and sometimes we don’t. Dr Butler says that’s fine. She says I’m getting there. But we’re in for a long haul.

‘Well done, Kitty, about the Ofsted report. Haven’t you seen it yet? It’s in the staffroom. The inspector was particularly impressed by the pastoral care displayed to year seven. That
was
you, wasn’t it? By the way, do I hear well done too, for responding to my plea for more careers speakers? I gather you’ve found us a banker and stockbroker to talk to the sixth form. And a talk on road safety is always useful. Finally, do I hear congratulations are in order? Fantastic. Nice to see you haven’t missed the bus – sorry! Couldn’t resist that one . . .’

I am so glad to be back in France! But Maurice, he was not happy. He said he missed his son Hugo too much. I say come back when you have grown up. I am not so sick now, which is good, yes? It is so exciting! I have a new friend, too. He is French and he does not mind about the baby. Frenchmen are so much more understanding. The English, they are very strange. As Maman says, anyone who drives on the left of the road is to be avoided. Maybe when the baby is older, I train as a teacher. Then I look after her in the holidays. I think I would make a good teacher. Maman thinks so too.