by L. V. Hay
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PART TWO
July–August
‘You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you.’
—C. S. Lewis
Eighteen
‘Morale is down – having this inspection hanging over us is doing no one any good.’
Monday morning after break, Harry sat in Sebastian’s office, tie undone, his expression harassed. ‘Raffle tickets aren’t selling for the fête. The lead – and the sodding understudy – for the school play both have bloody scarlet fever. What next?’
Sebastian nodded along as Harry ranted next about the system, the curriculum and the ‘bloody government’. His deputy had hitched up his trousers in that peculiar way of his, and Sebastian could see the outline of his knobbly ankles. Today’s socks had an incongruous pair of reindeer on them – a present last Christmas from his twins, apparently. Sebastian found himself longing for a chilly December wind, or even better, actual snow. An image of making a snowman with Denny and Lily passed through his mind.
‘I hear you. Let’s hope it all it comes together, eh?’ Sebastian said, remembering his leadership training: Not all problems need solutions. Let your colleagues blow off steam. Make them feel heard. He hoped that was all Harry wanted, because he didn’t have a clue what to do either.
Ten minutes later, Harry left, placated, for his classroom. Opening his desk drawer, Sebastian pulled out a box of hay-fever tablets. He pressed a pill onto his tongue and gulped it down without water. The pollen count was not going anywhere, it seemed. June’s muggy weather had extended into July, with only intermittent showers to break it up. The big storm predicted by the Met Office that would clear the air had failed to appear. Sebastian’s eyeballs felt scratchy, as did the back of his throat; his chest was wet with mucus. He coughed and spluttered, nose running like it was mid-winter, not the beginning of July. Bloody British summertime. If it wasn’t raining, it was bursting with humidity.
Finally, the bell went and Sebastian heard the mass exodus as children hurried through the corridors and out into the playground to their waiting parents, guardians and carers. Within ten minutes, the school was a void, spooky in that way only empty educational institutions could be. Rosanna was already gone, of course – some bunkum about yet another dentist’s appointment. Anger suddenly spiked in Sebastian’s brain: that was it! She was fired at the end of term. At least over the holidays he would have a little more time to find a new receptionist.
Though it was nowhere near his usual clocking-off time, weariness overcame him as quickly as anger had moments earlier. Sebastian collected up his things, deciding to do his remaining paperwork after dinner. He trundled out through the empty school and across the playground to his reserved parking spot, the words HEAD TEACHER painted across it in red and blue, the colours of Avonwood’s school uniform.
There had been another light shower since the children left but the water was already evaporating off the tarmac in the early-evening glare and had done nothing to break the heatwave. Sweating, Sebastian pulled off his jacket and threw it with the rest of his stuff onto the back seat of the car. As he did so, he heard a sharp whistle behind him. He turned.
Maxwell.
Lily’s ex-husband stood there, his head at an angle, a smirk on his face. He took off his sunglasses and put them in the breast pocket of his shirt – a black one this time, with a red-rose pattern. Facing each other, it was clear to Sebastian that the other man was much taller, better looking and broader across the shoulders.
‘So, how’s married life?’ Maxwell drawled.
His hands were free of jewellery, bar one finger. His left hand. He was still wearing his wedding band.
Fury welled inside Sebastian like an eruption of lava. He was sure Maxwell had not been wearing that the last time they met. He’d put it on specifically as a big fat fuck you. Well, it was working! Sebastian knew he mustn’t rise to the bait, but seeing the reminder of his own wife’s promise to this man was like a dagger through his heart.
‘Fine, thank you.’ Sebastian’s tone was clipped, automatic.
‘Only fine?’ Maxwell seized on Sebastian’s choice of word like a predator grabbing its prey. ‘Lily already too demanding for you?’
Sebastian groaned inwardly at handing his rival an easy weapon. Maxwell was an educated man with a high price tag; he’d gone to Eton. He would have played the Wall Game, batting a ball in his hands against the corners of those ancient school buildings. Now he had grabbed Sebastian’s words and slammed them against the wall, too.
‘Everything’s brilliant,’ Sebastian hissed through clenched teeth. ‘There’s only been one problem, in fact.’
‘And what’s that?’ Maxwell tutted, though his smirk stayed in place. And Sebastian noticed that, despite having at least a decade on him, Maxwell’s mouth was unlined, his forehead wrinkle-free. His smooth features had to be the result of Botox.
‘You.’ Sebastian liked the look of momentary uncertainty that crossed Maxwell’s expression now. He was recovering the upper hand. ‘We know what you did.’
Maxwell’s face was stony. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘What kind of man trashes the house his own child lives in, eh?’ Sebastian felt a kind of grim satisfaction bloom in his stomach. ‘Or disconnects the electricity? Some dad.’
Maxwell flexed his large hands. ‘I didn’t do those things.’
Sebastian stifled a laugh. Lily was right: this guy was deluded. He was probably so caught up in his own lies, he believed himself. Maxwell shifted from one foot to the other as he took in Sebastian’s incredulous expression.
‘Bye, Maxwell,’ Sebastian said, his tone deliberate.
But the other man was not ready to end the conversation. He leaned on Sebastian’s open car door, getting in the way.
‘Been seeing a lot of Triss lately, I bet.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Sebastian responded. And as he did so, he could feel his advantage slipping away. He resisted the urge to push the door closed, slamming Maxwell’s surgeon fingers in it.
Maxwell shrugged. ‘Just saying. You must know by now Triss and Lily come as a package deal? I bet Lil was on the phone to her the moment you came back from honeymoon. Then they’re cosying up in the staffroom … more coffees and drinks after work. Hanging out at weekends. Am I close?’
Maxwell’s words rankled more than Sebastian would have liked to admit. He’d always known Lily and Triss went back a long way; they were like sisters. Or so Lily said. He’d never got an inkling of anything else from his wife. But what if it was something more for Triss? Sebastian had previously been struck by the fact he’d never seen Triss with a steady boyfriend, the whole time he’d been with Lily. Sure, she talked about men and dates … but could it be just a front, to stay close to Lily, sail under the radar? And now with what Maxwell was saying, Sebastian couldn’t help wondering if he should reassess Triss’s constant shadowing of Lily.
But he wasn’t about to admit it to Maxwell. ‘What are you trying to say?’
‘I’m not trying to say anything.’ Maxwell looked bored now, clearly aware his jibe had landed home.
Sebastian was weary of these mind games. ‘I don’t have time for this,’ he said, pushing against Maxwell to shoulder him out the way, so he could clamber into the car. ‘I’m going home. To my family!’
But Maxwell’s hand snaked under Sebastian’s armpit, clenching the top of his bicep. Before Sebastian could react, Maxwell slammed the car door across his shoulders. It was not that hard – Sebastian was not fully inside the car – but the shock stung enough to bring a blue edge to his vision. Maxwell let go, allowing Sebastian to windmill around in an unruly circle, making a grab for his rival’s collar.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ Sebastian roared.
But Maxwell did not attempt to hit him again.
He flashed Sebastian a grin.
‘Hey, she tell you yet how she likes to be fucked? Or she playing nice for you? Cos you should know, girls like Lily like it rough.’ Gone was the suave, expensively educated man. Maxwell was playing the part of a drunken lout in a bar, as if a switch had flipped inside him.
Sebastian glowered. ‘Don’t talk about her like that.’
Maxwell bumped his chest against Sebastian’s, a clichéd move designed to flood his adversary with more antagonism. It was working. ‘It’s the chav in them, those working-class girls. You pin her down next time and you’ll see. Dirty little slut…’
With a howl of rage, Sebastian let loose with his fist and felt it connect with Maxwell’s face. Maxwell went down straight away, and Sebastian felt a rush of gratification. But then he became aware of an intense, stinging sensation in his knuckles. He turned his hand over and was surprised to see blood. His own? Definitely: the skin was punctured, but not just by the force of the blow; he could see the indentation of Maxwell’s teeth.
On his hands and knees on the wet tarmac, Maxwell looked up. He didn’t seem surprised, or even particularly shocked. Puffed and red, a shadow was already forming above his cheekbone. Blood had sprung up from his split lip, colouring his white tombstone teeth a weird pink.
He breathed through the pain as he staggered to his feet. ‘You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done that.’
Sebastian already did. As well as the throbbing in his fist, there was a deep ache stretching its way from his elbow and up his bicep, into his neck. Even so, he raised both fists again, ready to land another blow on Maxwell.
But his rival merely winked at him and turned his back.
It was over, just like that.
Shocked, Sebastian watched Maxwell meander out of the car park towards his ridiculous car, which was parked across the road.
Had he won? wondered Sebastian, feeling slightly elated now. He’d won! Holy shit!
He slumped into his oven of a car. He rolled his sore shoulders, sending more tingling waves of pain down his spine. Raw anger had enabled him to land a good blow on Maxwell, square on the jaw, just like in the films. While the resulting pain was not something the movies had prepared him for, he felt he could chalk himself up as the victor. Maybe this was the turning point? Perhaps an alpha male like Maxwell just needed a show of dominance to put him off. Sebastian cracked his knuckles, winced, then started the ignition to drive home.
Back to Lily and Denny.
Nineteen
By Tuesday lunchtime, I was ready to fall down. I’d had another terrible night, courtesy of Sebastian. He’d tossed and turned, crashing around the bedroom to the bathroom and back again – attempting to creep around, yet making more noise, like only men and the very drunk can.
He’d been in a weird mood since he got back from school that evening. Initially, I’d been pleased that he’d come home early for dinner, but he had picked at his food before going for a run for over an hour and a half, leaving me to my own devices once I’d got Denny to bed and done my marking.
Giving up on any hope of romance, or at least a glass of wine together on the sofa, I’d been about to go to bed with a paperback when Triss turned up. She had some kind of life crisis she needed to talk about. About three times a year Triss would float the idea of travelling; or changing career; or getting back in touch with her waster parents. Each time I would encourage her to do what she felt was best and each time she did nothing, saying it was better to leave it as it was … until the next time she had to dissect everything.
Coming up to nine o’clock, Sebastian had reappeared, red in the face and soaked in sweat. He’d stopped dead at the top of the stairs as he saw Triss at the kitchen table with me. Triss raised her glass.
‘All right, boss. Bet you see enough of me at work, right?’ She cackled.
I smiled. Sebastian didn’t.
‘Something like that,’ he’d mumbled, before disappearing into the shower for another half-hour.
Now, as I made my way into the staff room just before the lunch bell, having let my class go two minutes early, I felt a little guilty, but I needn’t have bothered: Triss was already in there, flicking through a travel magazine. She’d kicked off her shoes and was reclining on the old, grubby sofa.
Looking up, she answered my unspoken question. ‘They’re on the computers; too hot for anything else. Technician’s watching ’em.’
‘Bloody maths specialists get away with murder,’ I grumbled, though I wasn’t really bothered. I was too busy searching for a clean cup. There was a host of dirty ones in the equally dirty sink. Some of them had been there for so long there was mould in the bottom. The work surface was covered in coffee and sugar granules, plus there were used tea bags everywhere and teaspoons stuck to the counter as flies crawled over every available surface.
‘This place is minging,’ I shuddered, reminded of Sebastian’s – Sorry, I told myself, home.
The housework had slid right off the agenda; just three days after Fran’s visit, the place looked once more like a bomb had hit it. I supposed I could have tidied while I was waiting for Sebastian to come back from his run the previous night, but why should I? I’d been at work all day as well. Plus, I was the only one who seemed to notice the state it was in, or even tried to sort it out and put stuff away. Sebastian was neat at work, but as soon as he walked through the door at home, he became as bad as Denny, leaving dirty socks and pants everywhere like a weird Hansel on his way to the Gingerbread House.
I finally located a cleanish mug and, pouring the last of the stewed coffee from the glass jug into it, I glanced at the calendar on the wall. Someone had ringed the last day of term with red marker and scrawled ‘SCHOOL’S OUT!!’ beside it.
‘Bit late for booking a holiday?’ I indicated Triss’s magazine.
Triss rolled her eyes at me. ‘Duh. This is for next summer. Some of us aren’t lucky enough to have a second rich husband who’s already taken us to Mauritius.’
I made a face at my best mate and laughed, but I was stung. Triss knew what I had gone through with Maxwell. He might have been rich, but I had never experienced the benefits, and neither had Denny. Like so many well-off people, Maxwell was tight with his money. When I was home on maternity leave, Maxwell had kept me so short of cash I’d had to go to him, cap in hand. Even now, he was not paying what he should in child maintenance. Sebastian told me that it didn’t matter, but it was the principle of thing – Denny was Maxwell’s child, so he should have been contributing to his upkeep.
That said, I hadn’t had to fight him to get an appointment for Denny with the child psychologist about his bed-wetting. I’d told Maxwell we were going private and that he was paying. Expecting objections, I was surprised when he had readily agreed. The three of us had an appointment the following week.
‘What’s going on down there?’
I looked up. Triss had drifted towards the window. Next to the Venetian blinds, she was just a tall, lean silhouette; her piled-up topknot of red hair made her look like she had a pineapple for a head. I joined her at the window and parted the blinds for a better look.
A group of schoolchildren were gathered below, on the playground that backed onto the staff car park. Even through the glass, I could sense the pack mentality: it was evident in the way the kids were holding themselves. Elbows sharp and jostling, shiny eyes, rictus grins. They surged forwards, hungry for scandal. As a teacher, I could recognise this straight away: I’d seen it plenty of times before, usually accompanied by chants of Fight! Fight!
But this time, there was no brawl. At the heart of the throng were two police officers, both female. They were both large in stature, broad-shouldered, with big hands. Clad in their shirtsleeves, their vests over the top, radios in the top pockets, they were overdressed for such a sweltering July day.
One grabbed her radio and spoke into it.
The other placed a hand on the shoulder of the much shorter man standing next to her. She was muttering so
mething, her visage almost blank; it was an automatic spiel she must have delivered countless times before. I guessed exactly what she was saying: ‘You do not have to say anything; but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
The arrest speech.
The man standing next to her ducked his head in shame, turning his back on the children as the other officer shooed them away like cats.
It was Sebastian.
Twenty
Sebastian could barely take in what the police officer was saying. He was aware of the children in his peripheral vision, but confusion swirled in his brain. An adult playground monitor, her face a picture of concern, seemed to be keeping her distance, as if trouble with the police might be contagious. Then she remembered herself and started to call the kids away, gathering them to her like a shepherd rounding up sheep. As kids began to fall into line, a couple of others had to be yanked away by their elbows by their friends.
‘What’s going on?’
Sebastian’s heart lurched with dismay as the crowd of kids parted. Lily appeared from the back of the art block, her expression incredulous. Triss trailed behind her as always, though she at least had the good grace to help the playground monitor. It didn’t stop her casting a questioning eye over to the pair of them though, clearly desperate to know what was happening.
Sebastian sighed. ‘It’s okay, Lily.’
‘It is not!’ Lily went on the offensive immediately, but to Sebastian’s relief, it was not directed at him. She turned her attention to the police officers. ‘I asked you a question. What is the charge?’
His reprieve was momentary. Both the police officers looked at Sebastian, waiting for him to explain himself.
‘It’s Maxwell. He says I hit him.’
Lily opened her mouth, but then closed it again. Then she rounded on the police officers, eyes flashing. ‘You couldn’t have waited until the end of the day? Sebastian has a duty to these kids!’