by Mick Bose
“This is Emma, everybody. She just joined the school. Molly is her little girl in Year 4.”
They give me vacant smiles then go back to their chatting. I stand awkwardly, and only join in when Eva drags me into a conversation.
The girls come out in a queue, and their parents take them away. Molly takes her time, and I stiffen slightly when I see the form teacher, Miss Laker, approaching with Molly walking next to her. Molly seems OK, her face blank. But Molly has always been good at hiding her emotions. I stride forward quickly, as Miss Laker is definitely staring at me.
I grab hold of Molly’s hand as soon as they get closer. She stands close to me.
“We had a small incident at playtime today,” Miss Laker says. She is young, in her twenties. I doubt she has children of her own. I’m judging her, I know, but she doesn’t strike me as being very maternal.
“What incident?”
“A girl was pushed to the ground, and then kicked in the head.”
I frown. “And what does that have to do with Molly?”
“Well, she said that Molly did it.”
I look down at Molly and give her hand a squeeze. She looks to the ground. I bend down on my knees and make her look at me.
“Darling, don’t be scared of anything. Nothing will happen. Just tell me the truth. Did you hit that girl?”
“No, Mum, I didn’t.” She holds my eyes. Every child is different, and I know mine well. She doesn’t believe in lying. She shakes her head again, staring at me. “I didn’t, Mummy. I swear.”
I give her a hug and stand up. My voice has steel in it. “You heard her. She didn’t do it. Did anyone actually see her doing it?”
“No.”
Anger bubbles inside me. “Then how can you accuse her?”
“She is not being accused, Miss Dixon, please remain calm.”
“I am calm. I just want to know on what basis my child is being accused of hitting this girl.”
“She was pointed out by the girl who was hit.”
“And who is she?”
Miss Laker is normally a nice person, and I get on well with her. In the past, she has commented on how well Molly does her homework, and how attentive she is. Another quality is her competitiveness, Miss Laker told me last week. While it’s lovely hearing all this, I hate what she is saying now.
She says, “Why don’t you come to my office, where the child and her parents are waiting?”
I take a breath and square my shoulders. Before I walk off, I sense Eva hovering nearby. She catches my eyes and strides over quickly. Miss Laker has already moved up ahead, heading for the reception office.
“What’s going on?” Eva asked.
“They’re saying Molly pushed another child and then kicked her when she fell.”
Eva’s mouth falls open. She looks like I feel.
“I don’t believe that for a second. Molly is gentlest child. Did anyone see her?”
“That’s what I asked. Apparently not. But the child is accusing Molly.” My gaze wafts down to Lottie. Eva gets my drift. She asks Lottie, “Honey, did you see the girl who was pushed in the playground today?”
Lottie is shy. She steps back behind Eva’s skirt, but she is already shaking her head. Lottie and Molly are good friends. They look out for each other. I have no reason to doubt what she says.
“I better go and see who this child is. The parents are waiting apparently.”
“OK. I’m going to wait here for you,” Eva says.
“What? No, you don’t have to do that.” I am touched by her attitude.
“No, don’t be silly. I would be furious if they said that about my daughter. I have a sandwich with me, and we’ll sit in the canteen, then come back here in ten minutes.”
“Really, Eva, you don’t have to.”
“Well, I will, and you can’t stop me.” She lifts her chin and gives me one of her cheeky smiles. I know that look. Eva has always been a tough cookie. Once she gets her mind set on something she sticks to it.
“OK, I’ll text you.”
“Cool,” she says cheerfully and heads down to the canteen with Lottie.
CHAPTER 14
Ten years ago
I smoothed down the navy blue skirt of my business suit, holding the black folder with the property details. I was showing Mr and Mrs Smith around the spacious five-bedroom property on the hill, with great views of the Wimbledon Golf Club, and the distant skyscrapers on the horizon. The couple clutched hands as they entered the upstairs bedroom and looked out the windows. The view was stunning, I knew that. They stood in front and put their arms around each other. It was sweet, and a little wind blew around the lonely corridors of my heart, banging and closing doors of empty rooms. My life was empty. I was in my early twenties, and still had not met the man of my dreams. I was beginning to wonder if it would ever happen.
To add to the heartache, my mother had passed away last year. Eva and I had travelled up for the funeral. Dad now lived alone in the Yorkshire farm, and he would find it hard to cope. I was their only daughter. Mum never got to see me in a wedding dress. I would take that regret to my grave.
The couple turned, and I stood to one side, giving them space. This property came with vacant possession, but the interior decoration was done nicely. I could tell from their faces they liked it.
When we stood in the hallway, I waited for them to speak. This was their second visit, and I had developed a sixth sense about these things. I knew they liked it. I also knew that if I gave a client long enough, they told me what they wanted. They appreciated that.
Mr Smith, slightly older, in his mid-to late-thirties, looked at me and beamed. “We have decided to go for it. I would like to make an offer of two million pounds, the asking price.”
I smiled at their expectant faces. Theirs was the highest offer so far, and I was sure it would be accepted. But I couldn’t tell them that yet. “Thank you very much. I will pass it on, and be in touch with you tomorrow.”
Mrs Smith looked apprehensive. “Do you think it will be accepted?”
“I can’t tell you…”
“It’s just that we have sold our house already, and are living with the children in rented premises. Our contract ends soon, and we just need to know as soon as possible.”
I hesitated.
“Please,” Mrs Smith said, her face earnest. I relented.
“Your offer is excellent, and I think it has every chance of being accepted.” I had no doubt the seller would be over the moon with this offer. He was getting a lot less before.
“Great,” she smiled. “Shall we inform our lawyer?”
“Please wait for my email.”
They went out of the door, chatting to each other happily, making plans for their home. It was a nice summer day, and as I locked the doors behind them, the sunshine made a radiant glow around us. I drove back to the office, wondering if I would bump into Clive again. That night at the awards had only been two days ago, and I knew something had happened between Clive and me. We had danced with passion, soaked in sweat. He kept up with me, and bought me drinks after. He was easy to talk to, and I was getting to know the man behind the image.
My heart skipped a beat as I approached my desk. Clive was standing next to it. His face brightened when he saw me.
“Aha. How are you, Emma?”
We exchanged pleasantries, then he asked me into his office. He closed the door when I stepped inside. He brushed close to me as he did so, and the musky, fresh odour of his cologne assaulted my nostrils. He stood a few feet away from me, without sitting down. Those dark eyes were fixed on me again. I could feel my throat going dry.
Clive sighed and shifted on his feet. “Ever since you started here, this place has got a new lease of life. It’s not just the sales, you just make things look nicer.” He smiled. I turned crimson, wishing I could hide my face.
“Have a seat,” he said. I sat down opposite him.
He said, “I need to ask you a favour.” I waited. H
e opened his drawer and took out an envelope.
“These are two tickets for a stall at the Royal Albert Hall, to watch Les Misérables. Would you like to come with me?”
If my throat was parched before, now I could barely breathe. Clive Connery was made of money. Apart from this agency, he owned a number of properties in London, not counting his holiday villa in Marbella, Spain, and a cottage in Antibes, South of France. He was handsome, sexy, but also open, down to earth. Was he really asking me out on a date?
I closed my open mouth quickly and tucked a stray strand behind my ear. There was a hint of a smile on his lips when I looked up. He leaned forward.
“Can I take that as a yes?”
I nodded. He smiled broadly. “Good, that’s a date then.”
I stood to go. At the door, I became aware I was still holding the property folder to my chest.
“By the way,” I said, “24 Home Park Road should be under offer soon.”
He looked up, his face blank. “Why?”
I told him about the Smiths. I thought he would be happy, but a shadow passed over his face. He beckoned for me to sit down again.
“Tell me more about the Smiths.” He leaned back in his chair. I told him what I knew, and he tapped his lips lightly.
“So they want it, huh?”
“Badly,” I grinned. He grinned back.
“Tell them there is a higher offer. 2.2 million.”
I stopped smiling. “What?”
“See if they can match it.”
“But…”
“Emma.” He leaned forward again. “Do you know you are both beautiful and intelligent?”
I thought my heart would stop beating. Keeping my face calm, I waited for him to continue.
“Therefore you will understand the basics of our business. The market is fluid. So is the price. The selling price is what people are willing to fork out. It could be three million. Who knows?”
“Is there really a higher offer?”
He didn’t bat an eyelid. “For properties in that location, there is always a higher offer. Remember that.”
He stared at me, his eyes probing. “Are we on the same wavelength?”
I nodded, hiding the conflict I felt inside. He relaxed and flopped back, the tension going out of his shoulders. He seemed like the Clive Connery I knew again.
“Are we OK for tonight?”
“Sure,” I said.
As I went back to my table, I tried to gauge what he had said. I made the call to the Smiths, and relayed the bad news. They were unhappy but called back later in the afternoon. They agreed to match the higher offer.
*****
I was ready and waiting at eight pm when I heard the doorbell. Clive was dressed in a blue suit without a tie, and he handed me a bouquet of red roses. They looked gorgeous. I was wearing my long, red dress, and I couldn’t help noticing how he stared at me.
He held out a hand. “Shall we go? The night is young.” I gripped his fingers, feeling the warm strength in them. The velvety blue evening was suffused with the light heat of summer. There was a promise in the air, laden with the smell of roses as I walked down with him to the waiting car.
We held hands and turned the corner. I was expecting a car, but what I saw made me gasp. A silver and white stretch limo was parked on the road, lights blinking.
“Like our ride?” Clive said. His eyes were dancing with mirth.
“Looks great. Is it just us?” I asked, trying to act normal.
He gave a short laugh. “Of course, it’s just us!”
A liveried driver got out, and opened the door for us. I went in first. I had never been inside a limousine before and it blew my mind. The space inside was thrice the size of the living room in my small flat. Light dazzled the ornate glass in the corner bar, and shone off the chrome handles. The red leather was deep enough to sink into and wrapped around the corners. The driver shut the door. A flat-screen TV was on, and light music was floating from speakers. On a table in front of us, a bottle of Dom Pérignon was being chilled on ice.
“Clive, this must be expensive?”
He was sitting next to me, leaning forward. “Company expenses. All of it is tax-deductible. Don’t worry.” He smiled engagingly, and I caught my breath.
As the limo took off with a purring sound, Clive uncorked the bottle. He handed me a flute and smiled.
“To new beginnings.”
“New beginnings,” I echoed, feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
CHAPTER 15
Present day
I walk into an office opposite the teacher’s common room. A man and a woman wearing business suits are already sitting there. It seems they have come straight from work. They both glare at me as I walk in. Their eyes fall on Molly and I instinctively step in front of her. I notice their daughter sits behind the mum, her eyes to the floor. She doesn’t look up as we walk in.
“Is this the girl who hit my Henrietta?” the woman demands in an angry tone.
“Please Mrs Burton-Smyth, let’s not make any hasty judgements,” Miss Laker says.
Mrs Burton-Smyth – I don’t know her first name as yet – turns to her daughter. “Hen, darling, is this the girl who did this to you?”
Henrietta has blonde curls and speckles on her nose. She looks at Molly quickly then lowers her head again. “Yes, Mummy,” she says in a small voice.
The woman glares at me. “That’s unbelievable.”
The couple look angry. They are older than me, in their mid to late forties, I would say. The man has a beard, looks fit and tanned like his wife, and wears an expensively cut suit. The woman is wearing a blue and black skirt suit with nice shoes.
“Hang on a minute,” I snap. “This is your daughter’s word against mine. Molly has denied this already. There are no witnesses.” I look at Miss Laker. “Are there?”
She purses her lips. “No, there aren’t.”
Mrs Burton-Smyth is not having any of it. “Look at this,” she says. She turns Henrietta’s face and I see the ugly bruise on her temple. Its looks tender and painful, and I feel sorry for the girl. I notice that Mr Burton-Smyth is sitting very still, watching me.
Mrs Burton-Smyth says, “How can someone do this to a little girl? How?” She points daggers at Miss Laker. “I thought this was a grammar school. How can these things happen here?”
Miss Laker voice is smooth. “We take pride in our pastoral care, Mrs Burton-Smyth. I can assure you, we will get to the bottom of this.”
The woman glares at me again, but speaks to the teacher. “You better do. I will be telling all the other parents to keep a very close eye on my daughter from now on. If anyone as much as touches her…”
“It’s OK, darling.” Mr Burton-Smyth speaks for the first time. Behind his well-trimmed beard there are a pair of shapely lips, and his eyes have a ferocity in them that I like. But he is gentle, softly spoken. “Children can get hurt sometimes in the playground. As long as this is not repeated, it should all be fine.”
“It’s not fine, Rob,” his wife seethes. “Hen was pushed to the ground and then this…this child kicked her. I mean, that is vicious!” She looks at me again, and I am getting more and more angry. If she looks at me like she’s scraped me off the bottom of her shoe one more time…
Miss Laker says, “For now, let’s just rest on the understanding that Molly didn’t do this. Did you, Molly?” she asks Molly directly.
My daughter is fearless, and she squares her shoulders. She looks her teacher in the eyes and says, “No, Miss. I didn’t.”
I ask her, “And did you see anyone push Henrietta? Not just today, but at anytime?”
She shakes her head. “No, Mummy, I didn’t.”
I walk out of the office in the cold air with my head held high. I have already texted Eva and she is standing outside with Lottie.
“Who was the child?” Eva asks me. When I say the name, she groans.
“Not Joanne Burton-Smyth!”
“Why?”
“Let me guess. She was dressed for a board meeting, spoke like her tongue’s on fire, and accused Molly from the second you walked in.”
“Pretty much.”
We sit down outside the canteen and I give Molly a packet of crisps. “Who is she?”
“She’s a director of some insurance company in the city. Board-level executive. Her family are loaded, so is her husband. Not like she needs her million-pound job, but she loves it. The nanny raises the children, I swear to you. She’s only seen at school if there’s a crisis.”
That explained a lot of what I have seen of her. I often think women who rely excessively on nannies become overprotective of the children. I tell this to Eva and she nods.
“They also donate money to the school.”
I arch an eyebrow. “They do?”
“Yes. The school is a charity, so they call it a charitable donation.” Eva drops her voice. “Between you and me, Henrietta isn’t clever enough to be here. She got in at reception, but apparently her teachers have said she might not progress to senior school.”
I am aware that this can happen at Crofton High, where academic standards are high. The penny drops about the donations.
“How can this be allowed?” I ask.
Eva has opened a packet of Maltesers and offers me one. Some chocolate is just what I need now. As I chew, she says, “It happens all the time. We just don’t get to hear it.”
We say goodbye and head back home. It’s almost five o’clock and Molly is hungry. I look closely at her, wondering if she is upset by the whole thing. She seems OK.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?” It’s her favourite drink. She beams and grabs me around the waist. I hug her back, feeling how tightly she holds me. Then I hold her at arm’s length.
“Did anything happen today at the playground today, Molly?”
She shakes her head slowly. “I didn’t see anything, Mummy. I don’t know what Henrietta’s mother was saying.”
She has no reason to lie. I hug her again, wishing the uncomfortable feeling inside me would go away.