Look to Your Wife

by Paula Byrne

  ‘Sheep’s wool,’ the fire officer confirmed. ‘For insulation. Made our job a lot harder, but it probably did slow down the fire. You need to get onto the manufacturer. That stove was not safe. And it did not comply with fire regulations. Can you tell us what happened?’

  ‘Officer, my wife is in shock. Could we leave it for a bit? She’s freezing.’

  ‘Of course, anyway, I need to check everything over for our report. Go and have a cuppa, and we’ll speak to you soon. You were very lucky, though. Your guys here did a great job.’

  Back at the house, Edward told Lisa how he had glanced out of his study window to see smoke billowing out of the hut. He had been about to go to London for a consultation at the Department of Education, so it was a miracle that he saw this just before he was due to leave to catch the train.

  Lisa was white with shock.

  ‘I was asleep. I could have been killed by the smoke fumes. That’s not the way I want to go, Edward. Someone just finding a charred slipper like poor Zelda Fitzgerald. That’s my worst nightmare. I just don’t understand how it caught fire.’

  ‘They’ll get to the bottom of it. Sounds as if it could have been a fault with the woodburner. It’s only stuff, darling. You’re safe, and I rescued your notebooks. That’s all that matters. All the work you’ve done on the new book. It’s all there. It’s all going to be fine. We’re insured.’

  ‘But I won’t feel the same about it, Edward. It will take ages to make right. It’s a shell.’

  ‘Well, we can buy a new one. Leave it with me. I will sort it out. Darling, I need to cancel my meeting. Give me a moment.’

  Lisa turned on her laptop. She plugged her phone into her computer and uploaded a photograph of her burnt-out hut to Twitter. She wrote a caption:

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  How many firemen does it take to put out a fire in a shepherd’s hut? 8 of them, judging by today.

  Almost as soon as she pressed send, a text pinged into her phone, making her jump.

  OMG, Lisa, it’s me. I just saw your tweet. Are you OK?

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: What the fuck happened today?

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: Hut caught fire.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: That is not funny. Arson?

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: No, faulty woodburner.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: I think you should get out of Blagsford. Why did Edward bring you? I blame him for all your stress.

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: Don’t. He’s a saint. He’s married to me, after all. Things have settled. It’s just a coincidence.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: And the dog? What about him?

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: HER! Well, I did suspect a couple of people who have a grudge against me. But there’s nothing I can do to prove it. I’m OK. The blogger has gone quiet. And the Blaggers seem to have calmed down. In fact, the staff have been really nice to me. Even the Glaswegian seems to have a smile for me.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: What about the Doc?

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: Surgeon. He sent me a text after the fire. He saw my photo on Twitter.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: Told you he’s still stalking you on Twitter. I’m uncomfortable about this. I’m not going to lie. I pray for you every night.

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: Good. Someone needs to keep an eye on me. Don’t worry. I’m fine!

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: F.I.N.E? Fucked-up, In-denial, Not-happy and Evasive. That’s what we clergy think to ourselves when someone describes themselves as Fine. #Justsaying

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: Stop worrying. I’m going now. I love you.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: Hmmm.

  CHAPTER 34

  Suspicion

  ‘We’ve got to work this out,’ said Lisa. ‘My life’s in danger. Someone in the school has tried to kill me.’

  Edward sighed, but she interrupted him before he could start his usual spiel of ‘It was all an accident, you’re reading too much into coincidences, becoming paranoid – you should be happy because there haven’t been any more letters or fake blogs.’

  ‘Edward, if you love me, you’ll use that huge brain of yours. You’re always telling the students that you can learn about the present from studying the past. Social mobility through education in Tudor times and in ours, all that stuff you’re always banging on about when you have to defend your rather old-fashioned ideas about learning. Think of Blagsford as a Tudor court. How would Shakespeare tell the story?’

  ‘Hmmm. I suppose the play’s Othello.’

  ‘Othello?’

  ‘Othello. Iago has a professional motive and a sexual one. He’s in love with Desdemona. And half in love with Othello. His love turns to hatred very quickly.’

  Edward mused for a moment. ‘“He hath a daily beauty in his life that makes me ugly.”’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You remember, that thing he says about Cassio. It’s the key to Iago’s character. He can’t bear beauty or happiness because he’s so miserable.’

  ‘OK, so you’re saying it’s someone who is miserable. What else is driving Iago?’

  ‘Being passed over for preferment.’

  ‘Preferment?’

  ‘Promotion.’ Edward paused again. Then he and Lisa spoke at the same instant: ‘Schrodinger.’

  He had taken the lead in the grumbling about Lisa’s business-class airfare to Indonesia. He had been head of sixth form under Camps. A key role. There were rumours that he had been the first to go to the governors with the news that it was Headmaster Camps who had cocked up and taught Hamlet when it had been the previous year’s A level text. Some said that Schrodinger was a left-wing idealist who wanted the school to be run by a staffroom collective; others that he had been intending to throw his hat into the ring to succeed Camps; still others that he simply liked making trouble for authority figures.

  Edward had not judged him. But he had insisted that, if he was to improve the Oxbridge success rate, the head of sixth form would have to be someone who knew the system, who could match pupils to colleges, and groom boys for the dreaded interviews. Not a clever but chippy physicist from Glasgow.

  So one of his first acts had been to remove Schrodinger from his senior administrative role and return him to full-time classroom teaching (and directing the play). ‘That’s where you’re so brilliant, Irwin. I’ve never met a better physics teacher in all my years in education.’ Edward wanted his own wing men in the key leadership roles. He had even toyed with the idea of trying to persuade Chuck to come to Blagsford – after all, with the failure of his marriage, the man from South Carolina had no particular reason to stay in the north of England.

  ‘Schrodinger as our Iago?’ said Lisa, not convinced, but not unconvinced. ‘You know him better than I do, and I admit that he doesn’t seem to like me, but I just don’t think he’s got it in him. Irwin’s a bit of a sad stick, but he’s not evil. Unless you’re exaggerating to punish me for what happened with Sean, some of the stuff in these letters sounds seriously disturbing. Schrodinger’s not a madman.’

  ‘Well, nor is Iago. There’s something about the smallness of Iago’s schemes, their pointlessness, their domestic scale, that makes him so despicable. Maybe Schrodinger wants to drive a wedge between us. He wants to sow the seed of doubt. That’s the reality of evil. It’s banal, and not all glamorous. There are lots of Iagos in this world. We all know one or two. Wreaking their cruelties in small places, close to home.’

  She paused, then said triumphantly: ‘That’s why he chose Othello for the play this term!’

  *

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: We might have worked it out.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: Tell, Blaize.

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: Disaffected physics teacher.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: Plausible. Fat, gay, misogynist?

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: All three.

  DM from @FrJohnMisty: Bingo.

  *

  Lisa was determined to share her discovery with Bee, whose judgement she trusted implicitly, but on her way to
the Albion she got a shock. She was cycling past the Blagsford library, when she saw a blonde girl in her bubble-gum pink Fiat. What the hell is she doing in my car? Lisa thought. Then, with a sharp stab of recognition, she realized that the driver was Freddie. She’d recognize that face anywhere. Fox-face, with those pointed features. Though it was clear that Freddie had grown out her short crop to a shoulder-length bob. How odd that Freddie would buy exactly the same car. Had she finally ditched the Chelsea tractor? For a second, she allowed herself to think that Freddie had ditched the white car because she had killed Queenie. But, no, that was Schrodinger.

  Bee took a dim view of Lisa’s detective work.

  ‘You’re becoming paranoid. That’s what Blagsford does to people.’

  ‘I’m not paranoid. And what does that mean?’

  ‘When someone is paranoid they are over full with unreconciled parts of themselves; that is to say parts that are not properly integrated; false selves and broken, or not properly fitted self-parts. Blagsford attracts unfinished people, not planed down, sanded off, dusted down. So many people I meet here feel like half begun projects.’

  ‘Am I like that, Bee?’

  ‘No. You’re too sure of yourself. Too honest about your own failings. But you have to be careful, because paranoia is an atmosphere. Largely an atmosphere to one’s self – what Sartre calls “bad faith” – then that atmosphere spreads – as atmosphere always does. Atmosphere is not containable. It contaminates. There is deep emptiness at the heart of that mode of being.’

  ‘So you think Schrodinger is innocent?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But what about Freddie? Might she have bought the pink Fiat so the dog can’t be nailed on her?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Maybe she just admires your style’.

  ‘The next thing you know, she’ll be riding around on a Tiffany blue bike called Audrey.’

  ‘It’s not all about you, Lisa!’

  ‘I know that. But it’s bloody awful to be in this position. Waiting for the next thing to happen. OK, I need to relax.’

  Bee pulled down a volume from the fiction bookshelf.

  ‘Read some Barbara Pym. You’ll love her. Perfect antidote to the stresses and strains of modern life. The cashpoint’s out of cash, so you’ll have to write Dicky an IOU.’

  ‘How is Dicky? Haven’t see him for a while. Is he still doing his tours?’

  ‘Yes, but he needs a sabbatical. He wants to write a novel. He has first-class honours from Oxford, you know.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. He’s one of the few people around here who doesn’t boast about his academic credentials. A bit like that Onions you always talk about: another unsung literary genius in Bee’s Academy of the Underrated.’

  ‘Dicky is a genius,’ said Bee firmly, ‘and so is Onions. They’re a dying breed. There’s too much mediocrity in Blagsford. And Dicky is very sexually reconciled. He embraces his feminine side. He’s been promoting a book called the Manly Art of Knitting. It has a cowboy on the jacket cover.’

  Lisa chuckled and popped Pym into her handbag. She could always rely on Bee’s good sense and quirky humour. From now on she was going to forget about Twitter and trolls, and focus on her marriage and children.

  *

  HokeyCokey @charlieboy

  Whats going down @Lisa_Blaize. I saw ur pic u looked hot in your bikini. U still not follow me.

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  Why are you messaging me @charlieboy?

  HokeyCokey @charlieboy

  id date u. u so fit.

  Lisa Blaize @Lisa_Blaize

  Well, I’m afraid I don’t date schoolboys.

  Having ended the conversation, Lisa typed Freddie’s name into the Twitter search box. She was still feeling suspicious about the pink Fiat business. Freddie’s tweets were usually amusing. Freddie was obsessed with a lesbian site called pink velvet sofa. God knows what her son thought about her retweeting all that stuff. Lisa saw at once that Freddie had changed her profile picture. She had dyed her hair brunette. She looked so different with brown hair, almost unrecognizable. Lisa called Edward.

  ‘Come and look at this. It’s Freddie. She’s grown her hair and dyed it brown. She looks like me. First the car, and now this.’

  ‘She looks so different. It suits her. Blonde women often age badly. Maybe she just wanted a change.’

  ‘She wants to be me, Edward. I still think it’s her. I always thought that the letters and blogs were written by a woman, not a man. Schrodinger’s a red herring. We got that wrong.’

  ‘Darling, I don’t think so. I have something to tell you. I caught Schrodinger red-handed about to pin up a picture of you on the school noticeboard.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I asked him to hand it over. It was a doctored picture of you with someone else’s naked body and the Twitter blue bird perched on your shoulder. It’s quite sexy, actually.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Edward. That’s such an inappropriate comment to make. What did you say to him? Are you going to fire him?’

  ‘I don’t think I can. He swore blind that he was taking it down. That one of the boys pinned it up as a joke. But he refused to name the boy. What can I say? I can’t call him a liar.’

  ‘Who do you think saw it? How long had it been there?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Probably not very long. It might have been a schoolboy prank, but I think he was lying to me. He went bright pink when I caught him. Blushing is always a sign of guilt. His body betrayed him.’

  Lisa’s thoughts flashed back to Sean. He often blushed in her presence. The back of his neck would go all red. She called it his ‘Lisa Rash’. Gosh, she hadn’t thought about Sean for ages. She must be getting over him.

  ‘Well, I’m not so sure. The evidence is pointing to Freddie. She’s in love with me. I’m sure of it. She’s always trying to seduce me. Remember the flash of underwear and the sexy dance?’

  ‘Lisa, she has a girlfriend. Why would she want another one? And she knows that you’re heterosexual. It doesn’t make sense. Besides, imitation is the greatest form of flattery. You should be pleased.’

  ‘Well, I’m not. It’s creepy. Her new hairstyle and her pink Fiat. She’s another Missy Robinson. Remember when she started dressing the same as me? And that time she “accidentally” spilt red wine on my white dress?’ Lisa shuddered at the memory. ‘I’m going to confront Freddie. I’m not putting up with this.’

  Lisa turned back to her laptop and DMed.

  DM from @Lisa_Blaize: you free for a drink this week?

  DM from @FreddieSwings: Anytime. Name the day.

  *

  One of the school ushers brought bad news the next morning, that Doris’s son Lee had been arrested for ABH; he’d bottled another man in a pub and had been taken away in handcuffs. Doris was devastated and refusing to come into work. Lisa had never liked Lee, and Doris had not forgiven her for firing her, but she immediately went online and ordered a large bunch of flowers to send to Doris. Whatever else she was, Doris was a mother, and a devoted one at that. She typed in message to Doris:

  Sorry to hear your news. Thinking of you. Looking forward to welcoming you back when you’re ready. Love, the Chamberlains.

  *

  On the way to meet Freddie, Lisa bumped into one of Doris’s friends, Brenda, in the quad. She asked after Doris, and told Brenda to pass on a message: that if Doris needed anything, she need only ask. Brenda raised a quizzical eyebrow, but assured Lisa (whom she insisted on calling Lady Chamberlain) that she would pass the message on.

  Schrodinger was collecting his post from the office and nodded his head towards her in a curt greeting. Lisa looked him straight in the eye, and he blushed a deep red. She wished him good morning, and hurried through the gate, where she unlocked Audrey and tossed her bag into the bike’s front basket.

  They were meeting at The Coffee Bean. Lisa wanted to keep a clear head for this confrontation. Lisa ordered Freddie’s Americano with hot milk on the
side and her own extra hot double espresso. She secured a table in the corner of the shop. She felt nervous. She picked up her phone and saw a text from Bee wishing her good luck.

  ‘Hi Lisa. You’re looking amazing, as always.’

  Freddie was looking very glamorous, in a tight black sweater and black jeans. She sat down beside Lisa, and pulled the coffee towards her.

  ‘Freddie, you look so different as a brunette. It suits you. But it will take some getting used to.’

  Privately, Lisa thought the dark hair drained Freddie. She needed to add a few highlights to break up the colour.

  ‘Thanks, Lisa. I was getting so grey, and felt I needed a change. I’ll probably go back to blonde, as it seems to be growing back ginger. Not quite sure I’m ready to be Rita Hayworth.’

  ‘Did you come in your new Fiat?’

  Freddie blushed.

  ‘Sorry, I’m such a copycat. I love hot pink, and when I saw your car I just had to have one. I got fed up with trying to park the Range Rover in town. You don’t mind, do you?’

  Freddie smiled, such a smile of warmth and friendliness, that Lisa felt temporarily off guard.

  ‘Guess what? Helena and I are getting married! Will you come to the hen night?’

  Freddie’s happiness radiated from her. It wasn’t simply that she was glowing, she exuded deep contentment and tranquillity too. How could Lisa have suspected her friend? She took her hand and pressed it.

  ‘Freddie, you deserve this happiness. You do. Congratulations! I am very happy for you. For you both. Are you each wearing a wedding dress? Vera Wang?’

  Freddie hooted.

  ‘No, it’s going to be a very small affair. Helen’s wearing some floral thing, it’s a bit hideous to be honest. I might go for something simple by DVF. Haven’t decided yet. I’d love you to come, but no upstaging the brides, please. Anyway, what did you want to say to me?’

  Lisa smiled. ‘Nothing. I just wanted to see you.’

  CHAPTER 35

  Christmas Market

  When Lisa got back, she found Edward in his study on the phone. He raised his finger to his lips to shush her. It was clearly an important call. It was probably about the Lee situation. Poor Edward. It was one thing after another in this school of his. She ran upstairs and switched on the kettle. She’d make him a nice, strong coffee.