Wicked! (42 page)

Stancombe was outraged that Juliet had been given to Milly rather than Jade – and so was Jade, particularly when bloody Cosmo applauded the decision, claiming that by no stretch of the imagination or shrinking of the vagina could Jade ever pass as a thirteen-year-old virgin.

Jade was, in fact, over Cosmo. Now it was Paris who robbed her of sleep. She detested indifference and loathed her fellow Bagley Babe Milly for landing the part and the chance to snog and more with Paris for the next two months, particularly as she herself had been cast as Lady Montague, Romeo’s mother.

‘And this play ain’t
Oedipus Rex
,’ mocked Cosmo.

Nor had Jade realized Lady Montague only had two lines.

After prolonged hysterics through splayed fingers, it was agreed she could swap with Amber and play the much longer and meatier part of Lady Capulet.

‘Lady C was a sassy, glamorous woman in her late twenties,’ Vicky explained to Jade. ‘And as you’re married to a rich peer, with a wedding and a funeral in the offing, there’s scope for a fantastic wardrobe.’

Amber, who’d been bribed with a Joseph dress she could keep after the play, was only too happy to play Lady Montague instead, particularly since Pearl, now in charge of make-up, was threatening to add arsenic to the face powder of anyone who flirted with Feral.

Cosmo had been outraged only to be offered Capulet, rather than Tybalt, until he discovered subtleties and ironies in the part as Capulet changed from a kind, tolerant father and genial host to an evil bully. He was delighted that the Cosmonaughties would be playing at the Capulets’ ball with Kylie as their lead singer. He intended to bill the school £1500 a night and as the group would be providing the music for a sizzling dance routine performed by Feral and Bianca, Cosmo would be able to clock to the second the comings and goings of the divine Bianca.

Xavier, still terrified of Cosmo, and having learnt that Aysha’s father had forbidden her to take part, had refused to get involved with the production. Everyone therefore was relieved Bianca was participating, which would at least ensure the presence of her crowd-pulling parents on the opening night.

‘I can’t wait to meet Rupert Campbell-Black,’ gushed Vicky.

As soon as the play was cast Vicky, a genius at delegating – often a euphemism for extreme laziness – called a staff meeting to discuss what help she needed with the play.

The Larks art department was soon coaxed into designing scenery; Gloria into coaching Bianca and Feral in their dance routine; design and technology into producing costumes and props. Cambola was in cahoots with Cosmo over the music. Johnnie Fowler’s father Gary, when sober, was an ace electrician and agreed to help with the lighting.

Once Gary Fowler was involved, other fathers felt impelled to follow suit. Most of them DIY experts, they were soon building and painting scenery, and their wives and girlfriends, having clocked Vicky and determined to keep an eye on their other halves, were giving a hand with costumes – over which there was fierce debate.

Anatole, who had sensational legs, wanted doublet and hose. This meant long skirts for the women, deduced Jade, which meant her even more sensational legs would be hidden, so she pushed for modern dress and won.

‘Alex Bruce has a finger in every tart,’ grumbled Anatole, who in the end was delighted to wear a Red Army mess jacket and tight black trousers with a red stripe down the side. Other boys in the cast wore paramilitary uniform: berets, peaked caps or red and white keffiyehs borrowed from fathers and masters. Chief Inspector Gablecross provided policemen’s uniforms for the Watch. This meant more could be spent on female members of the cast.

Janna contented herself with giving lessons to Year Nine on the background of the play, pointing out its topicality; how innocent people were always caught up in the crossfire of war – particularly domestic violence.

‘“Poor sacrifices of our enmity,” Old Capulet called them, who’d caused a few in his time.’

Determined Larks would be word perfect, she also helped cast members learn their parts.

Rehearsals took place at Bagley every Tuesday and Wednesday after school from 4.00 to 5.30 p.m., and often in the lunch hour but only using the actors that were needed, which involved endless round trips for Wally.

Caught up in Vicky’s enthusiasm, none of the teachers seemed to mind covering for her. Basket had a massive crush. Even Sam Spink was looking quite moony and presented Vicky with a pair of Piglet character socks, causing squeals of delight.

‘Piglet is my most favourite character.’

Even though the school was a happier place, Janna herself was still ridiculously overstretched. There was always some desperately crying child needing comfort over cigarette burns or cracked ribs. There was always some furious parent: ‘My daughter was top in English last term, why isn’t she playing Juliet?’

February brought incessant rain, pouring in through the roof on classes and on coursework, and the heating broke down. The classes not involved in the play were also very jealous. Janna tried to compensate by organizing trips to the ballet or ice skating or football, but she understood how they felt and found it hard to not feel jealous herself. Hengist, so adorable on casting day, had not been in touch since.

Vicky, on the other hand, flaunting those vogue words ‘Transparency and Accountability’, insisted on keeping her boss up to date with events, particularly late one evening, when she dropped in on a very cold, still-working Janna and announced:

‘“My boys”, as I call Emlyn, Piers and Jason, are working so hard. Hengist is constantly popping in to see if I’m OK and Sally Brett-Taylor is being so supportive. She’s insisting on making Juliet’s dress. We discussed it over a drink last night. Jade Stancombe’s ordered a dress for the Capulet ball from Amanda Wakeley, which costs well into four figures, which made Ian Cartwright, the darling old bursar, frightfully uptight till I calmed him down.

‘His wife Patience is a pet; she teaches riding at Bagley. His “mistress of the horse”, Hengist calls her, claiming Patience couldn’t be anyone else’s mistress because she’s so plain, naughty man! But Patience has agreed to teach Paris to ride, so he can clatter up the gangway when he storms back from exile, believing Juliet’s dead.’

‘Paris is terrified of horses,’ interrupted Janna icily. ‘There’s no way he should be forced to ride.’

Ignoring her, Vicky glanced over her shoulder:

‘What are you wrestling with? Oh, figures. You ought to talk to Ian. Ian Cartwright. He’d be able to sort them out for you. He’s been ringing round other independent bursars, checking their fees all week. I thought I might ask him and Patience to supper, and Hengist and Sally and Emlyn, of course. Emlyn is such a tower of strength. I hope you’ll come too, Jannie. You ought to get out more, you look so tired.’

Stop patronizing me, Janna wanted to scream.

‘I’ve no time for jaunts,’ she snapped, turning back to her computer. ‘Sorry, I must get on.’

The following week, however, Vicky forgot to book the bus for Year Ten’s ice-skating trip. As a result, dreadful fights broke out. Not only were Year Nine having all the fun and the kudos, no one could organize anything for Year Ten.

When Janna summoned Vicky back from Bagley and bawled her out, Vicky sobbed and sobbed, rivalling the overflowing River Fleet, and fled into the dusk.

Arriving home from work around midnight, Janna was splashing up the path, lamenting yet again that rain had stopped stars, when Partner went into a frenzy of barking. Lily’s cottage was in darkness. Catching sight of a huddled figure in the porch, Janna gasped with terror – had Cara escaped from prison?

‘Who’s there?’

She was overwhelmed with a divine smell of spring. It was a still-sobbing Vicky, thrusting out a huge bunch of narcissi.

‘I’m so sorry to let you down, Jannie. I wanted you to be proud of me and put Larks on the map. I’ve been so thoughtless.’

So Janna opened a bottle and they ended up crying on each other’s shoulders, and Vicky staying the night. But once again, as Janna made up a bed on the sofa, the goalposts changed.

‘I never meant to make you jealous, Jannie. Has Hengist upset you? He can be so dismissive. Piers and Jason were saying only the other day, it’s a shame you’ve had no input.’

Vicky looked so enchanting curled up under Janna’s duvet, cuddling Janna’s only hot-water bottle.

And I meant to slap you down for neglecting Year Ten and your tutor group, thought an exasperated Janna, and vowed once again to spend more time at Bagley.

But the following day, Ashton Douglas and Crispin Thomas summoned her to their plush S and C Services headquarters, overlooking an angry, grey and still rising River Fleet.

Even though the appointment was for midday, not a cup of coffee nor a drink was on offer. Janna’s spirits were lowered by a huge wall chart, showing Larks at the bottom of the league tables of Larkshire schools.

Both men had big desks side by side. Crispin, who had gained another chin over Christmas and whose pink pullover had shrunk in the wash, was fussily arranging papers. Ashton, wafting his cloyingly sweet chloroform scent, his apple blossom complexion flushed up by tropical central heating, had removed his jacket to flaunt his trim waistline.

S and C must be making a fortune, decided Janna, judging by the fuck-off lighting, the leather sofas in beiges and browns and the suede cushions to match suede cubes on which to rest your feet.

The pictures on the walls were even more impressive. The bunch of red tulips was certainly by Matthew Smith and the lookalike photograph of Beckham by Alison Jackson. Also blown up over the fireplace was the artwork for S and C’s latest logo of a grown-up’s hand on a child’s back both propelling forward and comforting: a symbol of support and challenge, except the hand was placed a little too low. Janna shuddered.

Ashton was examining his very clean fingernails, the diamond set in the gold band on his third finger catching the light.

‘This is wather embawwassing, but we feel you ought to spend less time at Bagley in future.’

Janna’s bag tipped over, spilling out biros, lipstick, hairbrush, perfume, Bonios for Partner and diary on to the thick pale beige carpet.

‘I’ve hardly been near the place,’ she squeaked, dropping to the floor to claw back her belongings. ‘I’ve been too busy.’

‘Maybe.’ Ashton sighed with pleasure. ‘But I’m afwaid people are talking about you and Hengist.’

Retrieving a tampon from under Crispin’s desk, Janna banged her head.

‘I know you feel demonized by the
Gazette
,’ went on Ashton, ‘but you have a good fwiend in Col Peters. These are the pictures he refused to publish, and instead handed over to us.’

Playing the ace, Ashton produced out of his crocodile note-case a photograph of Janna in Hengist’s arms, her cheek rammed against his, her eyes closed in ecstasy. She was wearing a dark blue shirt; a painting of leaping rugby players could be seen in the background.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she protested. ‘This was at an audition surrounded by hundreds of teachers and children. Who took it, for heaven’s sake?’

‘We’re not at liberty.’

‘Well, I want to know. Hengist and I were knocked out – Paris Alvaston had just auditioned. We’d found our Romeo. You’ll see how brilliant he is on the opening night.’

‘Rather unbridled enthusiasm,’ observed Crispin. God, he was loving this. ‘Particularly when you put it beside this,’ and pointed to another shot of Hengist’s hand stroking Janna’s cheek and then two cuttings of her smiling adoringly up at Hengist at the Winter Gardens civic dinner and on the air-balloon day.

‘The cumulative effect is unfortunate,’ said Ashton sympathetically. ‘We understand. It’s so easy for lonely unmarried women of a certain age to develop these cwushes. Hengist is very charismatic, but Sally Bwett-Taylor is such a good egg.’

‘There is absolutely nothing between Hengist and me,’ said Janna furiously, her face feeling as though it had just come out of the microwave. ‘Head teachers have common problems and practice to discuss. Hengist has been genuinely kind and constructive.’

‘In future I’d go to Wod Hyde,’ urged Ashton. ‘He is after all your official mentor. You don’t want tittle-tattle to sabotage the excellent work Larks’s teachers are doing at Bagley. Vicky Fairchild is first class. Give her her head.’

‘I am her Head,’ spat Janna.

‘No need to be facetious. Just leave Hengist alone.’

Blinded by tears, Janna fumbled her way out to the car park. Ironically, Hengist seemed to feel the same as S and C; he hadn’t been in touch for weeks.

Partner, leaping on his hind legs, grinning and scrabbling in ecstasy, body shaken by frenziedly wagging tail, stopped her chucking herself into the swift-flowing river.

You’re the only male in my life from now on, she vowed grimly. Vicky can get on with it.

41

Paris was missing Janna desperately. He had to be back in the children’s home by nine and was thus denied any of the jolly after-rehearsal get-togethers. He’d invested so much in the play because he thought Janna would be there all the time. He longed to talk to her about his part. Vicky never listened and wanted to impose her own views. Graffi was so busy painting scenery, designing posters, camping it up as the Nurse and snogging Milly, he had abandoned Janna’s mural which was nearly finished anyway, so the tea parties at Jubilee Cottage had been scrapped.