I laughed, standing aside to let him in and shutting the door behind him. ‘What’s up?’
‘Sophie’s ill. She’s in Blyton Hospital.’
I looked at his drawn face and felt my stomach lurch in panic.
‘What’s happened? Is she okay?’
‘She’s fine now,’ he said. ‘It was scary though. She’s got a chest infection and she’s asthmatic anyway and she couldn’t breathe.’
‘Were you with her?’
‘I called an ambulance,’ he said. ‘I thought she was going to die, Lizzie.’
I pulled him into a hug. ‘You did the right thing,’ I said. ‘And she’s okay now?’
‘She’s doing well. She’s on antibiotics and she’s coming home tomorrow. She’s fine. It just got me thinking, you know? That I’m all Cara has if Sophie isn’t around.’
He looked so stricken I hugged him again.
‘Have you eaten?’
Danny shook his head. ‘I was working and time got away with me.’
‘Takeaway and a film?’
He grinned and I grinned back. It was good to see him smile again.
‘Is that your version of Netflix and chill?’
I whacked him on the arm, gently. ‘Oi,’ I said. ‘Don’t get any ideas.’ Although actually my own head was full of those kind of ideas. Brimming with them, in fact.
‘Sounds good.’
We ordered food, then got comfy on the sofa, bottle of wine in front of us. I chose a film at random from Netflix, and put it on, and we mostly ignored it as we ate and chatted.
I told him all about what we’d discovered when we visited Fiona.
‘We didn’t find the letter Esther wrote, which is disappointing,’ I explained. ‘But we think she saw a need for the school in Elm Heath back in 1910 or 11. And I think there is still that need.’
Danny frowned. ‘Can’t that need be met by the schools in Blyton?’
‘On paper, yes, but not on a practical level – there aren’t enough regular buses to Blyton so the kids would all have to be driven for starters. And in terms of community, it’s so important to have a local school.’
Danny was watching me, with an unreadable expression on his face. ‘This is really important to you,’ he said.
‘I know.’ I felt a bit embarrassed suddenly. ‘I can’t lie, I wasn’t planning on staying in Elm Heath. When I took the job, I saw it more as a stop-gap than anything else; a way to reset my career and prove myself before going back to London. But now … Well, I can just really see how much the village needs the school.’
‘And how much you need a project?’
I felt my cheeks flush. ‘Perhaps,’ I admitted.
‘To keep your mind off your ex?’
I took a slurp of wine to give myself time to think. ‘Not him as such,’ I said slowly. ‘More the whole situation. I don’t really think of him at all now.’
Danny didn’t speak, his eyes fixed on my face.
‘Well, I think about him sometimes,’ I said. ‘But he wasn’t the man I thought he was. Or at least, he wasn’t the husband I thought he was, and I wasn’t the wife he wanted.’
‘It’s tough when someone lets you down,’ Danny said.
I looked away. ‘It is.’
There was a slightly awkward pause.
‘Paula was talking about Isabelle today,’ I said to break the silence, mentally kicking myself for bringing up his ex when we’d just stopped talking about mine. I should have told him about Denise Deacon’s mysterious visit instead, I thought. What an idiot I was.
‘Paula was talking about Isabelle?’ Danny was guarded.
I sat back against the sofa cushion, looking down into my glass. ‘She said she can’t have always been easy to live with.’
Danny laughed. ‘That’s an understatement.’
‘And she said your relationship wasn’t always easy either.’
‘It was either completely amazing or utterly hell,’ Danny said. ‘There was never any middle ground. It was exhausting – for both of us. I think, if she’d not got pregnant when she did, we’d probably have gone our separate ways for good long before she got sick.’
He took a breath.
‘But I let her down, when she really needed me. And I have to live with that.’
I took his hand. ‘And then you stepped up when she needed you.’
He looked up at me, his face close to mine, and then suddenly we were kissing, urgently. His hands were pulling at my tatty old sweatshirt, so I tugged it off over my head, and did the same with his T-shirt.
Was this a good idea? I thought, as his hands roamed downwards. Probably not. But I didn’t really care.
* * *
It was still dark when I woke up the next morning, after not much sleep. I glanced at the clock – it was only six a.m. – but Danny was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his jeans. I ran my hand over his back and he turned to me.
‘Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘You didn’t.’
He leaned over and kissed me softly. ‘I need to go before it gets light. I don’t want to sully your reputation.’
I made a face, but I knew he was right.
‘I’m picking Cara up from school today so I’ll catch you then.’
He smiled at me, and I felt my insides turn to liquid.
‘Okay,’ I said. I pulled him down towards me for another kiss.
‘Was this a mistake?’ I said.
‘Almost certainly.’
‘Should we stop?’
‘Definitely not.’ He gave me another kiss. ‘I’ll call you.’
I watched him go, happily stretching my toes like a contented cat. Then I slid out of bed and into the shower to get ready for school, singing Christmas songs loudly.
My good mood carried me through the whole morning – rehearsals for the nativity, and reams of admin, and covering year one because Pippa was off sick. I didn’t have time to think about Esther, or the rally, or anything Denise Deacon had said, because I was so busy, but I didn’t even mind.
Then, at lunchtime, I was on playground duty watching a group of year-five girls choreograph what seemed to be a fairly inappropriate dance and wondering when I should step in, when I saw Danny. He was standing outside the school, the other side of the railings to me, by the main entrance. He was on his phone with his body turned away from me so I couldn’t see his expression.
At once, my heart lifted as I admired him from a distance – he’d not seen me so it was a good chance to really take him in. He was wearing a suit so he’d obviously been home before work to change and he wore it very well. He was one of those men who looked gloriously scruffy in jeans and a T-shirt, but effortlessly glamorous as soon as he stuck a tie on.
Leaving the year fives to their gyrating, I casually sauntered over towards where he stood. I was close enough to hear him talking as I approached but he’d still not seen me.
‘I’m in an impossible position, and I’m not happy about it,’ he was saying. ‘It’s complicated.’
I paused in my sauntering, realising he was obviously in the middle of a difficult phone call. Was it work? His job sounded tricky and he’d said he was having a bit of a hard time at the moment. I must ask him to explain what was going on, I thought. I should show an interest.
‘I’ve said yes,’ he hissed down the phone. I noticed his Irish accent was more pronounced when he got angry. I liked that he had no affectations, unlike Grant whose carefully honed pronunciation gave no clue to his Midlands roots. ‘I just think you’re asking too much of me.’
I should go, I thought. He was obviously busy and I didn’t want to interrupt.
Danny was running his fingers through his hair in exasperation and I turned to go back and check on the year-five version of the Pussycat Dolls.
‘Vanessa,’ Danny said, his tone changing from frustrated to more affectionate. I stopped mid-turn and gave him my attention again. Who was Vanessa?
‘You know I ad
ore you …’
Wait. What?
‘But you’re not being fair here, sweetheart,’ he carried on.
My heart lurched at the cutesy way he said ‘sweetheart’ and suddenly I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I stay here, listening to his phone call and possibly hear something I didn’t want to hear? Should I confront him? Or should I sneak away and pretend it never happened? I could have the wrong end of the stick, after all.
I’d tiptoe away, I decided. Give him the benefit of the doubt. But just as I took a step backwards, the year-five girls ran up.
‘Miss Armstrong,’ they all bellowed. ‘Come and watch our dance.’
I watched in horror as Danny turned round, phone stuck to his ear, staring at me through the railings.
‘Lizzie,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Ness, can I call you back?’
‘Go and get set up, girls,’ I told my year fives. ‘I just need a quick chat with Mr Kinsella.’
He ended the call and we looked at each other through the bars of the school fence. I didn’t speak.
‘Shit, Lizzie,’ Danny said. ‘What did you hear?’
‘Enough.’
Had I?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He reached through the railings and squeezed my arm but I pulled away.
Danny’s eyes were wild, and he looked half furious, half devastated. I had no idea what was going on. Was he seeing someone else? What was this?
‘Danny,’ I began. ‘Is this …?’
‘Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I’m going to sort this,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
Then without saying goodbye, he turned and walked away.
Chapter 30
Lizzie
Numbly, I watched Danny walk quickly down the road, get into his car and start the engine. He obviously wasn’t planning on coming back to explain anything. I had no idea what I’d heard – not really – but he was obviously up to something or he’d not have reacted as he did. Who was Vanessa? Was he seeing her? I’d never explicitly asked if he was single; I’d just assumed. Surely Paula or Sophie would have said if he wasn’t? If they knew.
In a daze, I let the year-five girls perform their Ariana-Grande-inspired dance and applauded wildly, though I did manage to get my head together enough to gently suggest it probably wasn’t a good idea to rework the nativity to include their performance.
As the bell rang, I marched back to my office and shut the door. I wanted some time to myself to think about what had happened.
I had been so stupid to sleep with Danny, I thought. What sort of idiot was I exactly? I hadn’t even made him work for it. All he’d offered was a bottle of wine and a cheeky grin, and I was inviting him in.
‘Bloody hell, Lizzie,’ I groaned aloud, putting my head in my hands. ‘Bloody, bloody hell.’
I sat like that for a while and then I straightened up again, looking at the picture of Esther.
‘Bet you’d never go so giddy over a man, Esther,’ I said. ‘Of course not. You were too busy supporting your sister suffragettes and starting schools. And now it’s up to me to finish what you started.’
I pushed my shoulders back and opened my emails, scrolling until I found the draft I’d written to Grant. With a flourish, I pressed send and listened in satisfaction to the little “whoop” noise it made as it went.
‘I’m going to take a leaf out of your book, Miss Watkins,’ I said. ‘I’m going to start focusing on what’s important instead of on stinky boys.’
‘Ahem.’
I looked up and saw the caretaker, Jeff, standing at my office door, holding a box.
‘Emma said it was okay to come in,’ he said, looking slightly sheepish.
Style it out, I thought to myself. I flashed him a dazzling smile.
‘Of course,’ I sang. ‘Come on in. It’s really lovely to see you.’
Perhaps that was a bit too much.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve got good news and bad news,’ he said, coming into the office properly and sitting down at my desk as I’d gestured. ‘Bad news first?’
‘Hit me,’ I said, grimacing.
‘There’s been surveyors round, over the weekend,’ he said. ‘Checking out the structure of the building and making sure it’s all sound. For a developer. I know we knew they were sniffing around but this seemed really official, you know? A few of them in high-vis vests, measuring bits.’
‘Son of a bitch.’
Jeff winced.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Bit of a shock, that’s all.’
‘I know. I wasn’t happy when they turned up. I tried ringing you and Paula to check what to do but there was no answer, so I had to let him in.’
I thought of us driving through the remote country lanes to Fiona’s house and nodded.
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘It’s not your fault.’
My mind was racing. Denise had obviously been right when she said things were moving faster than we’d anticipated.
‘Do you want the good news?’
‘Pardon?’
‘There is some good news.’
‘Please,’ I said, desperate for any tiny crumb he could give me.
‘I took one of them up into the attic,’ he said. ‘Not been up there in yonks. He was poking around the beams and whatnot and so I had a look at what else was in there and I found this.’
Triumphantly, he picked up the dusty box that he’d been holding on his lap and thumped it down on to my desk in a cloud of cobwebs.
I coughed. ‘What is it?’
‘Have a look.’
Not overly keen to touch the filthy box, I stood up and gingerly pulled open the top. Inside was a pile of paper.
I looked up at Jeff and he beamed at me.
‘It’s all stuff belonging to your Esther,’ he said. ‘I’ve not looked at all of it, but I reckon it could help with your campaign.’
‘Oh my God,’ I breathed. ‘It could be the letter.’
He shrugged. ‘There’s all sorts in there. Photos, letters, notes, accounts books. It’s a real find I reckon. Have a dig about and see what you can find. I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Thanks so much,’ I said. ‘This might be just what we need.’
I pulled out a bundle of papers and dumped them on to my desk. My heart was thumping. Could the missing letter be in here somewhere?
I leafed through two accounts books, smiling as I saw the cost of pens and ink, and of school dinners. Tucked inside one page devoted to food, was a page torn from a notepad on which someone – Esther I assumed – had written: ‘It is of the utmost importance that these children are given proper food at lunchtime and I will not countenance any suggestion otherwise.’
‘Whoa,’ I said to my silent friend in the photograph. ‘You were a feisty one.’
Under the accounts books was a bundle of pamphlets, magazines and newsletters, all dedicated to the subject of Votes for Women and all dated after Esther had started Elm Heath Primary.
Intrigued I flicked through the pages. She’d obviously not abandoned the fight altogether, I thought. Perhaps she’d kept up with what was happening with her friends in the suffragettes, or perhaps she’d even been writing for these magazines.
I picked up one and tried to find a mention of her name, but couldn’t see any Esther anywhere. I did, however, find several articles written by someone called Enid Whitehouse, both focusing on the importance of taking the suffragette cause into schools and getting the message about women’s rights to the younger generation.
‘Hmm,’ I said aloud. ‘Are you Enid? Were you spending your days at school and your evenings writing revolutionary literature under a pen-name, Esther?’
There was a bundle of photographs in the box, which I glanced through and set aside to look at properly another time, a folder containing what seemed to be job applications from potential teachers, all beautifully written in the most gorgeous copper-plate handwriting. I thought about the struggle to teach cursive to reluctant year twos and admired the t
eachers’ teachers for getting them to write such lovely script.
The bell rang for the end of the day, and I ignored it, so caught up in this glimpse into the history of Elm Heath, was I. I was getting a real sense of how exciting it was for Esther and her staff to start something new, and to feel like they were making a difference.
At the bottom of the box was a brown folder, tied with a faded red cord. I tried to untie the knot but couldn’t, so I snipped it with some scissors and opened it out, gasping in sheer delight as I realised what was inside.
It was all of Esther’s notes and plans for Elm Heath Primary. There were notes about the local children she’d observed, a rough hand-drawn map of the local area marking the other schools nearby – there weren’t many, sums and guesstimates about how many pupils they could expect and how many staff they would need, and there were several sheets of paper, each covered in lots of crossings-out and corrections, that were Esther’s draft of the missing letter. The letter she’d written to the council that had convinced them Elm Heath Primary was worthy of their support.
I smoothed out the papers and started to read. It was inspiring stuff – I could see why it won everyone over. She talked about how she’d spent six months supporting a friend who was recovering from an illness.
‘I was very kindly put up on Orchard Farm and there got to know the local children. They were bright and attentive, and eager to learn, but there were no schools close enough and no one cared if they attended or not. I came to realise they were in desperate need of education and more than that, I realised they wanted an education.
‘I began teaching lessons round the kitchen table in Orchard Farm and slowly the children were joined by friends, and their friends, and even their parents on occasion. There is a genuine and desperate need for a school in Elm Heath.’
I felt my eyes filling up as I got a glimpse into a world before everyone got to go to school. I thought about the kids I taught, who didn’t always want to be in the classroom, but always got something out of school eventually.
‘I believe passionately in giving everyone – be they men, women, of high birth or low – the opportunity to better themselves,’ Esther wrote.
The Secret Letter Page 17