After Isabella

by Rosie Fiore

  As she worked through the emails, she began to get a disquieting sense that hers was a department in chaos. Maybe chaos was a bit of a strong term, but disarray at least. There seemed to be timetabling issues, budgetary concerns and definitely no real sense of how they would be moving into the new academic year. She knew she should have led all sorts of steering committees and insisted that they had a range of new, exciting and irresistibly relevant modules to offer students for the next year. But she hadn’t, and now it was probably too late. In previous years, she would have been able to recite the timetable for submitting module outlines by heart. She’d have known when course guides were being designed, proofed and printed. But this year she had let it slip. Perhaps, during the summer, she could claw it back – beg the communications office to print her some new course guides, maybe set up a series of public lectures or events to improve the profile of English at the university. Perhaps she could call in some favours and get some top-flight guest lecturers, maybe a famous author or two for the twentieth-century modules. She would do her best.

  The other rather disquieting thing was a series of emails from the principal’s office, the admissions department and the finance office, all asking for statistics on the English Department. Individually, none of these emails was a worry, and they asked for fairly standard information. But opening one after the other, it seemed to Esther that they amounted to a concerted attempt by Central Services to gather data on all aspects of the running of her department. Was this happening across the board? She would have to ask other department heads. And whether it was all departments or just hers, why did they suddenly need to know all these details? She knew from past experience that when senior management started asking for figures, it was because something was wrong and they were looking for something or someone to blame. Was the university in trouble? The humanities faculty? Or just her department?

  She spent an hour or so replying to the emails she was able to answer immediately and sent polite holding-off notes to the others, saying she was gathering data and naming a firm date by which she would respond more fully. By the time she had finished, the sun was fully up. She had the heady dizziness and empty feeling that comes from a night without sleep. But she wasn’t tired, and the desperate misery of the night had passed, to a certain extent. She wanted to get to work early, try to get things back under control. But Lucie wouldn’t be up for another hour, and she’d have to get Michael out of the house too. She’d run. That would use up some time. Luckily she had a full set of running gear in a gym bag downstairs, so she didn’t have to risk waking Michael. She got dressed in the downstairs loo, laced up her trainers and slipped out of the front door, pulling it silently closed behind her. She’d do a speedy three-mile loop around the neighbourhood and be back home in half an hour.

  It was quiet. The air had the clean, silent expectancy of dawn. A brief rainfall the previous night had freshened the sky and the trees, and the pavement glistened underfoot. She began to jog, slowly, and then, as her muscles warmed up, she picked up the pace. For the first time since she had woken in the night, she felt less frightened and desperate. Running somehow made everything simpler. It was just her body, doing what it was designed to do, being pushed, getting stronger. There were no nuances, no hidden agendas. Just pounding feet and burning lungs.

  She ran up a steep incline to the top of a ridge. That climb was a little easier than it had been the week before, although not as easy as it had been at her peak. Maybe she’d put in an extra run a week, try to get back to her optimum levels of fitness. She checked her watch – it was still well before 7 a.m. Maybe she’d make this a slightly longer run; she could go the full length of the ridge before she doubled back to head home. She got her breath back and began to set an easy, loping pace along the road. She had come out without a phone or iPod, so she was running without any music. She liked hearing the muffled thud of her feet on the pavement and the even sound of her breathing. There was no one else about.

  It was because it was so quiet that she heard the car well before it reached her. It was moving slowly, in a low gear, coming along the road behind her. She half-glanced back as it drew abreast. It was a silver Vauxhall Corsa or something similarly nondescript. The person who was driving saw her, slowed down, then came to a halt some ten feet in front of her. She stopped dead. What a fool. Here she was, out in the deserted street, alone. The houses in this road were set well back from the road – even if she called out, she wasn’t sure anyone would hear her, assuming they were awake. And she had no phone to alert the police. If this was the stalker message person, or indeed anyone who wished her harm, she had made herself as vulnerable as she possibly could be. Well, unless they were going to mount the pavement and run her down, they would have to get out of the car to catch her. She wasn’t going to make it easy for them. She started to run again, staying close to the hedges of the houses – out of grabbing range, should someone from the passenger side try and lunge at her. She passed the car and began to run faster, heading up a slight rise. There was a side road up ahead, which would take her back down to the main road. She was just about to cross the road and run down it when she heard a voice calling her name.

  ‘Esther!’

  A female voice. She broke stride for a second and glanced back at the car. The driver had opened the door and stepped out beside the vehicle. It was a woman, not very tall, but the sun was behind her and Esther couldn’t see her face.

  ‘Esther!’ the voice said again. ‘Sorry, did I scare you?’

  Sally. It was Sally. Esther stopped running and, rather shamefacedly, walked back towards the car.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said lamely. ‘Running alone, this early, it’s not usually a good idea to stop for cars you don’t know.’

  ‘Of course not. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go out for a drive, and there you were. It was lovely to see you, so I stopped. I didn’t mean to give you a fright.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Esther. ‘It’s just me being a bit paranoid. I’m not usually like this.’

  ‘Bad night?’

  ‘You could say that. I also couldn’t sleep, so I’ve been up for hours, working.’

  ‘Is it your mum?’

  ‘Partly. Lots of other stuff too, but mainly Mum.’

  ‘I don’t want to keep you, if you’re running. But… just to say, if you want to talk, you know, get a cup of coffee…’

  Esther was suddenly tired of her own company, of struggling with the demons inside her own head. ‘That’d be nice,’ she said gratefully. ‘I’ve run far enough, I think.’

  ‘There’s a nice little café at the roundabout down the hill,’ said Sally. ‘I think they cater for the building trade, so they’re open early. It’s a bit basic, but the coffee is very good.’

  ‘It sounds lovely, but I’m worried Lucie and Michael will wake up and not know where I am. I don’t even have my phone with me. We could go back to mine, if you like.’

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to be in the way…’

  ‘Of course you won’t be in the way.’ Esther smiled. ‘Lucie would love to see you, you know that.’

  ‘Well, only if you’re sure.’ Sally hesitantly got back into the car.

  Esther went round to the passenger side and got in. She watched Sally in the driving seat and was reminded of the time she had collected her for dinner. This version of Sally looked very different – slimmer, brighter, more confident – but deep down, that fussy, old-lady uncertainty was still apparent if you knew her well. Sally took long moments to fasten her seatbelt and settle it comfortably across her lap and over her shoulder. Then she started the car, checked all her mirrors, put on the indicator even though there was no other car or person visible anywhere nearby, and pulled slowly back out on to the road. She drove tentatively and carefully, checking her mirrors with textbook regularity and slowing down to a crawl for every corner. She seemed uncertain of the route, and Esther had to tell her where to turn.


  ‘I haven’t quite got the hang of this navigation thing yet.’ She smiled. ‘The bus just takes you where you want to go. Now I have to work out where to turn and whether there’s parking – it’s a whole new world.’

  They pulled up outside Esther’s house, and Esther looked up at the windows. The living room curtains were still closed – a sign that the inhabitants were still asleep. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We may have to be a bit quiet if Lucie and Michael aren’t up yet.’

  They came through the front door and into the warm, still air of the slumbering house. Esther kicked off her running shoes. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen,’ she said softly. She put on a pot of coffee and drank down a big glass of water. When the coffee had finished brewing, she heated some milk and frothed it to make them each a latte.

  ‘Oooh, posh coffee!’ said Sally appreciatively, sniffing it as Esther put it down in front of her.

  ‘Any more in the pot?’ A sleepy-eyed Michael came into the kitchen. To Esther’s relief, he was wearing pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt. Nevertheless, he looked rumpled and sexy and very much just tumbled out of bed. He came over and kissed her. ‘Been running, you two?’

  Sally giggled. ‘She has, not me. I was just out for an early-morning drive.’

  Michael glanced at the clock. ‘A very early-morning drive,’ he said.

  ‘Sally’s just got her licence,’ said Esther. ‘It’s still a novelty, I think.’

  ‘I wish I had the courage to drive a bit further,’ said Sally. ‘I’d be in Wales by now.’

  ‘You’ll get more confident,’ said Esther. ‘The world is yours now.’

  She poured Michael a coffee and then ran upstairs to rouse Lucie for school. Lucie, who had been a chirpy, morning person as a small child, had gradually become more sullen and difficult in the mornings. She always stayed up too late and then found it almost impossible to get up on time. She hated rushing but ended up doing so every morning and then taking out her frustrations on Esther. Mornings had become something of a battleground, and Esther rather dreaded them. When Michael was there, Lucie made a small effort to be civil at least, but Esther was by no means sure how she would react to hearing that Sally was in the kitchen too.

  ‘Hi, lovely,’ she said softly, speaking to the top of Lucie’s head, which was all she could see above the duvet. ‘It’s 7.30.’

  Silence.

  ‘Lucie,’ she said a little bit louder.

  Still nothing.

  ‘Lucie.’ She allowed a little annoyance to creep into her voice. Time was moving on, and she also had to shower and dress.

  At that moment, Sally and Michael both laughed loudly in the kitchen below. Lucie rolled over and one baleful eye stared out over the top of the duvet. ‘Who the hell is that?’

  Esther sighed. ‘Sally.’

  ‘Sally? What’s she doing here?’

  ‘I bumped into her when I was out running. She came back for coffee.’

  Michael said something quite loudly, downstairs. The words weren’t clear, but it was obviously the punchline of a joke, because he and Sally laughed again.

  ‘It’s like a bloody bus station down there. Bloody hell, Mum.’ Lucie turned over onto her stomach and pressed her face into the pillow.

  ‘Firstly, language. I know you’ve just woken up, but there’s no need to swear. And secondly, I thought you liked Sally.’

  ‘I do. But not at dawn. I don’t like anyone at dawn. Especially not cheerful people.’

  ‘I know that. You make that abundantly clear. But Sally’s here, and Michael’s here, and the clock is ticking.’

  ‘Is there going to be a queue for the bloody… For the shower?’

  ‘I don’t think Sally came round here planning to shower, and you have to be out of the house first, so if I were you, I’d dive into the bathroom now, while Michael finishes his stand-up routine downstairs. I’ll hop in when you’re done. And in the meantime I’ll make you some toast.’

  ‘How about pancakes?’

  ‘In your dreams, sunshine. Toast or porridge, that’s my final offer.’

  ‘Porridge and brown sugar,’ said Lucie, throwing back the duvet. On her way out of the room, she kissed Esther quickly on the cheek. It might require bribery to keep her daughter sweet, but she’d take it.

  She went into her room and put clothes out ready to get dressed in after her shower. She was about to head back down to make Lucie’s breakfast when a wave of tiredness overcame her. She had been up for hours already, and the day had hardly begun. She lay down on the bed for a second, resting her head on the cool of the pillow. She could so easily doze off, but there was so much to do. She needed to get into work to begin to sort out the mess and neglect she had uncovered in the early hours. But it wasn’t her sense of duty that got her up and moving – it was the sound of Sally’s laughter, drifting up the stairs again.

  Esther padded down the stairs silently, in her socks. She could have stepped directly from the hallway into the kitchen, but instead she went through the living room. Michael was leaning against the kitchen counter, his back to her, his ankles crossed and his arms folded. He looked relaxed and happy and was telling a story about a work colleague who had fallen off his bicycle as he arrived on campus the previous week. Michael told a good story. He had a vivid turn of phrase and good comic timing. And there was no doubt that Sally was an appreciative audience. She stood by the sink, the sun glinting off her blonde curls. Her eyes were bright with laughter, and she watched Michael eagerly, waiting for his next punchline.

  ‘…arse over tit in front of the statue of Queen Victoria, in the middle of the quadrangle!’ He finished, and Sally let out a delighted peal of laughter. Her breasts rose and fell under her sheer, white blouse.

  As Esther stepped into the room, she watched Sally’s face. She was visibly surprised to see Esther entering from another direction, and was Esther imagining it or did she look a little guilty? Simultaneously, she saw her own reflection in the kitchen window, over Sally’s shoulder – her sweaty hair still scraped back in a ponytail, the lines that ran from her nose to her mouth like two deep, dark grooves, and her own small breasts, flattened and shrunken under her sports bra and Lycra running top.

  ‘I’m making porridge,’ she said shortly. ‘Anyone want some?’

  ‘Oh, er, not for me,’ said Sally. ‘I should probably be getting back…’

  ‘I’d better run through a shower,’ said Michael.

  ‘Lucie’s gazumped you, so you’ll have to wait.’ Esther began measuring out oats and milk. Her entrance seemed to have caused an odd tension in the room, and the laughter and jollity had ebbed away instantly. She should have felt guilty, but she didn’t.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It had been two days since the last message, and Esther allowed herself to relax slightly. It had probably been some crank from her past, offended somehow by seeing her on TV. She got into work early each day and powered through as much as she could, trying to make up for the weeks of inattention that had followed Laura’s death. The deeper she dug, the more disquieting the information she discovered. Student numbers were down, and a few of the more lucrative research grants were coming to an end without any new investments to replace them. Was it just a bad time for humanities? With the rise in tuition fees, were students investing in degrees that would be more likely to get them a high-paying job? Certainly the principal seemed to think so, with his marketing buzzwords and his relentless drive for every piece of literature to contain information on ‘employability’. It didn’t sit comfortably with Esther. She believed in old-fashioned scholarship – in learning for the sake of learning, in the beauty of discovery for young people. She didn’t want to create modules that pushed them into narrow career paths before they’d even begun to open their minds.

  After a frustrating morning spent editing a brochure for an upcoming recruitment fair, she set off to get coffee in the staff common room. The head of the Drama Department was ahead of her in the queue. Craig Shaw was a comp
act, bouncy man of forty. He came from a professional theatre background, not as an actor but as an agent. He’d worked in the industry for a number of years before opting to return to university to do a PhD. He’d stayed on as a lecturer and with his uncommon energy and drive had risen swiftly through the ranks to become head of department. He was short and chunky with blonde hair cut in a bristly cap. He always appeared to exude great passion when he spoke (he had worked in LA and seemed to have absorbed some American positivity), and the more excited he got, the pinker his cheeks glowed. Esther had always found him congenial enough, although he had a tendency to get camp and bitchy after a few drinks, which made her a little wary.

  ‘Craig,’ she said, by way of greeting.

  ‘Lovely Esther,’ he replied, swooping in to kiss her cheek. ‘It’s been ages.’

  She took a step back, surprised by both the kiss and the miasma of aftershave that surrounded him. He was usually effusive, but this was super-friendly, even for Craig.

  ‘All good?’ he asked.

  ‘All… okay.’

  ‘I heard about your mother.’ He affected a sympathetic frown. ‘Condolences.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Well, these things take time. Make sure you look after yourself. You’re looking strained.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, not sure how to respond to his blunt assessment of her appearance. ‘Listen, Craig, are you in a hurry? Do you have five minutes to chat?’

  He pulled out his phone and scrolled quickly through his calendar. ‘I’ve got five minutes, yes. Not much more than that. Let’s grab a seat.’

  Esther got her coffee and joined him at the table he’d chosen, right in the middle of the room. She’d have preferred to be in one of the window seats, or a corner, but she didn’t want to cause a fuss by asking to move.

  ‘So, what’s up?’ Craig took a container of sweeteners out of his pocket and dropped a tablet into his coffee.

  ‘It’s not so much that something’s up,’ said Esther carefully. ‘I just wanted to get a sense of what you thought about the… climate.’