by Zoe Lea
‘And why? Why would I do all that?’ Glen asked. ‘What would be in it for me? I’d have to be some friend to go to all that trouble.’
I shook my head, wiped my face. Everything was mixed up. It had seemed very real a moment ago, and now I couldn’t see anything clearly. I thought it was right to do what I did to Janine and Ashley, but now, after hearing Will state it like that, so matter of fact, after seeing my mother’s face, I wasn’t sure what was right any more.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just know someone has been telling him what I’ve been doing.’
Glen was silent for a moment. ‘And what is that? What’ve you been doing?’
I looked away. The computer screen was blank, the uninstall complete.
‘I have to go,’ I told him. ‘I need to get Sam.’
‘Ruth, will you tell me what’s going on? What have you done? What does Will know?’
I grabbed my bag and jacket. I could hear the rumble of the coach engine outside, Gary’s whistle as he came closer, I could hear him banging doors closed.
‘Ruth –’ Glen put his hand out, stopping me from leaving ‘– are you in trouble?’
I paused for a moment.
‘I think so,’ I whispered. ‘I think I might be in a lot of trouble. I think I took that stick you gave me, to prod at them with, and somehow it changed into a shotgun.’
Glen’s eyes went wide for a moment.
‘I think I might have done some terrible things,’ I said quietly. ‘It went too far and I don’t think I can undo them.’
‘Mr Harrow?’ It was the teaching assistant, peering around the door. ‘We really need to leave. Oh! Hello, Ruth.’
I rushed past him, left him explaining what we were doing in my office, why the school computer was on, and as I got to my car tears were streaming down my face.
I’d lost my job. I figured that was pretty much certain, but I’d also lost the only man who I’d been interested in for years. The only man who understood me, who understood Sam, who I could’ve imagined a life with. Once he heard what I’d done, how I’d behaved, his face would take on the same expression that my mother’s had. And that was something that I didn’t want to see.
My phone pinged. A text notification. I grabbed it, even though I was driving, and stared at the message.
You daft cow. Don’t you think we already have what we need from the computer? Your life is over.
THIRTY-FOUR
The traffic was terrible. It was rush hour. A Friday evening. Will had most likely informed Ashley or Janine, and what would they be doing now? Would the police be waiting for me by the time I got back to my mother’s? By the time I collected Sam, would they be waiting for me at my house?
I stopped at the traffic lights. I felt shaky as adrenalin coursed through me. The message from Will said they already had everything off the school computer. Had they made a copy? Been in there before me? Was it possible that Janine could’ve gone into the office?
I broke out in a sweat as I realised that Janine would’ve been there, at the school. Waving her daughter off, and probably nipping in to the school office to get all the evidence they needed off the school computer. And there was CCTV. That would have just recorded me rushing into school, rushing into my office. Was that proof? Is that how they knew? And if the police didn’t take action, what then?
I needed time. I needed to talk it out with my mother, with Becca. Explain it all to them, exactly what I did and why, and see how I could go forward, but one thing was sure: I wasn’t staying at home. I’d collect Sam’s things and we’d stay somewhere else. My mother’s or, even better, one of the many bed and breakfasts in the city.
I drove blindly, only thinking how Will could have known. I’d been sloppy. Given it away somehow. He must have been spying on me since that morning outside the school gates when I first saw Rob, since it all happened. Keeping notes on everything he heard, making a complete picture of all of my actions. But I couldn’t see how it was possible – no one knew everything. And then my mind swung to Glen, his horrified expression as he caught me wiping the school computer. How he’d asked what I’d done. What must he think of me?
I pulled up to my house, went to my door. Fumbling with the keys, mentally making a list of the things I needed to get together.
‘Excuse me.’
She was nondescript. Navy blue jacket, black pants, walking boots. She held a purple umbrella and was studying a slip of paper.
I realised that she’d been wandering up and down the street, looking a little lost since I’d arrived. I’d noticed her when I pulled in.
‘Sorry,’ I told her, as I fiddled with my keys. ‘I don’t own any of the properties here. If it’s a holiday let you’re staying in, if you rented one from … ’
‘I’m looking for Ruth, Ruth Clarkson? She’s the secretary at the school down Maple Lane?’
I paused.
‘Are you Ruth?’ She looked at me expectantly.
‘I really need to get in,’ I said, and went back to my keys.
‘You are Ruth?’
‘Sorry,’ I told her, ‘not me, don’t know her.’
‘Your son, is he called Sam?’
I looked at her.
‘You are Ruth,’ she said, and stood a little straighter, sticking out her chest slightly as she took a deep breath, ‘and your son, Sam, is in the same class as mine. I’m Nicole. Nicole Morley-Fenn, Toby’s mum.’
‘Oh.’
I felt my stomach slide away a little and went to open my door, but she put her hand out, preventing me from opening it fully.
‘You spoke to him, in the playground the other week.’
I shook my head. The street was empty, dark.
‘And now I’ve come here to speak to you.’
No tourists were in their lodgings, no one was leaving the house carrying maps and rucksacks. We were alone.
‘I haven’t got time for this,’ I told her, ‘you don’t understand, I need to go. Right now.’
She made a surprised sound similar to a laugh. ‘Did you hear me? Do you know who I am? I need to speak to you, about what you did to my son.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ I said, and could feel sweat begin to build at the back of my neck. She was small, but insistent and strong. There was no way to move her easily.
‘I really need to get inside,’ I told her. ‘I’m in a hurry. If there’s a problem, if it’s to do with the school, then you need to come in after half term and speak to the headteacher, John. It’s not something I can deal with now … ’
‘Wait until after half term?’ Her voice was shrill and the sudden loudness of it shocked me.
‘Wait until then to talk about how you got my boy by the arm? You were the reason he wet himself that day. He finally told me. After days of him suffering, he told me tonight. Told me what you did. And now you’re asking me to wait until after half term? I don’t want to wait until then for answers, I want answers now. From you about what you did.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ I said, ‘and if you’ll excuse me, I need to get inside my house.’
‘Who does that?’ she hissed, her face close to mine. ‘Who threatens a little boy like that?’
I lifted my key, went to put it in the lock, but she batted it away. My keys fell on the pavement with a loud clatter. She stared at me, her eyes flashing anger, her cheeks flushed. I couldn’t believe that she was here, shouting these words at me, now of all times. I checked down the empty street once more for signs of other people, anyone.
‘I can’t talk to you about this now!’ I almost shouted, and her eyes went wide. Her mouth became a thin line and she gripped my wrist.
‘Oh, you’ve got time,’ she told me. ‘You can’t do that to my son and then tell me you haven’t got time to talk about it. Tell me how busy you are.’
I went to pull away but she held me tight.
‘You’re the school secretary, aren’t you? The one that’s been sleeping around. How dare you do
that to my son.’
She shook slightly as she spoke, and in the dim light of the street lamp I could see that she was furious.
‘I’m sorry,’ I began, ‘but I really need to—’
‘He’s terrified,’ she hissed. ‘Bloody terrified of how you grabbed him and how he wet himself. Do you know what that means to a boy like him? What damage you did?’
I tried to pull free again and then, when she still didn’t release her grip, I shoved her away with my other hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said as I bent to collect my keys, ‘but I really don’t have time for this now. I’ve got to … ’ I felt a sharp pain in my right side and fell backwards.
She’d kicked me, and as I looked up I saw she was swinging her leg ready for another go. Her walking boot taking aim. The pain was hard, banging into my ribs. She bent down, her face close to mine.
‘Toby is a gentle boy,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly and your son, he’s huge. You think you can get away with it because you work in a school? Because Toby isn’t clever? I’m going to the council. You shouldn’t be working near kids, and I’m not waiting around for that fat bastard who calls himself the head to fire you. I’m going to the council on Monday to get you fired. But right now, I’m going to the police.’
She stepped back, staring at me. I was in the doorway, clutching my sides.
‘I didn’t believe it when Toby told me. I thought it was horrendous, couldn’t believe someone could do that to an eight-year-old boy, and especially not the school secretary. He’s having such a hard time, and now this? Now you do this to him? My husband wanted to come here, wanted to do this to you, but I told him not to.’
She swung her leg back for a final kick, but thought better of it.
‘I told him we must have it wrong, that Toby must’ve got things mixed up, but now I see. You stand there, not wanting to talk to me, telling me you haven’t got time to hear about how you terrorised my son. I thought you’d apologise. I was prepared to hear your side of it, give you a chance, let you say sorry, but this? You should be ashamed of yourself.’
As she walked away, I saw her take out her mobile phone.
My legs were shaking as I got up. I opened the door, wincing at the pain in my side and almost fell into my house. I shut the door, locked it, pulled across the dead bolt and took a moment, leaning against the wall.
I gave myself a minute, a minute of pure self-pity and crying into my hands. I let myself howl and shudder. I thought of Glen’s face when he found out about this, me terrorising a little boy. I thought how my mother would look at me. This was the one thing that Will didn’t know and now Toby’s mother was on the way to the police herself.
A wave of shame washed over me. How could I argue my case? Tell them that it’d all been for Sam? I felt the pain in my side from where she’d kicked me, the heat on my face, and then shook my head. I didn’t have time for self-pity now, I needed to get out, before the police or, even worse, Toby’s parents, came back.
I knew one thing, I would never be able to face Glen again.
THIRTY-FIVE
By the time I arrived back at my mother’s, I was something close to calm. It’s funny, but when the worst happens and you think you’ll fall into a zillion pieces, you don’t. You accept it. Or at least, that’s what I thought I was doing. A kind of defeated calm had settled over me.
I’d hurriedly got together a few things, a change of clothes for me and Sam, some of his toys and a few of my toiletries. I suddenly realised that I had a lot of enemies. Enemies with big boots that weren’t afraid of kicking.
I planned to stay at my mother’s that evening, and tomorrow I’d look at some other properties to rent. We’d get somewhere out of Carlisle, I was thinking. There was no use in Sam staying at school. I wasn’t going to be there. I would home school him, we’d find somewhere closer to my mother’s, somewhere over the border. Or, even better, I’d persuade my mother to sell up. We’d move, leave the area altogether.
As I drove to my mother’s cottage I was finding a small comfort in the image of me and Sam out in the sticks somewhere, him running about the fields. Telling myself that maybe we’d get a dog of our own, a young one, he’d love that. I was slowly building a new version of the future.
Becca would be angry about it all, but I’d get her to understand. She could never stay mad at me for long. I’d talk to her. I’d ask her to meet me at my mother’s that evening, rather than home, and then over a glass of wine, before everything kicked off, I’d tell her my plans. She’d been there for me when my life fell apart last time; I just hoped she’d be there for me now. That she’d forgive me. I might not be able to face Glen again, but I couldn’t lose Becca.
It would look bad on her, I knew that, considering that she was the one to get me the job at the school. She knew all about texts I was getting, the letters and packages, and offered her usual sound advice. Why hadn’t I listened? It was Becca who told me not to retaliate, Becca who told me to go to the police and keep a low profile, even when it was apparent that the police weren’t doing anything.
And when I told her what I’d done, it was Becca who said I’d gone too far. She knew it all and yet had still agreed to meet and hear my side and, I suddenly realised, with everything that was going on over the last few weeks, I knew nothing about her. Nothing about her new man. I didn’t even know his name. I’d been the worst kind of friend to her since all this had started, and I shook my head at how self-involved I’d been. Only a few short months ago I was interested in everything about her. Even her shopping trips, asking to see what she’d bought from town, oohing and ahhing over every little purchase …
The air left my body as I thought back, remembering Becca in my living room, arms full of shopping bags. As she pulled out new dresses, designer handbags and boots. New boots. Small heel, tassels at the back. The very same boots that Sam had photographed when he was at Will’s house.
‘No,’ I whispered. ‘That can’t be possible?’
Becca’s flat was in the city centre, close to where I was, and I swerved down a side street, going back on myself to get there. As I indicated left, I remembered her face after Janine had thrown her phone at me, when I told her about the text, how she’d told me to do nothing. When the first package had arrived, the second, the person in the red Fiat. Becca was the only one who knew it all.
I drove to her flat quickly, my palms sweating. I hardly ever went to Becca’s as it was close to the centre. Too busy an area and too many people around. I swung into the car park and my foot hit the brake, hard. I swung forward. My mouth open in shock, my heart rattling in my chest.
In the space allotted to her flat was a BMW.
Will’s BMW.
I let out a low moan.
‘No,’ I whispered as I got out. I didn’t want to be right. I didn’t want my paranoia to be correct this time, but the proof was right in front of me. I got out slowly and went over to it, peered in the driver’s window. On the passenger seat was a jacket, navy blue, silk lining, same jacket that he’d been wearing when I saw him at my mother’s.
I leaned against the car for support, the wind had been taken out of me. I was having trouble taking breath in, could feel a pounding in my head as my heart picked up its pace. Will and Becca. Will and Becca. No. Not possible. The world closed in around me, the sky bearing down as I pictured them together.
Four years ago, when I told Becca what Will had been doing, she was horrified. She was the one who sat up with me as I cried through the night, she was the one who was there after I’d been to his mistress’s house and thrown a brick through her window. She was the one who’d helped me, who’d been loyal. Becca was mine.
‘It’s not what you think.’ She was stood in the doorway, her face full of concern. ‘Ruth, really. It’s not what you think.’
I straightened and then, there he was, Will. Behind her, in her flat. Without his shoes, his socked feet on her carpet. I let out a wail.
‘Ruth,
’ she said again, ‘let me explain. This is not what it looks like.’
I walked in slowly. Becca’s flat is a decent size, but all open plan. Perfect for one or two people, but any more in there and it suddenly seems small, and I felt claustrophobic as I stood in the centre of the room. My heart was knocking, my ribs aching from earlier. I felt light-headed, dizzy. They’d been drinking coffee, the smell of it in the air. Two cups on the table along with Will’s file.
‘You’ve been telling him,’ I said, looking at it, ‘you’ve been telling Will everything.’
She stared at me for a moment.
‘Will was just leaving,’ she said.
‘No I wasn’t,’ he said, and looked at Becca. ‘It’s gone on long enough,’ he said. ‘It’s not worked, so tell her. Just tell her.’
I turned to face Becca. She was staring at me, unblinking, her eyes watering.
I closed my eyes briefly; the thrumming of my heart was making my body shake. When I opened them, she was still staring at me. I marched past her.
‘Ruth,’ she called after me as I went out of the lounge and into her bedroom. She tried to grab me as I opened her drawers, opened her wardrobe.
‘Ruth, please.’
I didn’t listen. I made my way out of the bedroom and into the bathroom and I flung open the cabinet, the storage under the sink and then, knowing exactly where I should be looking, I went back into the bedroom. She was behind me, her hands grabbing me, her fingers clutching at me, and I opened the bedside drawer and there it was. Will’s alarm. A small box-like digital alarm that he always took with him to every holiday, every weekend away, a ‘back up’ he called it, and there it was in Becca’s bedside drawer.
I turned to her and she shook her head.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, and then screamed as I threw the clock at her. It shattered against the wall.
‘You,’ I said, ‘all this time. You’ve been my friend and then telling him everything, spying on me for him. So he can have Sam.’ I reeled as the whole thing suddenly became evident. ‘You,’ I said, ‘you want Sam, is that it?’