‘What? Now? But it’s Sunday.’
‘Business is business.’
‘When’ll you be back?’
‘There you go again. Always questions, questions, questions. You just don’t learn, do you?’ His voice was cold and angry.
‘Sorry.’
‘I’ll be back when I am.’
Amy wanted to know if he was going to want tea when he got in but didn’t dare ask. And was wanting to know when he was going to be home so unreasonable? Apparently it was.
Billy loped off past The Beeches and Amy trailed towards her end of town wondering why Billy was so against her asking the least thing. She didn’t like secrets and she was sure Billy was keeping something from her and it made her worried.
*
Megan was helping Bex stack the dishwasher after lunch while the boys were in the sitting room watching a DVD.
‘Bex, I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.’
Bex finished putting the dinner plates in the rack and straightened up. ‘No, I don’t imagine you do. But you’re going to have to sooner or later. Mr Smithson is on the case and I’m sure he’ll sort it all out.’
‘But what if he doesn’t?’
Bex sat down on a chair and rested her hands on the table. ‘I think you ought to tell everyone what really happened.’
Megan shook her head. ‘And what if they don’t believe me? What if they think that I really did trip Stella up? That’s what her friends said back in London.’
‘Sweetie, we’ve been over this. Stella fell. No one was to blame for what happened, least of all you.’
Megan shook her head. ‘But I took the memory book in. If I hadn’t done that...’
‘Stella took it off you. She stole it. She ran away with it. She tripped. The accident was all her fault.’ As Bex finished speaking the doorbell rang. ‘Go and answer that, will you, while I finish up here.’ She got up and began to drop knives and forks into the cutlery basket as Megan went into the hall.
Bex heard voices as Megan greeted their visitor.
‘It’s Mrs Simmonds,’ said Megan when she returned.
‘Heather, how lovely. How are you?’
Heather sighed. ‘Well, apart from still feeling a bit shocked that someone broke into the vicarage while we were at church, I’m fine.’
‘Broke in? But that’s awful.’
‘It’s not great. But, as Brian says, it’s just things and they can be replaced – or most of them can, at any rate.’
‘Bloody hell, I don’t think I’d be as calm as you are. I think I’d be spitting feathers.’
‘It wouldn’t achieve anything, though.’
‘It’d make me feel better to have a bloody good rant.’
Heather smiled. ‘Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about that. I came to see Megan because I’ve had an idea.’
Megan looked up.
‘There’s an assembly on Monday afternoon. I think we ought tell everyone a cautionary tale about believing rumours and spreading lies. I know I suggested on Friday that you say what actually happened, and you didn’t want to, but I’ve been thinking about it since and I totally think it’s the best way.’
Megan looked unconvinced while Bex said, ‘I agree!’
‘Fake news,’ said Heather. ‘There’s a lot of it about so it’s quite topical.’
‘It won’t do any good,’ muttered Megan.
‘It will, if you tell your side. Or if someone does.’
Megan shook her head.
‘That’s exactly what I said,’ agreed Bex.
‘I could do it for you if you’d like,’ said Heather. ‘I’m a vicar’s wife and I have no reason to lie. They’d believe me.’
‘You think?’
‘I do. Trust me, there’s not many perks to being married to the local God-botherer but being trusted and believed are a couple of belters.’ Heather smiled at Megan. ‘So, what do you say?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What’s the worst that can happen?’
Megan shrugged.
‘At the moment there’s a completely false rumour doing the rounds. Unless we get the truth out, that’s all people have to go on. If they don’t believe the truth, you’re no worse off, and if they do believe it... well, job done.’
‘Exactly,’ said Bex.
Megan looked from her stepmother to Heather and back again. ‘I suppose.’
‘Good,’ said Heather. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Smithson first thing and arrange it.’ She put her arm round Megan and gave her a hug. ‘Then all we have to do is find out who wrote that awful thing on the board and make sure they never do such a horrible thing again.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bex.
‘Not a problem. And once everything is out in the open I think you’ll find that everyone will be on your side and not the bully’s.’
‘You think?’ said Megan.
‘I do. I know you wanted to make a fresh start here and put that awful incident behind you. What you witnessed was dreadful and I understand your reasons for not wanting anyone to know about it, but keeping things secret isn’t always the solution.’
‘Maybe,’ said Megan.
‘Anyway, that’s why I called round and now I need to get off home and clean up all the fingerprint dust the police have covered the house in.’
‘I can’t believe,’ said Bex, ‘that anyone would sink so low as to break into a vicarage!’
‘I’m not sure burglars really care about their victims’ careers or vocations.’
‘No, you’re probably right. I don’t suppose they have much of a moral compass.’
Bex walked with Heather to the front door. ‘Thanks for dropping by – especially as you’ve enough to cope with without taking on our problems too.’
‘It was nice to have something else to think about – even if it was only for a few minutes.’
Bex let Heather out and then returned to the kitchen. ‘She’s right.’
‘Are you sure?’
Bex nodded and hugged Megan. ‘As she says, it can’t make anything worse and if it makes things better, all will be well.’
Megan shook her head. ‘I hope you’re right.’
36
‘Got a few bits and pieces to get in town,’ Joan told Bert on the Monday morning.
‘OK, dearie,’ he replied. No you ain’t, he thought. You’re off to the doc’s.
He went to the sitting room window and watched her walk across the road and in through the back gate to the park. Then he gave it another five minutes before he followed her. When he got to Dr Connolly’s surgery he peered through the glass door at the waiting area and saw Joan, sitting with her back to him, reading a magazine. He hovered by the door, glad that the weather was dry as he waited for her to be called in for her appointment. Ten minutes later he saw her get up, chuck her magazine back on the table and go through the door to the doctor’s consulting room. Bert let himself in and took the seat she’d vacated.
He tried not to worry like he’d tried not to over the weekend but the problem was he was feeling sick with concern. Chest pains were never trivial, were they? Supposing his Joan was really poorly? He couldn’t bear the thought of life without her. What would he do with himself with no Joan? As he sat there and contemplated the uncertain future he found himself close to tears. Fifty years they’d been together. Fifty! That was a long time in anyone’s book.
And he’d always assumed he’d be the one to go first. Men did, didn’t they? He’d always said to Joan that, after he’d gone, she was to make sure she kept herself busy, she wasn’t to mope. She’d be comfortable enough, what with his pension and her state one.
‘Bert?’
He looked up. ‘Hello, Joan.’
‘What the blazes...?’
Bert stood up and they headed for the door. ‘I think I ought to be the one asking the questions,’ he said, holding it open for Joan.
‘But...?’
‘I overheard your phone conversation on Fri
day. I forgot my twine and had to come back in. Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been poorly?’
The pair headed up the high street.
‘I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘Like I’m not worried sick now. So, what’s been going on?’
‘I’ve had a couple of turns. The last couple have been while I was cleaning the church.’
‘Bad?’
Joan nodded.
‘Why didn’t you ring me? I’d have brought the car down, come and got you.’
‘The Reverend was there. And they didn’t last. Nasty sharp stabbing pains but then they eased off. Anyway, the Reverend made me promise to see the doc.’
‘You should have told me,’ grumbled Bert.
‘I was going to, when I got home.’
‘And?’
‘It’s nothing too serious. I’ve got pericarditis, he says.’
‘Sounds serious to me.’
‘The doc said it’s nasty but not desperate. I’ve got to take anti-inflammatories and go for some tests but the doc is sure I’ll be as right as ninepence in no time.’
‘Is this the truth?’
Joan nodded. ‘Honest.’
‘You gave me such a scare.’
‘I’m sorry, Bert, me love. I didn’t mean to. But there’s something the doc mentioned and we need to talk.’
‘What?’ Bert’s worry came crashing back.
‘It’s about you and me.’
‘What about us?’
‘About us not being married.’
‘’T’ain’t no one’s business but ours. Besides, after all this time we’re common-law man and wife.’
‘That’s the thing, the doc says common-law marriage is a myth. He said that if we’re not properly spliced we don’t have no rights.’
‘Get away.’
‘’Tis true.’
‘Then maybe we ought to do something about it.’
‘Maybe.’ Joan chuckled. ‘Mind, after fifty years is a bit late to start shutting the stable door. That horse ain’t only bolted, he’s probably died of old age.’
*
Later that morning, John Smithson, the school head, stopped Megan in a corridor as she was on her way to the canteen for lunch.
‘Could you pop into my office for a second?’ he asked.
Megan nodded – she could guess what this was about. She followed Mr Smithson, aware of curious glances from other pupils, although she’d already been the object of stares and whispers for the first four periods of the morning – hardly surprising given the accusation on Friday.
Mr Smithson led her into his office and shut the door.
‘I’ve had a word with Mrs Simmonds.’
Megan nodded.
‘She tells me you’re OK with her idea of putting your side of the story to your year group’s assembly.’ He smiled at Megan encouragingly.
She nodded again. ‘Not much of a choice, though, is it, sir?’
‘Sadly no. I’d hoped that all that unpleasantness might be left behind in London but it seems that someone in your tutor group has made it their business to dig it all up. Do you know who it might be?’
Megan had a pretty good idea but she didn’t think that dobbing Lily right in it would help matters. ‘Not really.’
‘I imagine you’re into Facebook and WhatsApp like everyone else. Has anyone had a go at you, bullied you on the internet?’
‘No. To be honest, sir, I’ve not made that many Facebook friends here since I’ve arrived. My stepmum suggested I didn’t rush into things because of what happened before.’
‘Very sensible.’
‘I’m friends with Ashley Pullen but only in real life and I know it’s not him.’
‘Anyone else?’
Megan looked at the floor and shook her head.
‘What about Lily Breckenridge?’
Megan glanced up. Did she tell the truth or answer with a barefaced lie?
Before she had to make the choice Mr Smithson said, ‘OK, I won’t keep you.’
With a whoosh of relief she fled and almost cannoned into Ashley who was hanging around in the corridor.
‘Was that about...?’ said Ashley. ‘I heard he’d hauled you in. Are you OK?’
‘He was checking I’m OK about what Mrs Simmonds is going to do. You know, what I said this morning, about the assembly.’ Ashley nodded. ‘I suppose I have to be, don’t I – not much choice, is there? She stared at Ashley. ‘Thanks for caring though.’ She cracked a wan smile. ‘Especially as it’s not cool for boys to hang out with girls at this school.’
‘Shit, no,’ said Ashley.
The pair walked towards the canteen. ‘Smithson asked me if I knew who’d done it. Then he asked if I was connected to Lily on Facebook.’
‘Do you think it was her?’
‘Dunno. I just wonder about being her friend on Facebook. I mean, I said to you that I wasn’t sure about it... She could have gone back through my timeline and sent friend requests to kids at my old school.’
Ashley looked at her. ‘But why would she? I mean, she wouldn’t have any idea about what happened at your old place so how would she know to ask questions? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘No, you’re right. I mean, apart from you and the head, no one here knows anything about that.’
‘And it wasn’t me,’ said Ashley.
‘But someone knows something. Someone found out, didn’t they?’
*
While John Smithson was interviewing Megan, Bex found that news of Alfie’s escape was the talk of the pub. Word had got around in no time about Jacqui’s rant at Bex.
‘I don’t know how he managed to open the gate,’ she told Belinda.
‘Obviously a right little Houdini.’
‘I’m going to have to get a bolt put on. I can’t risk him doing that again.’
‘Would you like Miles to do it? He’s pretty handy at that sort of thing.’
Bex thought about how much she’d irritated him by being useless. Surely such a request would only irritate him further. ‘No, I am sure I can manage it.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ And before Bex could stop her Belinda had barrelled into the pub kitchen and put Miles on the spot.
‘No – honestly, I’m sure I can do it,’ she protested, trailing after Belinda.
‘Shhh. Miles? What do you say? How about you pop round with your Black and Decker...’
‘Of course. No problem.’
Did he really mean that or was he just being polite? Bex couldn’t tell which, but she felt embarrassed that poor Miles was being made to cope with her ineptitude again.
‘Sorted,’ said Belinda. ‘You buy the bolt and Miles here will fix it.’
‘Thanks,’ mumbled Bex. She didn’t dare look Miles in the eye and rushed back to the bar.
*
Heather Simmonds stood on the stage in the assembly hall and stared out at the kids from Year Ten. A hundred and fifty faces stared back at her as she got into her stride with her themed talk. Some looked engaged but some looked bored to snores and some were staring at their laps. Heather would bet a pound to a penny they were messing with their phones. No matter – she ploughed on.
‘That’s the thing with fake news,’ she said. ‘If there’s enough of it, no one knows what to believe after a while, do they? No one knows who are the good guys, the ones telling the truth, and who are the scammers, the criminals and the liars. Besides, if you hear something often enough, it’s difficult to believe it not to be true. It’s like advertisements on the telly – the product being promoted is always better than all the rivals, but they all say that, so who do you believe? Of course, it’s worse with rumours. Rumours that are based on someone’s opinion, a half-truth, something heard or seen but misinterpreted. Most rumours are harmless but some are damaging and downright plain nasty.
‘There’s one doing the rounds, right here, in this school, about a child at another school who had a tragic and terrible accident.’ Suddenly the l
evel of interest rocketed. Naturally – they all knew by now about the accusation on the whiteboard and so this talk wasn’t about elections or international news or boring stuff like that, this was about a kid they all knew. ‘In fact, if that girl hadn’t stolen another pupil’s prized possession and run away with it, the accident would never have happened. Because she was running, she tripped, she fell, she hit her head. A ghastly accident. It was witnessed by other pupils but some, some, chose to believe that it was the fault of the pupil for bringing the object, her very precious possession, into school in the first place.’ Heather’s gaze traversed her audience. ‘Which one of you hasn’t brought in something that is precious to you to show to your friends? Maybe it was a toy, when you were at primary school. Or a new phone. We’ve all done it, haven’t we? Wanted to share something we’re proud of. In this instance it was a notebook. A notebook containing pictures and memories of the other girl’s father – a father who had died very suddenly. A notebook that was irreplaceable.’
There was another sea change amongst her audience. Heather had heard from other members of staff that after Megan had fled from the school the sole topic of conversation amongst the other kids had been the graffitied accusation on the board. And no wonder, thought Heather. The expressions of the majority of faces had gone from prurient interest to discomfort as they realised that their gossip and speculation about what Megan had done might have been very misplaced. ‘If it had been your book, how would you have felt if someone had nicked it and run away with it? What the thief did was cruel and unkind but her friends didn’t blame her for taking the book but the girl who brought the book to school. I don’t know about you, but I think that’s a pretty mean and unfair attitude. And now, someone here has chosen to believe this ugly rumour and to spread it around here – saying that Megan Millar was responsible for this death. A vile lie.’ She glared down at the children. ‘Fake news,’ said Heather. ‘Fake news. Please, next time you hear anything that you don’t know to be true, question it. Ask where the story has come from. Don’t believe everything you hear or read or see on the TV. Be more responsible, be less accepting. And never, ever, spread rumours. Thank you.’
As Heather sat down she could see all the teenagers looking at their neighbours in their tidy rows of chairs, shifting uncomfortably, and quiet muttering filled the air. One girl stared stonily ahead, her face bright red. Lily Breckenridge. Beside her, Summer Ashworth sniffed into a tissue.
Secrets and Scandals in Little Woodford Page 27