by Zoe Lea
‘Oh Ruth.’ She closed the door gently behind her.
‘They’ve put in an official complaint,’ I told her. ‘I’ll lose this job.’
Becca stared at me wide eyed.
‘Ashley Simmons.’ I put my uneaten sandwich back in its bag. I was close to tears. ‘On her formal solicitor paper. John showed me. They have to do an investigation and I have to find a union rep. And I didn’t do anything except apologise. I tried to be kind to Janine.’
She put her hand on my shoulder. ‘Bitches.’
‘I can understand she’s upset,’ I said. ‘Janine probably thinks I did it on purpose, slept with her husband and told her about it in front of her friends, but this –’ my stomach churned ‘– putting in a formal complaint. Getting all the staff against me.’
‘The staff?’
‘You should’ve seen them at lunchtime in the staffroom.’ I shook my head. ‘I could practically feel the venom coming off them. All thinking I’m some kind of homewrecker and Janine is the victim.’
Becca was quiet.
‘You going to the staff meeting?’
She nodded. ‘Urgent. Everyone has to, no exceptions.’
John had called a meeting about it, of course he had. The head of the PTA had attacked a member of staff, everyone needed to be made aware. And then there had been the phone calls, several parents who wanted to speak directly with John, concerned over the ‘incident’ outside school.
I knew who they were. Janine’s friends, the two women who ran to her side after she’d launched her phone at me, Amy and Caroline. I could see their faces as they put their arms around her, Ashley the solicitor and the two others. Janine Walker’s very own band of Hench Mummies.
‘She has this cliquey group,’ Becca told me, ‘all of them doing stuff for the school in one way or another. Fundraising, that kind of thing.’
‘I don’t know any of them.’
‘Why would you? They’re the mums from year five, been together since reception.’
‘So not only is she best friends with half the staff in school,’ I asked, ‘but she’s some kind of “alpha mum” with the other parents? I didn’t even know they were a thing. I thought they only existed in books and sitcoms.’
Becca gave a nod. ‘Oh they exist, but only if you’re in their orbit. She’s one of those types. In everybody’s business all the time.’ She took a moment. ‘Actually, she’s quite nice.’
‘Don’t!’ I said in a high voice. ‘I feel bad enough about it all as it is, please don’t tell me Janine is nice.’
‘Sorry,’ Becca said, ‘but she kind of is. If she knows it’s been a busy week for us, she sends biscuits and stuff in with her daughter for the staffroom; she’s quite thoughtful like that. And she organises all the rotas with the parents for the end of term discos so we don’t have to do it ourselves. She’s –’ Becca gave a sigh ‘– nice. Thoughtful.’
I screwed my eyes closed. I felt wretched.
‘But she did throw her phone at you,’ Becca offered, ‘and now she wants you sacked, so –’ she held up her hands ‘– she can’t be that nice, can she?’
‘I should be there,’ I said, ‘to explain my side. To say what really happened, that it was an accident how she found out, that I wasn’t being malicious. If there was ever a time where I should be in a staff meeting, it’s tonight.’
Becca crinkled up her nose. We’d had this discussion before. I strongly believed that as school secretary I should be involved in all staff meetings, but it seemed the teaching staff thought not. Even though they depended on me to send through forms, letters and general admin, even though I was the one responsible for passing on urgent messages, payments and parent correspondence that made their jobs go smoothly, I still wasn’t considered worthy to attend the meetings. The reason given was that they were solely for ‘teaching matters’. I only found out what had been discussed if there were notes to be typed up.
‘I’ll suggest it to John,’ I said. ‘I was the one who was assaulted after all. I should be there.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Becca said carefully. ‘John’s made it clear to everyone that it’s a confidential matter, and if he almost suspended you this morning –’ she crinkled her nose again ‘– you don’t want to aggravate the situation.’
I stared at her.
‘Besides, it might make it worse if John allows you in,’ she said. ‘They might resent it.’
I took in a sharp breath, ready to argue, but she had a point.
‘Leave it this time.’ She smiled. ‘You might need their support, and gate-crashing a staff meeting might not be the best approach. And besides –’ she put her hand on my shoulder ‘– I’ll be there to stick up for you. Tell your side of the story. Make sure they know exactly what happened. I’ll call later or fill you in tomorrow.’ The bell rang signalling the end of break time. ‘Try not to worry.’
I nodded, let her go back to her class. I could understand the need for a staff meeting: it was John’s job to make his team aware of what was going on, but I hated the thought of being discussed. Judged without being there to defend myself. Even though I knew I could rely on Becca to support me, it wasn’t the same as doing it myself. I hid in my office for the rest of the afternoon and, when the last bell rang and it was home time, I left early for fear of Janine or Ashley, or some other fan of Janine’s, coming in for round two. John agreed, obviously fearing the same, and I collected Sam from the after-school club that had not yet started and then suddenly froze.
The street was still full of lingering parents, gossiping and chattering. Teachers were still in classrooms, awaiting the parents that were late for pick up. It had been a mistake. I hadn’t thought that far, I couldn’t walk out into them, not certain of who knew what. Not knowing who were friends of Janine, who knew Rob and had got wind of what I done. I felt the plaster at the back of my head and decided to hide in the one place I was certain would be free of parents and teachers at that time: the staffroom.
I closed the door gently and we perched on the fat, cushioned chairs to wait it out. Sam was wide eyed at being in there. The sounds from the street filtered in, children shouted and screamed outside, parents chattered. It would be a good ten minutes until all of the children had been collected and the streets were empty. Until the teachers would be piling into the staffroom, eyes alight at the thought of gossiping about what I’d done. How I’d slept with a parent, how I’d been assaulted. My stomach churned at the thought, at how Becca might be the only one to support me.
‘Mum?’ Sam looked at me.
‘Just five minutes,’ I told him with a smile. ‘I just needed a sit down before we go to Nanna’s.’
He nodded, slightly unsure, and went back to his reading book. His bag and lunch box on his knee, my handbag at our feet. We were ready to go as soon as I deemed it safe, and it was then that I saw my uneaten sandwich. I’d managed to eat the fruit and biscuit I’d brought in, but had only had one bite of my sandwich before Becca had told me about the urgent meeting and put me off my food.
I brought it out; it was warm. It had been left on my desk by the window, basking in the afternoon sunshine. As I lifted the lid of the box, the smell of stale egg hit the air.
‘Mum!’ Sam comically held his nose. ‘That stinks.’ He got up and went to the far side of the room, turning his back on me and the offending smell.
I was about to tell him not to be silly and throw the sandwich away when something stopped me. It was limp in my hand, the filling bulging out of the sides. I stared at it a moment. I’d made egg as they needed using up and it would save on buying anything else, but it had been a mistake. It was far from appetising and the smell was pungent. It needed to be put back in the box, sealed tightly until I was able to throw it out, but the thought of the impending meeting made me pause.
The teachers would shortly be coming in, discussing my private life. It shouldn’t be allowed. I should be at the meeting and given a chance to explain. I was the injured party an
d, more to the point, as secretary, it was ridiculous that I wasn’t invited. Who were these teachers who deemed me below them? There was no chance of them supporting me, Becca was wrong about that. Whoever thought I shouldn’t be attending staff meetings were going to have a field day about me sleeping with a parent.
Without thinking too much about it, I bent down and pushed the sandwich as far as I could under my chair. I hid it right at the back, near the radiator, felt the egg smearing the carpet tiles as it went. The staff meeting would take place in about fifteen minutes, and by the time they’d all got themselves a coffee and sat down the smell would have permeated the whole room. It would become the discussion. They could talk about the smell instead of talking about me.
I turned to check that Sam hadn’t seen, his back still facing me, and then I felt my face colour.
What was I doing? Leaving a rotten egg sandwich in the hopes it would defer the attention from me? I was being stupid. Feeling intimidated by Janine’s popularity and my best retaliation was to hide a rancid egg butty? I’d lost my mind. I bent forward to retrieve the sandwich when Sam was suddenly at my side.
‘Mum,’ he said, ‘is it time to leave yet?’ He was holding his nose and his voice was high pitched and comical.
A sudden image of all the teachers doing the same – holding their noses between smelling the air as if taking part in an odorous treasure hunt – popped into my mind, and a childish laugh escaped me. Sam laughed back and I was shocked, shocked suddenly at how good it felt to laugh, even if it was at something completely ridiculous. It was relief. I did it again, Sam laughing with me. It was the best I’d felt all day.
‘It’s time,’ I said, and kissed his cheek. The sounds of the parents outside had lessened, the streets seemed quiet. It was only a sandwich after all, a stupid attempt at interrupting the precious staff meeting and causing a delay. It wasn’t anything serious. ‘Let’s go,’ I told him and we left the staffroom and the smell behind us.
SIX
Carlisle, known as the Border City, is England’s biggest city by area although its population is just over one hundred thousand. It’s the capital of Cumbria and the last city before Scotland. But when the Romans established their settlement here in the first century AD, serving the forts on Hadrian’s Wall, and then when it was subsequently developed with the building of the castle and then the cathedral, they didn’t realise that they’d be doing me a massive favour hundreds of years later. While the size of a large town, Carlisle is sprawling and easy to get lost in.
With the addition of holidaymakers and day-trippers, it’s relatively easy for me to hide. I can go for weeks, months even, without bumping into someone from my old life. I stayed away from the centre, did all my shopping online, rarely went out. And perhaps if I’d been one of those people that regularly wanders through the city I would’ve seen Rob before now. If I’d been frequenting the clubs and bars at the weekend I’d have been able to have my outburst with him then. A drunken shouting match conducted in the safe environment of public anonymity. But I wasn’t, it didn’t. It happened outside the school gates, on a busy morning, and it may have cost me my job.
My mother’s house lies on the outskirts of the city, over near the Solway Coast on the course of Hadrian’s Wall, right on the border. The small Burgh by Sands is her nearest village, but her house was, apart from that, set on its own, among farmers’ fields. To get there I had to travel through the city traffic, past the castle and alongside the River Eden. It’s a tedious journey, full of stops and starts, and it was made no better by the bright sun.
It was hot, and although I had the car windows down full, my blouse was sticking to my skin. I pulled it away from me in a wafting motion as I drove, trying to get some air in. Sweat was trickling at the back of my neck and the plaster that Teresa had stuck on the back of my head was itching.
I glanced over to Sam, who was leaning out of the open window, his back to me, his brown hair whipping about his face.
‘Not too far,’ I warned, ‘it’s dangerous.’
‘But I can still smell that egg,’ he complained, as I used the main controls to lift his window. He sat back, a resigned look on his face, staring down at his hands.
When we’d started the journey, I’d had to tell him that I hadn’t talked to his teacher. That I didn’t tell her he was struggling, that I hadn’t had a chance to make things better for him and the guilt was heavy.
‘Hey,’ I said, reaching over and ruffling his hair, ‘I’ve said I’m sorry, and I mean it. I’m really, really sorry, Sammy. Really.’
He gave a slight shrug. ‘S’OK, Mum.’
‘It’s not OK.’ I glanced over at him. ‘I promised you this morning that it would be sorted, but something happened. Something happened and I wasn’t able to speak to Lisa, Miss Gleason, like I said I would.’
He nodded and looked out of the window. He seemed unusually small. Sam was a big lad, one of the biggest in his class, but he looked like he’d shrunk, as if he was folding in on himself on the seat beside me.
‘Is that why we had to wait in the staffroom? Because of what happened?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Kind of.’
‘What was it? What happened?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Nothing, sweetie, nothing at all for you to worry about. Work was busy today, really busy, and that’s why I didn’t get to speak to your teacher. That’s why I needed a rest before we started the drive.’ I glanced over at him. ‘I’m really, really sorry, Sam. I’ll try to talk to her tomorrow, promise. So –’ I changed the tone in my voice, made it brighter ‘– how did the maths work go?’ I asked. ‘Did you get a gold star?’
He shook his head. ‘I got a smiley face,’ he said, and I felt a flash of anger at Lisa. That work was perfect. No mistakes, not one digit wrong. I knew because I’d done it with him, explained it to him, done her job. It was more than worthy of a gold star.
‘And Toby?’ I asked. ‘How was he today?’
Sam looked out of the window. ‘Don’t want to talk about it.’
My stomach contracted. We were coming up to a roundabout and I kept my eyes on the road, my voice in the same neutral tone. ‘What did he do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Sam?’
He remained tight lipped.
‘Sam, if you don’t tell me, I can’t help.’
‘You don’t need to tell Miss Gleason, Mum. I think if I ignore him, he’ll stop.’
‘Stop what?’
‘Spitting.’
We both lurched as I got the change in gear wrong, my shock reflected in my bad driving. I fiddled with the gear stick, slotting it into fourth.
‘Spitting?’ I tried to keep my voice steady.
‘He doesn’t do it much,’ Sam said, ‘just a bit. Sometimes at lunch, in my sandwiches, and some of the others do it with him.’
‘Did you tell someone?’ My hand was sweaty on the wheel. We were on a dual carriageway and I glanced across at him. His face was blank, devoid of any emotion, and it made it worse that he was just accepting it. ‘Did you tell Miss Gleason?’ I pressed. ‘Mrs Ruby? The teaching assistant?’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t tell anyone.’
‘Why not?’
He shrugged again and continued to stare out of the window. I felt my anger rise as I imagined these boys spitting at Sam, spitting in my son’s food, and I tried to rein it in. It would do no good for Sam to see my rage. I pressed down hard on the indicator instead, taking out my fury by swerving us off the busy carriageway and onto the single lane leading towards my mother’s faster than was necessary.
‘Sam, you have to tell someone when he does this stuff,’ I said, trying to keep my emotions out of my voice. ‘You need to let the teachers know.’ I kept my eyes on the road. ‘Spitting is serious. It’s not something you can ignore.’
He didn’t move.
‘I know you think it’ll get worse if you tell, that Toby will get worse, but if you don’t tell someone, it can�
��t get better.’
He was silent.
We both knew the situation: he’d already tried that. He’d already told someone. Told several people, in fact, when the bullying started, and nothing had been done and it did seem to be getting worse. I’d already spoken to Lisa about Toby, I’d spoken to John, so they all knew what was going on, but nobody seemed to be doing anything about it.
‘I’ll speak to John, Mr Cartwright, tomorrow—’ I began but Sam turned suddenly, a look of horror on his face.
‘No!’
‘Sam, we need to—’
‘Mum, if you tell Mr Cartwright and Toby gets in trouble again then the whole class will know it was me. And last time I did what you said, last time I told on him, he blew his nose on my jumper and started writing “fat” on my books.’
‘But Sam,’ I said, straining to keep my anger at bay, ‘you can’t just let him spit on your food!’
‘He won’t,’ Sam said. ‘He told me he won’t do it tomorrow so long as I give him my crisps. He says I need to go on a diet.’
‘A diet?’ My voice was shrill. ‘He said you need—’
‘Please, Mum –’ Sam wiped his face roughly, tears brimming ‘– you’re already speaking to Miss Gleason about how I’m stupid … ’
‘You’re not stupid … ’
I reached out to him as I was driving, trying to give some comfort, but he pulled away. I wanted to wrap my arms around him. I wanted to get this boy, this Toby, and do whatever I had to.
‘I’m fat and stupid—’
‘You are not fat and you are not stupid,’ I almost shouted. ‘I’ll sort Toby tomorrow, you leave this to me, I’ll—’
‘STOP!’
There was a loud bang and Sam screamed as I slammed on the brake. We both lurched forward as I came to a stop. I was breathing hard. I turned quickly.