Sarah turns back to Camilla, eyes wide, motioning her hand forward for her to hurry up. And then the doorbell goes again. She doesn’t have time to worry, or think about whether Ella overheard, but she feels slightly shaky. She’ll do a few testers later and ask Tom if he can overhear her talking in the kitchen so she can know for sure. And at least Ella’s expression looks totally blank. But then again … and oh God, there goes the doorbell again.
Five minutes later, nearly everyone has arrived. The chatter in the room is getting louder and louder, and small groups have already formed. She hears Charlotte G commanding the audience, talking loudly about little Mimi’s home learning (or homework, as Sarah still calls it – she can’t get used to all this new-fangled positive language).
‘I’m so lucky with Mimi, she just gets on with it. Just loves doing all her home learning. I mean, we didn’t do anything to encourage her but she’s just so disciplined.’
Fucking disciplined, thinks Sarah. She still hasn’t collected the leaves to stick into Casper’s home-learning book. And any efforts at practising phonics had fallen on deaf ears.
‘And oh look,’ Charlotte carries on. ‘Dear Casper. Look at that wonderful photo. Is that the Highlands? Isn’t he just delightful, with his wonky fringe. So cute.’
‘He’s very cute,’ says Sarah. ‘God, we haven’t done any of our home learning yet.’ Her small act of rebellion. She really must try harder, though. Letting Casper down because she can’t cope. She inwardly promises she’ll make it up to him. Hire a tutor. Something.
‘Oh,’ exclaims Charlotte G, her head tilted to one side. ‘I mean, I saw Casper playing tennis the other day. Perhaps he’ll be our very own Tim Henman, forget the academics. But they all do go at their own pace. Don’t they?’
Excuse me, thinks Sarah. Why is she presuming that Casper is as thick as two short planks?
‘They do indeed,’ Sarah replies, aware that everyone is listening. ‘But of course, your kids must be speeding ahead with the private tutor you hired for them.’ Charlotte G pinches her lips together. ‘Casper is into his Roald Dahl at the moment.’
She thinks of her son, agog in front of the film version of Matilda, until she remembers Charlotte G runs the school library and so will, of course, know exactly how far Casper is into his reading.
Ella has remained silent all this time. Has neither nodded in agreement at Casper’s ‘cuteness’ nor mentioned Felix’s own home learning. Sarah watches her writing down notes in a beautiful velvet-covered Moleskine notebook. She lifts her leg every time she stops writing, as if deep in thought. There is not one part of Ella that is out of place. Sarah cranes her head over to try and see what she’s been jotting down, her stomach lurching at the thought she could have overheard her conversation with Camilla. And then she remembers everything she had unearthed about Ella. Her blood fizzes. No matter how Ella Bradby is making her feel she must not, she repeats, must not forget that she has something on her.
Just as she’s thinking about Ella, she realises that the conversation has turned. She catches someone saying something about Jack. And then the chat turns full-tilt, the volume dialled right up, as though there’s an exciting part on the television. She’s not even aware of who is talking and she’s too frightened to make eye contact with Ella.
‘The Vale Club.’
‘It’s all bloody weird to me.’
‘Oh sorry,’ Charlotte G interrupts, ‘how insensitive of us, Sarah. I mean, you’re so close to Liza that it must all be very upsetting for you. And when you were there too. But it is weird, that’s all, that this investigation stuff is being talked about all the time but no one official has spoken up.’
Sarah wonders how long Charlotte G can continue talking without taking a breath.
‘It’s all hush-hush behind closed doors. And anyone who dares ask at the club – well – don’t you think it’s a little strange? I mean, Sarah, what do you think about it all? I can’t remember the details – did you actually see what happened? I can’t even imagine how frightening that must have been for you all.’
This cannot be happening. No, Sarah thinks. Don’t let my body give me away. With every word that Charlotte G utters, she feels like a noose is being tightened around her neck.
‘Sarah?’ Charlotte G titters and then looks around the room for moral support that she’s done the right thing by bringing it up.
Come on Sarah, do or say something, she tells herself. Before she blurts it all out. The pressure to come out with it all, right now, is overwhelming.
‘Oh God.’ The noose-feeling tightens – she can almost feel her eyes bulging. ‘Let’s not discuss that now.’ She can’t think of a reason as to why not. But then she sees Ella, in the corner of the room widening her eyes. She feels a sense of comradeship and relief that Ella has given her the go-ahead to be more forceful.
‘Right,’ Sarah claps her hands. ‘As I said, enough of that. Otherwise we won’t fit in the full agenda.’ She gets into her stride, despite feeling like a small figurine shaken up in one of those snow-globes, about to crash head-first onto the floor. ‘Let’s all start. Shereen isn’t here yet but let’s get on, shall we? So, we’re together to discuss the Christmas fair. I’ve got the agenda here.’
She reaches over to pick up the papers she’d printed off earlier, that she’d left on the table for show. ‘There are about six things we need to share between everyone. And we need to discuss who is going to be in charge of which stalls at the fair. And everything else on the list.’
She’s winging it now. She has no idea what she’s talking about – she still feels like she’s underwater after the earlier discussion about Jack’s fall. She can barely hear her own voice, but she’ll just work her way through the list and hope for the best. She vaguely remembers last year’s meeting – bits of it anyway; she’d been too hungover to properly focus.
‘So we have the leaflet to sort out,’ she says. ‘I’ve got a list of all the stalls here. I’m going to read them out – if you could just put hands up please to man each one.’ She carries on. She’s rather enjoying this now, using it as a distraction from things, her voice firmer and more in control.
‘Wait,’ says Ella. ‘I’ve got a sign-up sheet here.’ She pulls out a bunch of papers from the back of her notebook. ‘I’ll just leave them here, shall I? On the table. People can sign up after.’
But they won’t, Sarah wants to say. Why would they? But before she’s said anything, Charlotte G has grabbed the paper and is scrawling her name on the top of the sheet.
‘Oh, good shout, Ella,’ Sarah says, hoping she’s keeping the bitter note out of her voice. ‘Brilliant. Thank you. Now, for the sponsorship.’
Charlotte G turns to Ella. ‘Ella, you should really be doing this bit?’
‘Well, let’s wait until we hear what Sarah has to say, shall we?’
Sarah is at once grateful and suspicious. But maybe she can use the opportunity to ask her where Ella got the money. Shit. She’s lost her stride now and forgotten what she has to say. She leans forward to look at the agenda sheet and, as she does, her hand knocks something. A teacup. Blast it. She feels liquid on her feet. All over the carpet. Fuck it. The agenda sheet disintegrates into the table. She almost laughs and cries at the same time.
‘Damn. One minute, guys,’ she says. ‘Just going to get some kitchen roll.’
‘I’ll take over for a bit, shall I?’ Ella stands up and everyone’s eyes train right on her. ‘So first of all, let’s all just take a moment to think about Liza and why we are here instead of her.’ Bitch, Sarah thinks. ‘I’m sure many of you know now that I managed to get the sponsorship money. All of it,’ she says with a curtsy. She actually curtsies.
Sarah leaves the room. She can’t take much more. When she gets into the kitchen she sees her phone on the side. She grabs it and flicks through her messages. Mercifully quiet. Of course – they’re all here. Liza’s offline, and Tom is too. And that’s about the sum of it. She flicks through to her
search toolbar. Types quickly what she’s looking for. She starts laughing at what she is about to say to Camilla. She knows she shouldn’t. She knows it’s mean. A burst of delight flares up within her stomach. Delight, mixed with horror. But she does it anyway. Yes she does.
Just when she thinks she’s finished typing, she hears Ella droning on and on. Except she’s not really droning. If Sarah listens hard enough, she can hear real intent. Lovely, relaxing intent. But she’ll call it droning. And so she carries on writing her message. Tap, tap, tap. The more she writes, the better she feels. Or at least, a small fix. Of something. Meanness, Schadenfreude, mixed with a massive dose of fuck you, Ella Bradby. She doesn’t read through her message. Send. There. Whoosh. It’s gone. And by the time she’s about to lift her finger up off the screen, she realises what’s happened. She presses her finger back down, hard onto the screen, in the hope that, somehow, the message will be magicked back. She’s too late. It’s sent. Whoosh! Whoosh, whoosh and triple whoosh, straight to Ella Bradby.
She daren’t read back the message to herself. She can’t bring herself to. A metallic taste seeps into her mouth, her heartbeat pulsing right up her neck until she can hardly swallow. Shit. What can she do? And then she remembers the delete for everyone function on WhatsApp. Ella won’t have her phone on her. Of course she won’t. By the time she finishes the meeting, the message will be gone. But then Sarah remembers when she’d first seen Ella out on that balcony. The way Ella had been clutching onto her handset as though her life depended on it. Well, she would too, if she had a secret like Ella’s.
She flicks back through her WhatsApps to the Christmas fair chat that Ella had started. She opens the kitchen door and starts to rush towards the living room, and then she hears Charlotte G talking. Something about Ella’s phone vibrating on the table.
‘Oh,’ she hears her exclaim. ‘It’s from Sarah. How funny. She’s just in the kitchen next door. I wonder what can be the matter.’
Sarah feels her hands shaking and she presses the three small dots in the corner of her phone but, somehow, another chat appears on her screen. Fuckety fuck. She’s pressing the wrong buttons. And then there’s silence from the room next door. By the time she’s found the delete function she sees the ticks in the corner of the chat turn blue.
It’s too late. Far too late. Ella’s read every word. Laughter bubbles in her stomach. And then her hands start to tingle. What has she done? What the hell has she done? And she knows that there is absolutely no turning back from this. But – well – maybe this is a good thing. Maybe Ella deserves this. She hears Liza’s voice in her head. Don’t get all defensive. You need to sort it out. She takes a deep breath and leans her forehead onto the fridge. Perhaps it will work as a cheap version of that new cryotherapy freezing wrinkle technique she’d read about. She presses harder.
What to do now? She looks at her watch. She can’t be gone for much longer. But she has no idea what she will do or say. None at all. She’s trapped in her own kitchen. And what is worse is that she’s somehow managed to involve her own son in all of this. Jesus. Casper. This is his school, after all. She deletes the message and makes the slow and interminable journey back into her living room.
West London Gazette editorial notes, October 2019
J Roper interview transcript: Anon, teaching assistant at West London Primary Academy
I know Jack Barnstaple. He’s a really great little kid. Always polite. Always very generous to the other children. Only five but knows how to behave and is a very popular little boy. We all felt awful when we heard what had happened. I mainly know his mum because she gets involved in the school stuff and she’s nice to speak to. Which is increasingly rare these days. You should see some of the way the parents behave. It’s as if they’re paying through the nose for their children’s education.
Like they expect us to devote hours and hours to their bloody children’s welfare – they don’t realise we have thirty children in the class and limited resources. Or even worse, they do and they just don’t give a damn. They come storming in anyway demanding to know this and that. Of course, they’re usually polite but we always know the subtext: My kid’s a genius, so how come he’s not being treated like one? Or, My kid’s shit at maths and it must be your fault.
Anyway – the Barnstaples – the mum does a load of fundraising for the school, which is brilliant, and genuinely helpful for the kids, and so we see her loads around the place. She actually came in to see Miss Harbell last month to explain that her and her husband were on a break – just in case Jack started playing up. She seemed a bit shaky to be honest, rather than upset. Kept looking over her shoulder – like she was worried he was going to turn up. And then she got up really quickly, clutching her bag tight and saying she had to rush off.
But ever since Jack’s fall, everyone seems to be on hyper alert. You know how it is – all the parents thinking: That could totally happen to me. Because that’s one of those things – isn’t it? That could happen to anyone. So we see everyone doing the helicopter-parent thing for a few days after something like this happens. And then everyone lets up a bit.
But there has been a strange atmosphere around the school since the fall. I can’t explain it. Everyone seems a bit edgy. I hear whispers of politics amongst the parents. Fallouts in the WhatsApp groups. A lot more complaints to the teachers and requests for meetings with us to talk about totally irrelevant things. It’s all quite exhausting. As if we don’t have enough to deal with.
Honestly – sometimes I really do wonder who the grown-ups are here.
LIZA
‘You OK, Sa?’ I look at my watch as I open the door to the flat. ‘It’s just that you’re early.’
‘I’m great.’ But she sounds put out at the implication that she’s on time, for once. I’d told her I needed an hour to get to my appointment, just because I know what she’s usually like.
‘You look dreadful, Sa. What happened?’
She moves forward and I think she’s about to tell me but she gives this weird little laugh. ‘I’m fine. I just had a long day, that’s all. I think I might have upset Ella. We had the Christmas fair committee meeting.’
‘Ella? Of course you wouldn’t have upset her. She strikes me as pretty unflappable.’
‘What, and you think I am?’ she snaps. ‘God, sorry. Sorry. I know, this isn’t what you need right now.’ Her eyes glance over to Jack. Thea starts to cry.
‘No worries. Here, listen. I’ve got to go but let’s talk properly later, yeah? Sorry about them.’ I put on my coat and shoes and start walking out of the door. ‘Oh, I’ve left their food – Thea’s powder is all ready to go and three sterilised bottles. I mean, I’ll only be a couple of hours. And Jack’s tutor is coming in a bit.’
‘Sure.’ She sounds totally flat. ‘Like I said, anything you need. Now Casper’s back at school it’ll be a lot easier.’
I think about what Sarah means by this. How she’s told me over and over that she’d lay down her life to help me out after Jack’s fall. And she’s bent over backwards. But she seems so exhausted by it all.
‘Bye,’ I say. She looks like she is near to tears. Like she wants to say something of utmost importance. But before she can open her mouth, I close the door and I’m gone. When I turn the corner, I order an Uber. Guilt swells in my stomach. I ring Gav but he can’t talk. He’s in a place that sounds echoey and he’s whispering – like he’s in a library or something.
‘What’s that?’ he says.
‘What time you coming later?’
‘Oh shit. Um. Six. You left Sarah in charge? Are you sure she’s OK with them? She’ll watch Jack?’
‘I’m sure. And Jack’s tutor is coming soon too.’ I’m sure I can hear a female voice whispering down the phone – and the rustle of something. ‘Where are you off to anyway? Anywhere nice?’ I feel the familiar punch in my stomach. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for the answer, whatever that may be.
‘Just doing a few bits and bobs. Ca
tching up since the hospital. Y’know.’
‘OK.’ I resist asking more. ‘Bye Gav.’ I hang up and wonder what else I can do to distract the edginess that is taking hold. And then I remember Ella’s earlier WhatsApp. That’s exactly who I need. I ring her once I’m in the car.
‘Liza? Everything OK?’
‘I just thought I’d say hello. See how everything was going?’ If Ella thinks it’s odd I’m ringing, she doesn’t say.
‘How lovely, how are you?’
‘So nice to speak to you. I’ve just been downstairs at Sarah’s. It’s been quite claustrophobic, actually. With the kids and stuff. Not at Sarah’s, I mean. Just with Jack. He’s been difficult.’
‘I’m so sorry. Poor little thing. You could always come here afterwards?’ She sounds so breezy, so kind, that I’m tempted to say yes.
‘I couldn’t. Thank you. But I’d love to come and see you. Just to get out of the house.’
‘Well, how about next week?’
‘I was thinking tomorrow or something. Or we could go and get something to eat?’ I feel disloyal. But I don’t want to invite Sarah along. I can’t deal with her weirdness at the moment, on top of everything else. I need calm.
‘Well, I’m actually going away soon so I need to pack and get myself sorted. But yes. I’m sure we can fit something in.’
Away? Something that Sarah had said about mysterious trips echoes in my mind. Where could she possibly be going?
‘Oh?’ I don’t want to pry, of course. But then again, I do. She doesn’t catch the bait. ‘You all right?’ I try again. ‘Everything OK with the family?’
‘Yes, great,’ she says, barely giving me anything. ‘Thanks.’
And then I think about something Sarah had said earlier. About Ella hiding something. How I’d batted her down because I didn’t want to be gossipy after all Ella has done.
The Fallout Page 20