by Jen Silver
She thought Beth would like the T-shirt she’d bought at Catania airport. There hadn’t been time to do any shopping in Taormina itself, but Sam made a point of always bringing something back from her travels. She was pleased with the choice—a stunning image on the front of the shirt of the ancient Greek theatre with the sea showing beyond the ruins. Beth would enjoy wearing it on their next holiday together. Sam had spent part of the journey home thinking about where they could go during the school’s two-week Easter break.
The sound of a car door closing jerked her awake. She had been on the verge of dropping into a deep sleep.
Sam stood and stretched. She hoped Beth had picked up something tasty. The snack she’d had on the plane had been hours ago and her stomach was rumbling. If she’d known she would have to wait for dinner, she would have bought a sandwich at the train station.
Beth came into the room, still wearing her coat. She looked drained. It must have been a particularly bad class today. Sam smiled and moved towards her. “Hey, it’s good to be home. But I hope you’ve brought some food. I’m starving.”
“Sorry. I haven’t…”
“Okay. We can go out. The Thai won’t be too busy on a Thursday.”
Beth held up her hands to stop Sam embracing her. “I need to talk to you.”
“Sure, okay. Where’s Hermy, anyway?”
“Where she always is when you’re away for more than two days.”
“Oh, pigging it out at Barb’s, I suppose.”
“No. She’s in a cattery.”
“What?”
“It’s very nice. She likes it there.”
“No way! She’ll be screaming the place down. How could you?” Sam stared at Beth. It was like looking at a stranger, not the woman she’d shared the last fourteen years with.
“Sam, sit down, please. There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Something worse than abandoning our baby in a cattery?”
“Um, well, yes. I’m leaving.”
“L…leaving?”
“Well, I’ve left, actually. I didn’t want to just leave you a note.”
Sam sat down again. Beth perched on the edge of the sofa.
“Why?” Feeling like she was trapped in a nightmare, Sam’s heart was pounding wildly.
‘I’ve met someone.”
“I see. And how long has this been going on?”
“Six months.”
Tears threatened. Sam could feel the prickling behind her eyes. It made sense now. The extra hours at work, going in on Saturdays sometimes, preparation for inspections, workshops on lesson planning.
Beth started to speak again. “It just sort of happened. You’ve been away so much recently.”
“After all the time we’ve been together, this just started to bother you?” Sam sniffed, determined not to cry. “Fourteen years. And those vows you made less than two years ago? Those meant nothing to you? Because I meant every word.” Her anger was building now.
“I’m sorry. I can’t explain it.”
“And who is she? This wife stealer?”
Beth looked away and said softly, “Lydia.”
“Lydia,” Sam repeated. “Lydia. Carmichael.”
“Yes.”
“So, you’re fucking the head teacher. Good move. Guess you’ll get that head of department job after all.”
“Sam, I…”
“Oh, don’t! I can’t bear to hear any more. Just get out!”
Beth pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “This is where Hermy is. I’ve paid the bill. They’ll be open tomorrow at nine.”
Sam closed her eyes, not wanting to watch the love of her life walk out on her. “Leave your keys.”
She slumped back into the cushions on the sofa. Heard the keys drop onto the table, waited for the footsteps to recede, the front door to close, and the car to drive off…then the tears came.
When she opened her eyes again, the room was dark. She groped around for the lamp’s switch. The circle of light reached across to the table in front of her. Beth’s keys lay on top of the cattery invoice. And next to them a ring; the twin of the one on her finger. The ring they had chosen together. The ring engraved with “Forever yours, Beth and Sam, 1 April 2014”.
April Fools’ Day. They had joked about it at the time but figured it was a date they would always be able to remember.
†
The cattery was part of an old farmhouse, set back from the road. But even at a distance of three hundred yards, Sam could hear Hermy’s cries, the distinctive sound of a Siamese cat in pain. She thought the cattery owners had earned their fee if they had put up with Hermy’s wailing for five nights.
She parked her elderly VW Golf in front of the barn and checked the time. It was just past 8:30. Having cried herself to sleep, she had woken up at four. Unable to even attempt more rest, Sam got up and kept herself busy. She found Hermy’s litter box and bowls where they had been unceremoniously stashed in the cupboard under the stairs.
Thankful for the twenty-four hour supermarket nearby, she had gone out and stocked up on food for herself and the cat. She included some special treats with which she hoped to bribe the traumatised creature. Hopefully Hermy would remember it was Beth who had her incarcerated.
A rap on the car window brought her out of her reverie. She slid it open and looked up at the grey-bearded face peering down at her.
“Hi. I’m a bit early. Here to collect my cat.” She held up the invoice.
“The Siamese. Thank God. Come on in. You can take her now.”
Sam opened the door, collected the carrier from the back seat and followed the man around to the back of the farm buildings. Despite the scruffy appearance of the rest of the farmyard, the cattery looked very neat. The purpose-built structure would no doubt be acceptable for a few days for some cats, but Sam couldn’t help comparing it to a prison. Hermy was backed up against the far wall of her cell, her bright blue eyes threatening certain death to anyone who dared come close.
“She’s all yours,” the man said, unlocking the door and backing away.
Sam pulled on her gloves and opened the carrier, although she hoped it wouldn’t be needed. “Hermy. Time to go home. Come on, sweetie. Mummy’s got some lovely treats for you.” She started to hum softly. It wasn’t a particularly tuneful rendition of “House of the Rising Sun” but it always had the desired effect of calming Hermy. The cat relaxed her stiff posture and moved forwards. Sam stretched out her hands and with a single anguished cry, the cat leapt up and landed squarely on her arm.
“It’s okay, honey. We’re going home.” Sam cradled her firmly. The purring started immediately as Hermy closed her eyes.
“Wow, that’s amazing. She hasn’t shut up since she got here.”
“Yes. Well, she doesn’t like being caged. I think she’s claustrophobic.”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but we’d appreciate it if you found another place for her the next time you need to go away.”
“There won’t be another time. But thank you for your patience.” Holding the now sleeping Hermy with one arm, Sam picked up the carrier and walked back to the car. She took the blanket out and placed it on the front passenger seat. Climbing behind the wheel with Hermy still in one arm, she shut the door before placing the cat on the blanket. Hermy opened one eye and settled herself, before going back to sleep again.
Refreshed from her nap in the car and a hastily consumed salmon meal, Hermy explored the back garden while Sam put in a load of washing and made herself coffee and toast.
She sat down in the living room again. Beth’s keys and ring were still on the table. Sam gazed at them for a few minutes then opened her iPad. She brought up the school website and was greeted with the smiling face of Dr Lydia Carmichael. Head teacher. The use of the word mistress wasn’t politically correct these days. Head bitch, more like, thought Sam. Head wife-stealing bitch, she amended.
Dr Carmichael was, according to the article on the home page of t
he site, credited with turning the school away from decline. In the two years she had been there, it had escaped the ignominy of being put into “Special Measures” by the Schools Inspectorate, and had gone from an educationally unhealthy “Acceptable” rating to “Good with Outstanding Features.”
Shoulder-length blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a gleaming smile showing perfectly aligned white teeth created the ideal image of a poster woman for successful head teachers throughout the country. Always exquisitely dressed. Sam remembered the scathing comments of some of Beth’s colleagues when Dr C first rocked up for the early morning staff briefing in knee-high leather boots and a pencil skirt that left very little to the imagination. The style of her wardrobe was mainly Boardroom though; she could mostly have passed for an aspiring CEO or a corporate lawyer.
Her influence had encouraged members of staff to modify their own dress code accordingly. Beth had started buying clothes from more expensive stores like Selfridges and Harvey Nichols. When Sam had questioned the need for style over comfort, Beth had said that Lydia—it was now Lydia this, Lydia that, she should have recognised the signs—felt this would help the students to buck up their ideas. And it seemed to have worked as the new Ofsted rating had shown.
Why, Beth? Sam wanted to scream. What’s Lydia got that I don’t? Did our life together mean so little to you? Was I boring, complacent, predictable?
Different scenes played out in her head…Beth coming back, begging her forgiveness…Sam turning up at the school and making a scene in the staff room, dragging Beth out…emailing the head of the English department to ask if he knew what was going on under his nose.
Sam didn’t know any of the teachers well enough to ring up one of them. She had attended an end-of-the-school-year party when she and Beth first got together. Once had been enough. The teachers weren’t interested in talking to her. They stuck to their department groups and bitched about the government meddling in the curriculum, pay scales, and other staff members. Sam did talk to the librarian who was similarly ignored by everyone else, and she explained that teachers regarded non-teaching staff on a par with road cleaners. The librarian had a degree but knew that, even if she obtained a doctorate, she would still be considered a lesser being.
The only other time Beth had managed to persuade her to go to a staff do was the one at the end of Lydia’s first term at the school, a Christmas party. The friendly librarian wasn’t there, she’d moved to another school a few years earlier. Sam felt as out of place as she had the first time.
Beth had pointed Lydia’s house out to her once when they were travelling back from the airport, a modest looking semi-detached set back from the road. Sam fantasised about taking a drive to see if Beth’s sporty blue Mazda was parked in the drive. Would she be able to stop there, or would she stoop to peering through the windows?
Hermy landed on her lap and looked up at her. “Finished terrorising the neighbourhood, fish breath?” A swish of the tail indicated some understanding. The cat turned around and put her paw on the screen of the iPad, Lydia Carmichael’s face still smiling up at her.
“All right. I agree. We don’t want to stare at that ugly mug any longer. You can play with your fish.” Sam brought up Hermy’s favourite…an aquarium app. She placed the iPad on the sofa and left Hermy staring intently at the moving images, pawing the screen in the hope of catching one.
†
The gently falling rain was leaving random puddles on the patio. It was ten years since they had argued about which flagstones they should have. Beth had wanted a Mediterranean style but Sam had persuaded her in the end to go for the rugged Yorkshire stone. It had lasted well. The natural hues of gold and reddish tints were mostly covered now with a green tinge of slime. With all the rain over the winter, it was going to need another restorative power wash in the spring.
Sam leant her head against the window frame. Cool glass against her skin. But nothing was going to subdue the red-hot anger building inside her.
All those evenings waiting for Beth to come home from interminable staff meetings. More late nights when she said she was helping out with the school play rehearsals. She had never shown any interest in the annual productions before. She would be exhausted when she did come home, her arrival followed by a quick shower and then staying up to finish reports or the endless marking of student essays.
Perhaps she should be grateful Beth hadn’t come straight from Lydia’s bed back to hers. Grateful, for what?
“The lying, cheating scumbag!” Sam turned abruptly from the window and tripped over Hermy’s food bowl. She kicked it across the red-tiled floor. Beth’s flooring choice had won out in the kitchen.
†
Hermy had tired of chasing fish on the screen and now lay on top of the clothes Sam had thrown into the laundry basket.
“You’ll end up in the washing machine one of these days. And you won’t like that.”
The cat curled her tail around her body and settled down. Dismissed, Sam closed the now empty suitcase and took it across the landing into the smallest of the three bedrooms that doubled as a storage area and an office for Beth. Dust-free spaces on the desk showed the outlines of where there had been a desktop computer screen and CPU. Like chalk marks indicating where the body had lain in a crime scene. The printer was still in place on the pedestal next to the desk. Something to be thankful for, she supposed. The printer was a shared resource that Sam usually needed to plug her laptop into when she returned from her travels.
The closet in the guest room had been cleared out as well. Sam stared at the empty space. Beth had kept all her work clothes in here. Even the hangers were gone. Surely Loathsome Lydia could have supplied her with those.
She sat down on the bed and was startled by the sound of her phone ringing. Pulling it out of her pocket she was relieved to see Troy’s face on the screen and pressed the Answer button.
“Hey, little one, you and Beth still on for tomorrow night?” Although he was about the same height and weight as Sam, he thought because he was two years older he could call her “little one.” They had been best friends for twenty years so she let him get away with it.
Tomorrow night, a birthday party. She had forgotten about it. When Sam left for Sicily, Beth had said she would pick up a present during the week. It didn’t look like that was something she had remembered to do while she was busy destroying their life together. Had her lover been waiting around the corner on Sunday, watching Sam’s taxi drive off?
“Hello! Sam?”
“Um, yeah, tomorrow night. I’m not sure…”
“You have to come, Sam. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“I am married, you know.” That statement had been true a week ago. Troy had been one of the witnesses at their wedding, so he hardly needed reminding.
“Not like that, you dork. And it’s our one hundredth birthday celebration, so don’t even think about ducking out.”
Troy and his partner, Webby, were having a joint birthday party this year as their respective ages, fifty-five and forty-five, added up to one hundred. The boys had been planning it for months, so Sam knew she had to go, regardless of how she was feeling.
“Yeah, sure, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She knew she should have told him about Beth. But there would be time for that. She didn’t want to spoil his day as well. And now she had to go shopping for a suitable birthday present.
Chapter Two
Lydia Carmichael put the finishing touches on the report for the governors. She’d worked hard to get them on board. They hadn’t all agreed with her policies to improve the school’s Ofsted results, but now, two years on, with the success of the raised rating still bringing smiles to their faces, she needed to push on with the next phase of her plan.
Would they still be happy with her if they knew about her relationship with one of the English teachers? Beth had been patient so far, but Lydia knew she wasn’t happy living a closeted lifestyle. Not when she had moved ou
t of her marital home to be with Lydia.
She had met Sam Wade once, at an end-of-term party. A nondescript sort of woman she’d thought. Hardly Beth’s type, but they had been together fourteen years.
Sometimes, on days when yet another angry parent screamed in her face for failing to recognise the brilliance of their child who had just thrown a chair at the science teacher, Lydia fantasised about giving up her job. Her PhD in ancient civilizations, mainly Rome, didn’t qualify her for many jobs, but she didn’t need much to live on. Her mortgage was paid off, Tom was in his last year at university and would be starting work soon. Tara had found love on a cruise boat. Lydia thought she had failed her daughter when she had dropped out of her university course in the second year. Telling the girl that majoring in geography wasn’t that important anyway possibly hadn’t been helpful. Tara had spent the next year working as a cleaner on a river cruise boat, graduating fairly quickly to the position of tour guide. She loved the job and her boyfriend was a trainee chef. Lydia hadn’t met him yet. They only had a short break in January and had gone to visit his parents somewhere in one of the Balkan countries—Romania, Bulgaria, Croatia—she couldn’t recall which one Tara had mentioned.
Perhaps she and Beth could move to a Scottish island and keep sheep or goats, or whatever it was that thrived in the Outer Hebrides.
Beth. She was the best thing that had happened to Lydia in a long time. Her love life had been non-existent for many years. When her husband left it had been a relief. He had called her a “cold, frigid bitch.” And he had been right. Lydia couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for having sex with him and, after Tom’s birth, she had shut him out completely.