Wicked! (75 page)

‘I must discuss it rationally with Ashton,’ Janna told herself. ‘I must not lose my temper.’

Thank God the children would be out of the building before he rolled up. There had been far too many fights recently. Many of the kids looked up at her window and waved as they set out for home. She mustn’t let them down. Partner, knowing teacups led to biscuits, bustled in wagging ingratiatingly.

‘You are
not
to bite Crispin,’ said Janna sternly.

‘They’re here,’ shouted Rowan. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind my sloping off? I must get Scarlet to the doctor.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Janna ran towards reception, proudly thinking what a contrast the riot of colour in every classroom made to the chill, grey, dying day outside. This was a good and thriving school.

Her first shock was that Ashton had brought Cindy Payne. Her second that they totally ignored all the effort that had been made, even the Indians, cowboys and big toothy horses Graffi had designed for Year Ten’s American Wild West display, as they marched along the corridor to Janna’s office.

‘They’ve been working so hard,’ she said lamely, then after a pause: ‘Where’s Crispin?’

‘He’s moved on,’ said Ashton, discarding his former deputy as casually as he whipped off an exquisite dark blue cashmere overcoat and palest pink scarf, dropping them over a chair. A pink silk bow tie enlivened a waisted pale grey suit and silver-grey shirt. As usual, he’d drenched himself in sweet, suffocating scent as if to ward off the fetid air of Larks.

Cindy today had matched a red nose and woolly flowerpot hat to the inevitable scarlet trouser suit. But the effect was not one of cheer. Her round face had the relentless jollity of a sister in a ward of terminally ill geriatrics, but her little eyes, like Ashton’s, were as cold as the day.

‘Those storage heaters are very dear to run,’ she said disapprovingly.

‘They keep me warm at night when the central heating goes off,’ snapped Janna. ‘Remembering how saunaed you are at S and C, I didn’t want you to catch cold.’

Stop bitching, Janna, she told herself.

Cindy’s smile became more fixed, then her face really lit up as Debbie arrived with tea, which included egg sandwiches and a newly baked batch of shortbread:

‘Hello, Debs! You do spoil us, what a wonderful spread.’

‘What a feast,’ said Ashton heartily.

‘Shall I be mother?’ asked Cindy, flopping on to the sofa, narrowly missing Partner who retreated sourly to Janna’s knee. ‘I still haven’t taken off that half-stone I put on over the festive season, but I won’t be able to resist Debs’s legendary shortbread.’

Ashton, with an equally greedy expression on his face, was gazing at a blow-up of Paris playing Romeo.

‘He got into twouble knocking out a wef last term. Old habits die hard, I suppose.’

‘He’s playing regularly for the Colts,’ said Janna sharply.

‘Don’t be so defensive,’ teased Cindy, hiding the pansies on hers and Ashton’s plates with sandwiches. ‘A sarnie for you, Janna?’

‘I’m OK, thanks.’

Picking up his plate, Ashton moved on to last summer’s photograph of the whole school (except for Paris, he noticed, who had probably gone off joy-riding on trains by then). But there was Paris’s alter ego, Feral Jackson, another beauty, clutching his football. All the children and teachers were laughing with Janna in the middle with that blasted dog on her knee.

‘Nice one of Debs,’ he said idly. ‘Excellent sandwiches. She’s one person who won’t have any difficulty getting another job.’ Then, as Janna looked up, startled: ‘There’s weally no easy way to say this, but I’m afwaid Larks is scheduled for closure at the end of the summer term.’

Partner squeaked as Janna’s stroking hand clenched on his shoulder. She felt as though she’d stepped back off a cliff with a bullet straight between her eyes.

‘But you haven’t even seen over it,’ she whispered. ‘We’ve spent days making it look lovely.’

‘We don’t need to see over a school to close it down.’

‘But why?’ stammered Janna.

‘Do you really need us to tell you?’ Ashton idly added sweetener to his tea and joined Cindy on the sofa. ‘The figures speak for themselves.’

‘We had a wonderful Ofsted.’

‘The most wonderful Ofsted in the world can’t change the fact that you have four hundred and fifty, probably four hundred by now, students wattling around in a building meant for twelve hundred. Your wesults are dreadful, truancy and vandalism are sky high.’

‘The latest Review of Secondary Schools was rigged.’ Janna could hardly speak through her stiff lips. ‘All the figures were wrong and you averaged them over four years, so of course no improvement was discernible. You said they were typing errors, but you never publicly corrected them. We were doing fine until you changed the bus routes and leaked that rumour about Larks being targeted for closure back in November. Why didn’t you hang a plague sign over the school gates?’

‘You’ll have a chance to appeal,’ said Cindy cosily, helping herself to two pieces of shortbread. ‘My word, these are good; Debbie really is a treasure. We always put our decisions for closure up for public consultation.’ At Janna’s blank look she added, ‘We give people a chance to express their views – public meetings, letters of support, etc. – then in May, the council cabinet will meet to examine these views and put forward recommendations to the Larkshire Schools Organization Committee.’

‘If any of their five members vote against closure,’ said Ashton, also helping himself to shortbread, ‘it’ll go to adjudication in the autumn.’

‘Unlikely, as you’ve no doubt got the committee sewn up,’ accused Janna.

She looked at the trees outside, disappearing into the twilight, like her school. She was shaking so violently that Partner jumped down and, unnoticed, took refuge on Ashton’s navy blue coat.

‘Ever since I’ve been here,’ she said bleakly, ‘I’ve battled against a disaffected governing body, a totally uncooperative privatized LEA and a county council who won’t give me a penny and who are in league with a vindictive local press.’

‘You’re making dangewous accusations,’ said Ashton sharply.

‘Ofsted said exactly the same thing. They knew we were capable of improving if we were given the chance. What about my children?’ Janna had a sudden vision of every one of them drowning before her eyes. ‘You can’t close Larks down. How could anyone in S and C understand? You don’t give a toss about continuity. You all move on, like Crispin, if things get rough. What about my teachers? They’ve made such sacrifices and worked so hard.’

‘They’ll be wing-fenced,’ said Ashton. ‘So many have left already; if any jobs are advertised in the county, they’ll get first option.’

‘Doesn’t mean they’ll get the job, now they’ve been tarnished with working at Larks.’

‘Is it your career you’re worried about?’ asked Cindy as if she were dictating to a half-wit secretary. ‘You’re not old, you’ll get plenty of job offers.’

Ashton, who’d been examining his nails, stretched out and selected a nail file from Janna’s blue mug crammed with pens.

‘Do drink up your tea,’ urged Cindy.

Picking up the sugar bowl, Janna emptied it into her cup, then, realizing what she’d done, let the bowl slip from her fingers, so it crashed down on to her cup, smashing them both, spilling tea everywhere.

‘Years Ten and Eleven gave me this tea set for Christmas,’ she said in a strange, high voice. ‘Oh, fuck off, Partner,’ she screamed as he leapt off Ashton’s coat and tried to lick up the tea.

‘There, there,’ said Cindy, ‘I’m sure that bowl can be mended.’

‘But my school can’t,’ yelled Janna, bursting into tears.

‘I know it’s a shock when a school closes down.’ Cindy struggled to her feet. ‘Have you got a friend to come and be with you?’

‘Don’t fucking patronize me. If you think I’m giving up Larks without a fight . . .’ Dropping to the floor, Janna grabbed Ashton’s scarf to mop up the tea.

‘Give me that.’ Ashton seized it back. He was even less pleased to see his coat covered in Partner’s hairs. ‘Twy not to be gwatuitously unpleasant, Janna,’ he continued smoothly, ‘you’re suffewing from hurt pride. I can only advise you to go gwacefully.’

Seeing the murderous expression on Janna’s face as her hand grabbed the handle of the teapot, Cindy said hastily:

‘We can show ourselves out. Don’t get too stressed. I can recommend an excellent counsellor.’

‘Anything’s better than a county councillor, you fat cow,’ shrieked Janna, ‘they kill schools.’

‘Dear, dear, dear,’ said Ashton as they hastened out into the drizzle, ‘how did that malevolent hysteric ever get a job running a school? Nothing has ever convinced me more of the rightness of our decision.’

‘Thank goodness Alex Bruce and Rod Hyde put in such negative reports.’ Cindy tugged her red wool hat over her ears. ‘I don’t anticipate much opposition, do you?’

‘I hope not. Hengist Brett-Taylor might act up; he always had a
tendresse
for little Miss Curtis.’

‘But he’s so tied up in politics. At least Cavendish Plaza and Haut Larkminster will be on our side. Closing down schools causes such a rumpus. We must rush it through as soon as possible.’

After all, one didn’t want to lose one’s seat on the county council or all that kudos and fat expenses.

They jumped as a window was flung open.

‘You won’t get away with this, you murderers!’

Two minutes later Janna ran out to a deserted car park, crying uncontrollably: ‘My teachers, my children.’

A hundred yards beyond the school gate, she had to leap out of her car and throw up, mostly bile, on the pavement outside the Ghost and Castle.

‘Drunk at this hour . . .’ chuntered a couple disappearing into the saloon bar.

Only then did Janna realize she’d left Partner locked in her office.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed as she recovered him.

But as he snuggled across her thighs, attempting to be the seatbelt she had forgotten to fasten, all she could think was: My career is over. In Yorkshire, they’ll say I failed, failed, failed.

She was overwhelmed by a stench of burning wax. Like Icarus, she had flown too near the sun.

74

By contrast, Brigadier Woodford had had such a wonderful piece of news, he had splashed out on two bottles of champagne (Lily’s favourite drink, which she could no longer afford), two large cartons of potted shrimps, a beef and ale pie, strawberries and an even larger carton of double cream, and taken them over to Lily’s to celebrate.

Lily had lit a fire and they were sitting comfortably on Lily’s shabby sofa with the vast fluffy black and white General between them, accidentally brushing hands as they both simultaneously stroked him. Lily had rescued some poor crocuses trampled on the verge outside and, in a white vase in the warmth of the room, they had expanded like purple striped umbrellas with little orange handles. The Brigadier felt his heart expanding like the crocuses.

‘God I miss champagne, this is such a treat,’ said Lily happily. ‘Now, what are we celebrating?’

‘Rupert’s offered me my own programme. It’s going to be called
Buffers
. Each week we’ll take a war or campaign in history and get four so-called experts or “old buffers”, retired generals and admirals, to sit round a table having frightful rows about strategy and blame. I’ve got to chair it.’

The genuine delight on Lily’s face nearly gave the Brigadier the courage to kiss her.

‘How clever of Rupert! You’re going to be a star, Christian.’

‘Rupert wants to start with twelve programmes. We have to do something called a pilot first, which sounds more like the RAF. You’ll have to come on it to add some glamour and talk about the Wrens.’ He emptied the bottle into their glasses.

‘D’you think we can manage a second?’

‘Certainly, with a celebration like this.’ As Lily leant across General and gave the Brigadier a peck on the cheek, he had a longing to kiss her passionately on the lips, but was worried it might dislodge his bridge. It was such a long time since he’d made a pass.

‘If the pilot works, Rupert wants his father Eddie, who was in the Blues, to be one of the regulars. Said it might stop Eddie tapping him for money if he got an income from television. Frightfully amusing chap, Eddie, thought the programme was going to be called
Buggers
.’

‘Probably be even more successful,’ said Lily dryly.

Christian guffawed; then, because he didn’t feel it was boasting with Lily, ‘The Tories have asked me to open their Easter Fair. GMTV want me to go up to London to talk about the possibility of war in the Gulf and Larkminster Rovers wrote asking me to go on their board. I don’t know much about soccer.’

‘Feral and I will teach you,’ said Lily. ‘When you score a goal you have to slide to the ground and bare your breast by lifting up and shaking the front of your shirt.’

‘Much more excitin’ if you did,’ snorted the Brigadier. As he heaved himself up to fetch another bottle, he noticed how empty the fridge was except for the strawberries and cream, and also that that dear little watercolour of the church at Limesbridge where Lily grew up was missing. He hated Lily having to sell things. What heaven if they could be together like this every night. Lily could have an ‘old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night’.