Mainlander

by Will Smith

  ‘Apart from the cost of plumbing and maintaining this faux-Versailles water feature you’ve set your heart on, which would involve the removal of the old cider press that I want to get working again, I’ve always loved that tree. I’m thinking treehouse for the kids, when they come along, plus Christmas lights. Right, Emma …’ Rob gestured to her but caught himself just in time. In his head he was asking her for confirmation that this had always been his dream for the house, which would have been a giant misstep. He changed his tone mid-sentence. ‘… why don’t you choose the music? Then we can delay the tree-versus-fountain decision to when my wife has come to her senses.’

  ‘I really like Tiffany.’

  Shit. She had semi-seriously lobbied for ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’ to be their song, but he hated it and had banned it from his earshot. This was her sending him a signal that she was upset. Christ, she must have heard what Louise had said.

  ‘Colin won’t be long, will he?’ asked Sally.

  ‘Shouldn’t be. Said he was popping straight back.’

  ‘I’d better put the veg on, then.’ Sally got up to head to the kitchen.

  ‘I can do that – means I can escape Tiffany,’ said Rob, standing to change the CD and desperate not to be left alone with Emma.

  ‘I think we’ve established you’re not to be trusted with the oven, darling,’ twinkled Sally, who gave him a kiss on the cheek before skipping off.

  Rob took as long as he could loading the CD, trying to pretend he couldn’t free the disc from of the central hub of plastic teeth, when in fact the sodding thing had popped out first time. Realising that any further delay would be transparent, he turned to Emma with a ‘Crazy, huh?’ shrug. His overarching strategy in business and in his personal life was to say what the other person wanted to hear. Right now he possessed neither the time nor the clarity of mind to read Emma: he was in the middle of a mental whiteout.

  ‘Who was that at the door?’

  ‘Told you, tourist.’ Always start with a bluff.

  ‘No, you told Sally it was a tourist. I was the other side of the door, Rob. I heard what the girl said.’

  Rob turned up the music so Sally couldn’t hear from the kitchen. Just when he’d thought he couldn’t hate Tiffany any more, she became the soundtrack to the single worst moment of his life so far.

  ‘She said you fucked her. And that you sacked her.’

  This was a first for Rob. He’d never thought he’d find himself having to deny infidelity because, apart from Louise, his extra-marital conquests were literally oceans apart. He certainly never imagined he’d have to be denying infidelity to someone with whom he was already being unfaithful. This was ridiculous. Why was Emma getting so bent out of shape? First: he had not cheated on her when he’d slept with Louise; he’d cheated on Sally. If anything, Emma should be grateful he’d slept with Louise, since the ease of the experience had made him lower his guard and consider a further Island-based fling. Second: Emma couldn’t really express any legitimate affront, given that she was cheating, too. None of this was of any particular use to Rob at that moment. Emma wanted an explanation, and Sally would be back from the kitchen at any minute. He was pretty sure Emma wasn’t going to blow up in front of Sally, but not sure enough to tell her to shut the fuck up. That might be like trying to defuse a bomb by whacking it with a hammer.

  ‘She’s mad.’

  ‘Mad.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s a fantasist. She worked at the hotel, she made a pass at me. I turned her down, and obviously her pride was wounded, because she started making accusations, telling people we’d had an affair. We had to pay her off to get rid of her.’

  ‘Why would you pay her off if you hadn’t done anything?’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Why would you pay her off if you hadn’t done anything?’ Emma repeated, at a lower volume but with a more insistent tone. The focus of her questioning left Rob feeling like a lobster at the fish market, wriggling on its back and wondering how the hell it had gone from piddling round on the ocean floor to being prodded on a tray with its pincers tied shut.

  ‘I didn’t mean pay her off to shut her up. I meant pay her off as in sack her with enough redundancy that she’d go. You know, make her an offer she can’t refuse.’

  ‘That’s blackmail.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Making someone an offer they can’t refuse. That means blackmail.’

  ‘Look, I don’t know the ins and outs of whatever deal she took. Christophe dealt with it.’

  ‘Christophe, the only person who knows about us. Until she turned up.’

  ‘Someone else is going to find out if you don’t shut up,’ said Rob, nodding towards the kitchen.

  ‘Are you threatening me like you threatened her?’

  ‘I didn’t threaten her.’

  ‘You called her a whore. Is that what you think I am?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘How many women have you fucked behind your wife’s back?’

  ‘How many men have you fucked behind your husband’s?’

  Emma threw her drink at Rob’s chest. ‘Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!’ she said loudly and coolly, for Sally’s benefit.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Sally yelled back.

  ‘I tripped and managed to spill my drink all over Rob.’ She leant in close to Rob. ‘Don’t ever fucking touch me again.’

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Rob, can you get that? In between changing your shirt!’ yelled Sally, from the kitchen.

  ‘Will do.’ Rob was already on his way, anxious to get away from Emma, but with his arteries under renewed strain at the thought that it might be Louise returning for more. He opened the door and experienced a hitherto unknown reaction to the sight of Colin: relief.

  6

  COLIN

  Monday, 12 October 1987

  ‘He shouldn’t be much longer. He does know you’re here.’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’

  ‘I heard you sighing.’

  ‘Just a breath that got echoed. A hiccup would sound like a firework in this corridor.’

  Colin’s quip was dashed against the permanent frown of the implacable Mrs Bisson, the school secretary, who waddled back into her office, with her own sighs of exertion and irritation as she squeezed her squat frame sideways behind her desk. Colin thought it was a bit much to accuse him of impatience, given that she saw the most basic of duties as an imposition on her day, to the point at which she would joke with sparse irony that her job would be easier if she worked at a school devoid of both teachers and pupils.

  Colin leant his temple against the grey granite pillar that formed part of the benched alcove in which he was sitting outside the headmaster’s office. Even in summer the granite felt cool and damp. Today’s oppressively low clouds and clinging drizzle meant the school was pervaded with an atmosphere of dank gloom.

  Footsteps echoed from the flagstones in the corridor. A fifth-year pupil whom Colin knew by name and reputation appeared round the corner, followed by Debbie. His heart thudded and he hoped his rising colour was not distinguishable in the dim light of the windowless passage.

  ‘Morning,’ he said, ‘what’s going on?’ Debbie had not been in assembly and they had not spoken since his outburst on Friday.

  ‘Someone would rather instigate a ruler fight than learn about Tudor Britain.’

  ‘It was a historical re-enactment, miss,’ the boy said breezily. Colin repressed a chuckle.

  ‘Be quiet, sit here and wait till he sees you, then come straight back to class.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ replied the pupil, perkily, sitting next to Colin and giving the confusing impression that they were waiting to see the headmaster together. This was typical of what Colin knew of John Duval, who possessed preternatural confidence. He held himself like an equal of the teachers, and remained regularly unbowed in the face of his frequent punishments. From what Colin could make out he was bright and bored, stirring up lesser min
ds than his to greater mischief than he was prepared to undertake.

  ‘Mrs Bisson, Duval is waiting to see Mr Le Brocq again,’ Debbie said, through the doorway. Colin could see Mrs Bisson interrupt her phone call and huff her way to finding a pencil.

  ‘Yes, okay. Will there be any more to join the queue?’ she hissed.

  ‘Possibly, I don’t know,’ replied Debbie, with a smile, refusing to be cowed by Mrs Bisson’s confrontational tropes.

  ‘How was the night at the fort?’ asked Colin, as Debbie made to leave.

  ‘Good. Everyone behaved,’ she said, with a pointed glance at Duval.

  ‘Including Mr Touzel?’

  Debbie was already stepping through the small gate set within the vast oak entrance door, which remained closed during inclement weather.

  Colin had prepared a jokey summation of his weekend with ‘men boasting about boats’, as she had put it, but the door shut behind her and his Touzel enquiry remained unanswered. Of course, it was unprofessional to expect her to switch from disciplinarian to friend in front of a pupil, and to be publicly flippant about another member of staff. Plus she had a class to get back to. Or maybe she was still hurt by what Colin had said. The likelihood was that all of these factors had come into play. He pondered how to make it up to her, whether to make it up to her. Wasn’t this the disengagement he’d been working towards anyway?

  ‘You can go in now, Mr Bygate,’ barked Mrs Bisson, as various coded lights came up on her intercom system. Colin stood up and pushed open the door.

  ‘Come in, Colin, come in. Take a seat. Sorry to keep you.’ Le Brocq was normally a somnolent figure, whose slouch exaggerated his hunch and his pot-belly, but this morning he had an almost skittish air about him as he welcomed Colin into his office. ‘I had a rather important phone call that ran on somewhat … I may as well tell you – in fact, you shall be the first to know. We are to have a visit from our Duke!’

  He beamed expectantly. Colin smiled, registering that this was cause for good cheer, without grasping the specifics.

  Clearly Le Brocq sensed the vagueness behind Colin’s pale smirk. ‘Ah, I forget, you’re not an Islander so you don’t know who our Duke is. Care to hazard a guess?’

  ‘I didn’t know Jersey had a duke.’

  ‘Normandy had a duke. William the Conqueror was his name. He became King of England, but here in this Island his descendants retain the title of Duke of Normandy. Our Duke is the Queen!’ Confusion still swirled in Colin’s eyes despite this flourish.

  ‘The Queen is coming to visit!’ Le Brocq yelped, with a hint of exasperation.

  ‘Oh, fantastic,’ said Colin. ‘When?’

  ‘June next year.’

  ‘Terrific. Is she just coming to the school?’

  ‘No, it’s an official visit to the Island, but the school has always retained a place in her heart, and the afternoon she will spend here will doubtless be a highlight. The foundation stone was laid by her great-great-great … Actually, I’m not sure how many greats, better look that up before she comes, but the foundation stone on which this school was built was laid by her ancestor, the Prince Consort.’

  Le Brocq looked off into the middle distance. It would be an awkward segue, but Colin steeled himself. He took a breath. ‘Sir, there’s something I need to—’

  ‘She’s such a delightful woman. A real inspiration.’ Le Brocq had still not finished enthusing. His features relaxed into a wide smile that made his face seem to deflate. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘It’s a rather delicate matter …’

  ‘Will it take long? I should really talk to Mr Boucher about the security arrangements.’ Mr Boucher was the caretaker who, for some reason, was allowed to indulge in the affectation of a uniform that from a distance resembled that of a policeman: black trousers and jacket with silver buttons and epaulettes. Colin was certain that the Queen would have her own security team, and that they would be considerably more effective than a middle-aged man with a line in foul-mouthed ‘Porko’ jokes.

  ‘I’m worried about a pupil in my A level English class.’

  ‘Worried how? If it’s to do with his UCCA application, or any kind of academic issue you should speak to his form teacher.’

  ‘I’ve mentioned it to Aidan – Mr Blampied – but he was rather dismissive.’

  ‘Who is the boy, and what is the problem?’ Le Brocq’s tone had shifted to one of wary focus.

  ‘Duncan Labey. Last Thursday I chanced upon him at Grosnez—’

  ‘Why were you at Grosnez?’

  ‘I was having a walk, looking at the sunset.’

  ‘And Labey?’

  ‘He said he was doing the same. However, without wishing to be melodramatic, it looked as if he might have gone there to, er, jump off the cliff.’

  ‘Really? Why do you think that?’

  ‘He was standing at the edge, he’d raised his arms—’

  ‘He could have been about to do some star jumps.’

  ‘Why would someone do star jumps at the edge of a cliff? He could do star jumps at home.’

  ‘Maybe he was cold. They’re an excellent way of restoring the circulation.’

  ‘He really wasn’t doing star jumps. I think he would have said if that was what he was doing.’

  ‘So you spoke to him.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I ended up giving him a lift home.’

  ‘There you go, then. All’s well that ends well.’

  ‘He seemed distracted, absent. He might have been crying.’

  ‘Might have been?’

  ‘He was crying. I saw him cry. In the car.’

  ‘This is all very … circumstantial. I simply can’t imagine why a boy like that would contemplate such an act.’

  ‘That’s what Mr Blampied said …’

  ‘Well, he’s the boy’s form teacher so he probably has a better overview than yourself. How’s Labey been since?’

  ‘He didn’t come in on Friday. He brought this letter to my home – I didn’t read it till Saturday because my wife forgot to give it to me …’

  Le Brocq leant across and took the letter that Colin held up from his jacket pocket.

  ‘He’d wanted to meet me.’

  ‘To meet you?’

  ‘It’s probably best if you just read it.’

  The headmaster put on his half-moon glasses and read through the side of A4 in silence.

  Colin’s thoughts turned to when he had first read it two days ago. He’d had to go back to Rob and Sally’s, but had been inevitably distracted. Duncan had asked to meet him back at Grosnez on Friday evening at seven, saying he had something to tell him. He had felt furious at Emma’s forgetfulness, and awful that he had let the boy down further. Still, it meant he hadn’t been as focused as usual on how irritating he found Rob, who had himself seemed unnervingly subdued at points. Sunday had seen something of a rapprochement with Emma. Neither had offered any apology, but they had at least muddled forward with renewed civility. Emma had made a real effort to pick up as though nothing had happened. This had been threatened by the revelation that she had gone to the cinema after he had stormed out on the Thursday, where she had bumped into Mike Touzel. Colin had silently seethed that she could do something vaguely social, even in a solo capacity, following a row, rather than worry about him. He was also annoyed that she had gone to see The Untouchables, which he really wanted to see, and further piqued by her telling him that it was ‘crap’.

  He hadn’t spoken to her about Duncan. When questioned in front of Rob and Sally he had said that the letter was an overdue essay dropped off during a suspension for smoking. He’d shied away from telling the truth to Emma to retain some mystique over his post-row whereabouts, and also because of an oft-repeated accusation that he cared more about his pupils than he did about her.

  Le Brocq looked up. His previous playfulness had vanished and instead of his usual befuddlement there was a coldness that Colin had not seen before. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘
He didn’t turn up for my class, which is why I came straight here.’

  ‘Who’s looking after your class?’

  ‘I set them some reading.’

  ‘You’d better get back, then.’

  ‘What are we going to do about this?’

  ‘Wait for him to come back and knuckle down.’

  ‘He says he won’t come back to school. Not without speaking to me.’

  ‘He says a lot of things. There’s a lot of nonsense here. There’s a paragraph about a boy in a bubble.’

  ‘That’s a Paul Simon song. We listened to it in the car.’

  ‘It’s incoherent babble. As his English teacher, you should be more concerned with his inability to construct lucid prose.’

  ‘It’s a cry for help. I think we should speak to his parents – they need to know he’s truanting.’

  ‘I’m sure his parents are well aware of his situation, and are acutely embarrassed. As we speak, his mother is probably trying to prise him from his bed or the sofa or wherever he’s chosen to sulk.’

  ‘What if they don’t know where he is?’

  ‘Then they would have rung us.’ Le Brocq stood up to usher Colin out.

  ‘He could be leaving in the morning in his school uniform and coming back at night and doing God knows what in the day.’

  ‘This is the Channel Islands, not some inner-city drug zone. Please don’t project your experiences of the mainland on to us.’

  Colin took a breath and stood. ‘Okay, but I want it noted that I raised this. And I’m going to speak to Blampied again.’

  Le Brocq rose to his feet, holding the letter. ‘You’ll do no such thing. I will speak to Mr Blampied.’

  ‘About what? You just said there was nothing to be done.’

  ‘You’d be advised to watch your tone, Mr Bygate.’

  ‘Apologies, sir, but I can’t sit back and do nothing. He contacted me directly, asked for my help. I feel a sense of responsibility.’