Mummy's Little Secret

by M. A. Hunter

  Where is Grace?

  As the crowd begins to slowly disperse, I still can’t see any child wandering aimlessly, searching for their increasingly terrified parent. I need to make urgent contact with Miss Danvers. What if something has happened to Grace, and she is ill or hurt inside the school? Shouldn’t they have notified me if that is the case? All the guidance we’d had to read before the first day has blanked from my mind. What if Grace signalled to me, but before she made it over someone snatched her?

  Releasing the brake on the wheels, I move forward through the ever-thinning crowd, my eyes scanning left and right as I go, searching for Grace. There are so many similarly dressed boys and girls tearing around, burning off their last reserves of pent-up energy, but there is still no sign of my daughter.

  ‘Hey there,’ I hear Miss Danvers call towards me in her upbeat and jolly Canadian voice, ‘Mrs Donoghue, right? Grace’s mom.’

  I nod feverishly at mention of my daughter’s name. ‘I can’t find her. Where is she?’

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ she says, with less enthusiasm, ‘but I wondered if I could have a word with you inside? There was an incident earlier, and I think it would be good if we tackled it head-on.’

  ‘What kind of incident?’ I want to shout. Does she mean an incident involving Grace? Before I can question further, she turns on her heel and ushers me towards the old brick building. My heart is racing, as my paranoia takes control of all my rational thoughts.

  The classroom is so much smaller than the one I remember from my own childhood, but then I suppose that’s because I’m now so much bigger. The smell of fresh paint hangs in the air, along with the scent of Miss Danvers’s expensive perfume. The walls are covered with posters promoting the merits of phonetics, brightly coloured animals holding up letters and enunciating them in a visual way. There are basic sums on the dry-wipe board, suggesting that mathematics was the last subject touched upon today, and against the back wall there are a variety of painted pictures drying and awaiting hanging on a large notice board above them.

  ‘Take a seat,’ she says, before quickly admonishing herself for the slip. ‘Sorry, I meant—’

  I wheel to the side of the desk, next to the vacant chair that is impossibly small for an adult to occupy.

  Miss Danvers slides onto her own chair beside the desk, and presses her palms onto the table top. ‘Thanks for popping in, and I’m sorry we’re having to meet like this so early into the term.’

  The heat in the room is stifling, and as much as I want to wipe away the sheen building at my hairline, I’m reluctant to draw more attention to how inferior I feel opposite someone who is naturally pretty, and clearly not short of male attention. All I can hear is the thumping of my heart and pulse, beating out a rhythm akin to a funeral march. There’s still no sign of Grace, and as I watch Miss Danvers, hunting for any hint of what might have happened, I am terrified that something awful has happened to Grace.

  ‘How would you describe Grace’s behaviour at home?’ Miss Danvers asks, snapping my focus back to her.

  ‘What? I… um, she’s a very polite little girl. I don’t understand.’

  The question has thrown me. What does Grace’s home life have to do with whatever accident has befallen her?

  ‘Would you say she understands the difference between right and wrong? As in, would you feel confident that if she did something bad, she’d know it was wrong before she did it?’

  My brow must furrow, as Miss Danvers leans a little closer, and tries again.

  ‘I’m just trying to establish how well she is adjusted and what boundaries have been set in place regarding retaliatory behaviour.’

  ‘Has something happened to Grace?’ I try, still unable to fathom why she’s so interested in things at home. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Oh, Grace is fine, she’s in the room next door, drawing a picture,’ she replies, nodding to a door over my shoulder.

  I crane my neck so I can see into the adjoined classroom where my beautiful girl is deliberating over which colour crayon to use next. Her head is down, and she doesn’t appear to be hurt or upset as she selects a crayon and presses it to the page.

  The relief washes over me, and for the first time in hours, the tension in my shoulders eases. I take a couple of extra breaths to settle my heart.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Miss Danvers suddenly says, leaning across her table and dragging a desktop fan across the veneer. She switches it on, bringing a wave of cool air over the two of us. ‘It’s stifling in here today, but at least it isn’t raining. The weather in this country is one of the reasons I decided to stay, rather than return to Toronto. I love its unpredictability.’

  I don’t want to get into a conversation about the changing UK climate, and dab my face with a tissue when she is looking down at her notes, as if trying to recall the reason she invited me in in the first place.

  ‘Let me put it a different way,’ she says, making eye contact. ‘There was an incident in class just before the lunch bell rang. Grace and three or four others were at the paint workstation, and each had been tasked with painting a happy memory from their summer holidays. Generally, we see lots of beach pictures, parks, ice-cream, that kind of thing. Anyway, I was reading a story to a group when I heard raised voices, and when I came over, Grace looked upset. When I asked what was going on, she told me that one of the boys – Dylan – had called her a name. The bell sounded, and I kept Grace and Dylan behind to explain what had been said and why. Neither wanted to admit what had happened, so I told them both that name-calling isn’t appropriate at any time, but especially not in school. They both apologised to one another and went to get their food. Then I spoke to a girl called Daisy who’d been at the paint workstation with them, and she told me that Dylan and a boy called Harry had said that Grace would be going to see her mum at the prison, because that’s where all the bad people go.’

  My cheeks flush instantly, but I remain quiet.

  ‘From speaking to a couple of the other parents,’ she continues, ‘I understand that there was some kind of episode yesterday? It’s none of my business, but I have a duty of care to Grace and the other children in my class to make sure that everything at home is as safe and stable as possible.’

  Bloody Morag spreading rumours about me has now filtered down to the children in Grace’s class.

  I take a deep breath. ‘I was arrested yesterday, but it was just a misunderstanding, and no charges were brought against me. I’m not a criminal, Miss Danvers, it was just a mix-up, that’s all. Grace had no idea about it, and as far as I’m concerned, the sooner it’s all behind me, the better. Was Grace okay? Did she seem upset when she came back from lunch?’

  Miss Danvers’ expression hardens, as the skin around her lips tightens. ‘That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. When I returned to the classroom to set things up for the afternoon lessons, I found that somebody had painted a large black line from corner to corner over Dylan’s beach painting. I didn’t see who did it, but when the children returned, I took that group to one side and asked whether any of them wanted to admit who had done it. Grace stepped forward and said she had painted the line over the image because of what Dylan had said about you.’

  I must be hearing things because I’m pretty sure I just heard her say that Grace – my little angel – destroyed another child’s artwork out of spite.

  ‘There must be some mistake,’ I protest. ‘Are you sure that’s what Grace said? She’s not that type of girl. She’s good and would never do something so wicked.’

  Miss Danvers offers a sympathetic frown. ‘The first day at a new school can be overwhelming for even the securest child. From what I understand, Dylan and Grace had never met before today, and maybe there was some unresolved tension there. I thought the conversation at lunchtime had sorted things, but I guess I was wrong. I had to tell Grace that what she had done was disrespectful and that such behaviour is not tolerated at this school. She apologised to Dylan, and I t
hen made a point of separating them to avoid further conflict. You need to be aware that we won’t be taking any further action on this occasion, but I’m keen to break any pattern of poor behaviour before it starts.’

  It’s as if she is talking about a different child. Grace doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body, and even when things don’t go her way, I’ve never known her lash out at anybody, or take vengeful action. I’m about to argue in my daughter’s defence, when Miss Danvers rests a cold hand on mine.

  ‘Is there anything going on at home that I should know about? Any reason for Grace to act out in this way?’

  I think about the last week, and my near-obsession with finding out the truth about Daisy and Morag’s relationship. Have I missed obvious signs that Grace has been unhappy or stressed with anything?

  ‘Just the usual challenges life has to offer,’ I say, hoping the throwaway line is sufficient to ease her concern.

  ‘I remember meeting Mr Donoghue before the summer holidays. Is everything okay between the two of you?’ She quickly raises her hands in a defensive gesture. ‘I appreciate what goes on between a husband and wife is none of my business, and you have every right to tell me to butt out, but I’m also aware of the unseen risks that marital issues can cast on impressionable children.’

  Is it possible that Grace knows Charlie has been cheating on me with that woman in the bum-clenching red skirt?

  ‘Everything between Charlie and me is as you would expect. Sure, we have the occasional disagreement, but never in front of Grace. I don’t think there’s anything like that which could have caused Grace to act out like this.’

  ‘So you’re as surprised by today’s incident as I am?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I practically spit, and Miss Danvers breathes a sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank goodness! I’ve always prided myself on being a good judge of character, and prior to this afternoon I’d considered Grace a bright little bee. Hopefully, today was a one-off and we can chalk it up to experience.’

  With that she stands, and moves across to the door, calling Grace through to our room. Grace walks slowly, her head bowed, and she looks close to tears when our eyes do finally meet.

  ‘Your mom and I have had a chat about what happened, and I’ve explained what you told me, and that you’ve expressed regret and remorse at your actions today. We’re both hoping that we can all turn to a clean page tomorrow and start afresh. Isn’t that right, mom?’

  I nod eagerly at Grace, but it still feels like an out-of-body experience, as if I’m watching somebody else’s child being reprimanded, rather than my own.

  Grace remains silent and sullen once we are back outside in the sweltering heat. The playground is now empty, and there’s a creepiness to the setting, like some plague has wiped out all the souls who were previously here. I no longer think it’s appropriate to make a detour via the shop for an ice-cream, and so we head out through the gates, and make our way steadily along the pavement.

  I’m the first one to crack under the strain of silence. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened at school?’

  She sighs heavily. ‘Dylan was saying all this stuff about you going to jail and laughing. He said his mum and dad had told him to stay away from me in case I’m a thief like you.’

  I want to shout and scream to the world that I’m not a thief, and to dare anyone to say otherwise to my face. It’s bad enough that the parents in the playground, who don’t even know me, have been gossiping behind my back, but they shouldn’t be spreading such lies to their children as well. How many other children in the school will now be avoiding Grace because of the rumour Morag has started?

  ‘That’s no reason for you to destroy his painting though, is it? Especially after Miss Danvers had already told him off and asked him to apologise to you. I thought I’d raised you better than that, Grace.’

  ‘I…’ she begins, before faltering, and closing her mouth again.

  ‘How would you like it if someone had done that to your painting?’

  Her lips part again, and I cannot believe she’s even going to attempt to justify what she did, but then what she does say sends my head spinning.

  ‘I didn’t do it. It was Daisy who painted the line on his picture.’

  I grip the tyres tight to bring the chair to an abrupt halt. ‘What did you say?’

  Grace’s lips wobble as she meets my gaze. ‘It was Daisy who painted the black line. At lunchtime she said it wasn’t fair that Miss Danvers hadn’t punished Dylan. At break time he was laughing about it, and Daisy told him he was a stupid. She was really kind to me, and said I should just ignore him. When we returned to class, she put the brush across his painting, but when Miss Danvers caught us I didn’t want Daisy to get into trouble, so I told her I’d done it.’ She pauses to wipe tears from her eyes.

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense, Grace,’ I protest. ‘Why would you take the blame for something Daisy did?’

  She sniffs loudly. ‘You’ve always told me I should stick up for my friends, and that’s what Daisy did for me. I’m sorry I got you in trouble with Miss Danvers, but Dylan deserved to be punished for saying those lies about you.’

  I pull Grace into my arms and hug her dearly. Part of me is proud that she was willing to risk the teacher’s wrath for her friend, but I am also disappointed that she found it so easy to lie to her new teacher. I’m also furious that she did it to help the daughter of the woman who caused the rumour to start in the first place.

  Grace’s tears are warm against my chest, and they soon penetrate my T-shirt. We remain there for several moments as I try to explain that although her decision was noble, ultimately she should have told the truth, and mustn’t lie for others in future.

  When we return home, there is a large Mercedes parked behind our battered Hyundai, and Charlie’s betrayal flashes past my eyes as I head in and Grace tears off to her bedroom to get changed. It isn’t Charlie I see first when I roll into the living room, but Mum with a tear-stained face. She looks behind me, as Charlie enters and drops a tissue filled with pills into my lap.

  ‘Your mum was cleaning up our room and discovered these in the waste bin in the wet room,’ Charlie says. ‘How long have you been off your meds, Jess?’

  The heat in my cheeks is intense as I look at him, and my vision mists with tears. I can’t believe they’ve been checking up on me. And why is he challenging me in front of Mum? This should be a private conversation.

  I search for a clever explanation, but my mind is suddenly foggy, and I feel lightheaded. Charlie is watching me, his expression hurt, when I should be the indignant one after his behaviour.

  He points at the tissue in my lap. ‘Is this the reason for your erratic behaviour, Jess? Why I keep finding you in strange places in the middle of the night? Why you were arrested yesterday, and why you’ve been obsessing about that woman and her daughter?’

  Is this him making his play now? In front of witnesses he’s going to claim I’m losing my mind, so he can take my daughter and go off with his new squeeze.

  ‘You call my behaviour erratic?’ I shout back, as the frustration reaches boiling point. ‘Who is the woman I saw you with this morning looking all lovey-dovey? Tell me that, Charlie! Was that the Kerry I spoke to on the phone the other night or some other bimbo you’ve been shagging?’

  The momentary look of shock is replaced by sad eyes. ‘What are you talking about, Jess? I’m not having an affair.’

  ‘No? Then why did I see you with some beautiful woman getting into her red sports car, so intimate?’

  He turns his back, knowing I’ve caught him in his lies, but as much as I want to feel satisfied, it pains me to think that our marriage has come to this. I just want things to go back to where they were before that day when we lost Luke.

  I start as someone knocks at the door behind me. Turning, I am surprised to see my psychiatrist Dr Savage walk in.

  ‘Hello, Jess,’ she says. ‘Charlie called me and told me what’s been going
on. I think we need to talk things through. All of us together. Your Mum and Charlie love you dearly, Jess, and they want to make sure you get the help that you need to get things back on course. They’ve asked me to help them facilitate an intervention. They are concerned by some of your recent behaviour, and it is clear you haven’t been taking the medication that was prescribed to treat your depression. I – we – think it would be best if you voluntarily came with me now, Jess, so that we can start your treatment.’

  I can taste bile in the back of my throat. This bombshell has the room spinning around me. How have so many people whom I love been able to keep so many secrets from me? I need to get out of the room. I need space and air. Charlie has convinced them both I’m losing my mind.

  I wheel back out of the room, not prepared to give up so easily.

  Mum’s hand reaches out for me. ‘Where are you going, Jess? You need to stay and listen to what the doctor has to say. You’ll see there’s no reason to be scared.’

  I’m no longer listening, as I force my aching hands onto the wheel grips and spin the chair in the direction of the front door.

  ‘Please, Jess, don’t rush off like this,’ Mum calls out. ‘If you’ll just—’

  I open the front door and I’m down the ramp before they can stop me. The fresh air feels welcome against my burning cheeks, and I suck it in as my hands pump faster and faster. I hear Mum calling after me, but I know she won’t give chase. For now, I am free and on my own, but as my arms quickly tire, it feels like the world is closing in on me.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Before – Morag

  The urgent knocking at the door tells me something isn’t right, and as I warn Daisy to stay hidden in her room with the door locked, I push back the net curtain in the living room and look out. Jess isn’t the person I’m expecting to see, but as our eyes meet, I can see how upset she is, and my heart goes out to her.