The Secret Letter

by Kerry Barrett

  ‘I told you she was pregnant,’ I said, as I hit him over and over. ‘I told you, but you attacked her anyway. Her baby’s blood is on your hands.’

  ‘Get her off me,’ he shouted at his colleagues. ‘She’s a bloody madwoman. Get her off me.’

  I kept hitting him, wildly lashing out, until someone grabbed my arms from behind and twisted my wrist. I felt the bones crunch, agonisingly, and I dropped the truncheon as I cried out.

  ‘Oh, you’re in big, big, trouble, Miss,’ said a voice behind me. ‘Big, bloody trouble.’

  Roughly, I was pulled round to face the man holding me. And there, looking down at me, with an ugly sneer on his face, was Joseph.

  Chapter 35

  Lizzie

  2019

  Grant came. Of course he came. Even though I’d specifically told him not to.

  ‘I’ll come,’ he’d said on the phone. ‘I’m between contracts and I could do with a project to get my teeth into.’

  I’d bristled. ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m fine.’

  He’d carried on as though I’d not even spoken. ‘It’ll be great. Something new. Good for the old CV.’

  ‘Grant, listen to me. All I need is for you to let me have some of your media contacts. I can do the rest on my own.’

  There had been a pause. ‘Oh, Queenie,’ he said. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’

  That had been more than a week ago and I’d begun to think that I was off the hook. Perhaps he’d got another contract and his time was too precious to waste on a little school like Elm Heath. Or perhaps he’d – for once – listened to what I’d said.

  Then, as I sat at home one evening, going over the budgets for the after-school club and working out to my immense pride and pleasure that it was making a profit, I heard the familiar roar of Grant’s motorbike. Or, as I liked to call it, his mid-life crisis.

  ‘No,’ I said out loud, tilting my head so I could hear better. ‘He wouldn’t.’

  But he would and he did. The engine stopped and I heard footsteps on my path and then a loud knock at the door.

  I could pretend I’m not here, I thought. But my curtains were open to show off my, fairly pitiful admittedly, Christmas tree and my lights were on. There was no avoiding this one.

  Resentfully, I plodded to the door, wishing I’d not changed out of the dress I’d worn to school as soon as I got home. Instead I was wearing an oversized jumper that I thought might once have belonged to my brother, and faded leggings along with some thick socks and novelty slippers in the shape of yellow Minions.

  ‘Hello, Grant,’ I said, as I opened the door. ‘What a surprise.’

  Grant flashed me his best smile. ‘You don’t sound very surprised,’ he said. He bent and kissed me on the cheek, and the smell of his aftershave and the memories it triggered made me dizzy. I steadied myself against the wall. I’d loved him once and despite everything I was pleased to see him. Sort of.

  ‘You’re looking good.’ I was telling the truth. Grant had always been handsome, but he was the kind of man who got better-looking with every year that passed. His hair was properly salt and pepper now, and he’d grown a beard, which suited him.

  ‘So are you,’ he said. ‘Love the feet.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting company.’

  ‘Busy?’

  ‘Doing some budgets.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  I rolled my eyes but of course I was always going to let him in. I was weak where Grant was concerned. Always had been. He beckoned and I followed, without ever asking where we were going. It had taken all my strength to leave him, and even more strength to stay away. And now he was here, filling my hallway and looking at me in that same indulgent and slightly patronising way.

  ‘Are you annoyed with me?’ he said.

  I flopped down on the sofa, leaving all my budget notes and my laptop next to me so he’d have to sit in the chair.

  ‘Not with you,’ I said. ‘More with myself for imagining you’d listen to me, or trust me to do this on my own.’

  ‘Queenie,’ he said. He picked up my notes and my laptop and put them on the coffee table and sat down next to me. So much for that plan. ‘This isn’t about your little project. I wanted to see you.’

  ‘It’s not a little project. It’s a campaign to save a very important school.’

  Grant nodded. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just that to me, it’s not as important as you are.’

  ‘Balls.’

  He snorted with laughter. ‘There she is,’ he said. ‘My Queenie. Sweet-talking never worked with you, did it?’

  I smiled, despite myself. ‘No. And don’t call me Queenie.’

  Grant put his hand on my knee and I looked down at it and then up at him.

  ‘Grant,’ I said, warning him off. He, predictably, ignored me.

  ‘I miss you, Liz,’ he said glumly.

  ‘Right, like the women aren’t queuing up for you,’ I said. Because despite his flaws, Grant was a proper charmer. He was funny, and good-looking, and really clever. And when he fixed his eyes on you, you felt like you were the only person in the whole room – the whole world almost – that he was interested in. He had charisma. Chutzpah. Big Dick Energy. Whatever you wanted to call it. And women loved it. I couldn’t blame them – I’d been the same once.

  Now he shrugged. ‘There’s no one special,’ he said. ‘And it’s Christmas. Our first Christmas apart, Queenie.’

  I glared at him. ‘It’s our second Christmas apart,’ I said. ‘Last Christmas I was living with my mother, listening to her tell me for the millionth time about how well my bloody brother’s career was going, worrying I was never going to work again and crying every time I thought about how many lies you’d told me.’

  Grant did, at least, have the grace to look slightly embarrassed. ‘Second Christmas,’ he said. ‘Of course it is.’

  He shifted on the sofa.

  ‘Last year was a bit of a blur, if I’m honest.’

  I felt a sudden – and very small – flash of sympathy for him. He’d done things totally wrong, and he’d made everything about himself when it should have been about the kids at his school, but he wasn’t a bad man. Not really. At least, not completely.

  I patted his hand. ‘Drink?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  I gave him the first genuine smile I’d managed since he’d turned up. ‘I’ve got nothing here, but there’s a pub just down the road,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you head on down there, and get the drinks in, and I’ll get changed and be there in five.’

  It was what we always used to do when I was being slow at getting ready for a night out.

  Grant grinned at me. ‘Gin and slim?’

  ‘Please.’

  Wasn’t it funny how quickly you just slotted back into old habits?

  I took Grant to the front door and pointed him in the direction of the pub, then I took the stairs two at a time up to my bedroom. I didn’t want to take too long getting ready because I knew if I did, Grant would have made friends with everyone in the pub – that was the sort of man he was.

  I yanked off my scruffy sweater and leggings, pulled on the dress I’d worn to work, pulled it off again because it looked too head-teachery, and instead went for black jeans and a soft, slim-fitting, black jumper. My hair was wild but I didn’t have time to tame it, so I pulled it into a bun and added some sparkly earrings to stop me looking like a Russian spy. I squirted myself with perfume to disguise the smell of school dinners, whacked on some mascara and took a deep breath.

  ‘Stay strong, Lizzie,’ I said to myself. ‘He is not good for you. Get what you need and then send him on his way.’

  Despite my lightning-fast makeover, by the time I got to the Three Kings, Grant was standing at the bar, surrounded by people, telling a story that was making everyone – even bloody Nev the grumpy barman – laugh.

  I paused for a minute by the door, to gather myself and to roll my eyes without anyone seeing, a
nd then went over.

  ‘Lizzie!’ Paula’s husband Chris was in the group surrounding Grant. ‘Grant was just telling us you were on your way.’

  ‘You know me, Chris,’ I said through a forced smile. ‘I’m never one to miss out on a drink.’

  Grant reached over and handed me my gin. ‘Shall we grab a table?’ he said. He shook Chris by the hand, jovially. ‘Great to chat, Chris,’ he said. ‘Let me know about that round of golf. And Phil –’ he turned to another man who I’d seen around but never spoken to ‘– keep me posted on how your wife’s getting on, won’t you?’

  I raised my eyebrows at him as he slid into the chair opposite me.

  ‘Wife’s got cancer, poor git,’ he said. ‘But apparently the treatment’s going well.’

  ‘You’re something else,’ I said. ‘You’ve been here five minutes and you know everyone better than I do.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s not true,’ he said. ‘They were all singing your praises.’

  I was pleased. ‘Really?’

  ‘They said you’ve done wonders already and that you’re planning some big rally?’

  I nodded. ‘That’s what we need publicity for,’ I explained. ‘It’s a really good story. The woman who founded the school was a suffragette, so we’re drawing inspiration from her, doing a march and a rally, and trying to show the council how important the school is.’ I took a slug of gin. ‘Will you help?’

  Grant leaned forward across the table, his eyes gleaming. He loved a challenge. ‘Tell me everything.’

  It took a while but I filled him in on how lovely the children were, and how much everyone wanted to keep Elm Heath Primary open. And I told him about the developers sniffing round, and that the surveyor had been to visit, and he frowned.

  ‘It doesn’t sound good, Liz.’

  I lifted my chin. ‘I know, but it’s not fair that they’re just acting as if the Elm Heath kids don’t matter. They’re such a lovely bunch and for all the fancy big houses there are round here, there are a lot of vulnerable kids too. I don’t want them to have to schlep into Blyton every day, where no one knows them.’

  Grant was staring at me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just, you,’ he said. ‘I always loved how much you cared about the kids.’

  I looked down into my empty glass, embarrassed by the affection I could see in his eyes. ‘Don’t,’ I said. This was already too complicated. Keen to deflect his attention away from me, I pushed back my chair, and stood up. ‘Another drink?’

  Grant nodded. ‘Same again, please.’

  I picked up our empties and weaved through the tables to the bar. I’d just ordered when I felt a hand on my back and turned, expecting to see Grant. But it was Danny.

  ‘Lizzie,’ he said. ‘How are you?’

  I looked up at him. What to say? That I’d spent a week berating myself for sleeping with him when he was obviously seeing someone else? That I had seen him around the village a few times and deliberately gone the other way to avoid a situation just like this one? That my ex-husband had just rocked up and was making it quite clear that if I fancied rekindling things, he’d be up for it? Instead I said nothing. I just smiled.

  ‘Listen,’ Danny said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  Our hands were next to each other on the bar, my left hand close to his right. He stretched out his little finger and hooked it round mine. The touch of his skin on mine had an immediate effect on me, sending heat rushing to my face – and elsewhere.

  ‘I’ve fucked everything up, but I’m sorting it, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘Trust me?’

  I pulled my hand away from his. ‘How can I trust you now?’

  I felt his eyes on my back as I took the drinks Nev handed me and headed back to the table, slopping some of Grant’s beer as I plonked down the glasses.

  ‘Easy,’ Grant said. He leaned back in his chair and looked at me carefully. ‘Are you okay?’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine.’ I forced a smile.

  ‘Who was that you were speaking to at the bar?’

  I pretended not to remember. ‘Speaking to? Erm …’

  Glancing round, making out I was checking to see who’d been there, I accidentally caught Danny’s eye. He was still watching me, though he was chatting to Phil and Chris.

  Quickly I looked away. ‘Oh that’s Danny,’ I said casually. ‘Just a parent.’

  Grant narrowed his eyes. ‘Just a parent?’ he said. ‘No one special?’

  I swallowed. ‘No,’ I said. ‘No one special.’

  Chapter 36

  Lizzie

  Grant didn’t stay with me. I was weak when it came to him, but not that weak. Instead he made himself comfy in a room above the Three Kings and arranged to come into school at lunchtime the following day to meet the staff.

  I’d not even taken my coat off the next morning when Paula arrived in my office.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ she demanded, handing me a coffee. ‘Chris says your Grant was in the pub?’

  I hung my coat up, and sat down at my desk, groaning. ‘He turned up on my doorstep with no warning,’ I said. ‘I knew it was a mistake telling him about Elm Heath. He’s like a dog with a bone, that man. He loves a challenge.’

  ‘Is he going to help?’

  ‘He thinks it’s difficult but he didn’t say no. He’s coming into school at lunchtime to meet you all.’

  Paula looked thrilled. ‘Chris says he’s really nice.’

  ‘Yes, well, he is,’ I said bluntly. ‘Just don’t marry him.’

  She leaned forward across my desk. ‘Is it tricky, seeing him again?’

  I sighed. ‘You know the expression “rubbing salt in the wound”? Let’s just say I’m living it.’

  ‘That bad?’ Paula grimaced. ‘What about Danny? Have you seen him?’

  I’d not told Paula anything about me and Danny since our trip to visit Fiona. I’d not told her about him spending the night, nor about me overhearing him on the phone – it just all seemed a bit embarrassing. Now I looked away from her enquiring gaze.

  ‘He was in the pub last night, actually,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think that’s going to work out, you know. We’ve both got a lot on …’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Paula.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  She looked at me, head tilted to one side. ‘It means, I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth,’ she said. ‘Either you’re hiding something about Danny, or you’re still in love with Grant. Or both.’

  I felt my cheeks colour. ‘Not true,’ I said. ‘I’m definitely not still in love with Grant.’

  ‘Really?’

  I nodded, more firmly than I felt. ‘Him being around is strange, and unsettling, and yes he knows how to push my buttons,’ I said. ‘But honestly, that ship has sailed.’

  I thought about the electricity that had zinged through me when Danny touched his little finger to mine, and felt my cheeks glowing again. ‘That ship has sailed,’ I said again.

  ‘And what about Danny’s ship?’

  I shrugged, not knowing where to begin with Danny.

  Paula opened her mouth to talk, just as the bell rang. ‘Saved,’ she said.

  I laughed in relief, glad I’d avoided an interrogation. ‘Go,’ I said. ‘But come to my office at lunchtime. I’ll introduce Grant to everyone.’

  The morning flew by. Because it was the last week of term, school was crazy. It was the nativity that week and I was really excited about seeing all the kids show their parents how hard they’d been practising. There was a festive feel to the whole place with decorations in all the classrooms and the children just one notch away from being totally out of control. I was really loving it.

  I was just writing a list of local dignitaries we wanted to invite to the nativity when Grant appeared in my office. He always came into a room like he was expecting a fanfare. I’d forgotten how annoying it was.

  ‘Morning,’ I said, glancing up from my list. ‘Have a seat,
I just need to finish this.’

  I added the name of the chair of governors even though we’d emailed his invitation weeks ago, then wrote “another name, and another name, and another one” at the bottom, just to stretch out the time I was taking. And then I finally looked up. Grant was sitting opposite me, watching me and smiling.

  ‘Nativity plans?’ he said.

  ‘Local bigwigs who we should invite.’

  ‘Let’s have a look.’ He reached out for my notepad and I whisked it away before he could see the fake names I’d written, dropping it into my drawer and slamming it shut.

  ‘Won’t mean anything to you.’

  Grant leaned back in his – my – chair and surveyed the room. ‘It’s a nice school,’ he said. ‘Tiny.’

  ‘It’s a lovely school.’

  ‘Kids seem well-behaved.’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘What about the staff?’

  ‘They’re well-behaved too.’

  He grinned and I softened.

  ‘They’re all coming to meet you.’ I checked my watch. ‘Any minute, actually.’

  Right on cue, Paula knocked on my doorframe. ‘Knock, knock,’ she called, even though the door was open and she had also actually knocked.

  ‘Paula,’ I said. ‘Come in. Grant, this is my deputy, Paula. You met her husband Chris last night. She teaches reception.’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Grant, standing up and giving Paula his best smile. ‘You’re a better person than I am. Is it all potty training and phonics?’

  I knew for a fact that Paula hated when people reduced teaching reception to sounding out letters, so I braced myself for a rude comment from her, but instead she beamed at Grant.

  ‘Luckily I’ve got a TA for the toilet trips,’ she said.

  ‘Wise woman,’ Grant said. ‘So, your husband was saying that your daughter is doing her A Levels …’

  Paula started talking about Chloe and I smiled. Grant knew how to get someone chatting, that was for sure. He was good at asking questions and being genuinely interested in other people’s lives. It was why he was so popular with the kids and staff at the schools he’d worked in, and why they all adored him. It was just a shame he got carried away with all that hero-worship and started firstly to believe his own hype and then to push things to the limit to stay on his pedestal.