by K T Bowes
Emma gritted her teeth and yanked her head away, wincing at the pain as Rohan kept hold of her ponytail. He fixed the hair tie and pinned her by the shoulders, forcing her back into his chest. “Da?”
“You need to contact me but it doesn’t matter that I can’t contact you! I’ve no idea where you’ll be or if you’re safe, but that’s ok - as long as you can contact me.” Emma wriggled free, cursing herself for her temper. “Just go, Rohan!”
“Nyet! I don’t want to leave this way, not with us bor’ba, Emma. I don’t want to drive away when we’re fighting. Last time that happened you were gone when I returned.”
“You’re not driving; you’re leaving in a taxi.” Emma pouted, knowing she was being facetious. It pained her but she couldn’t seem to stop. Yesterday’s clothes lay on the rug by the bed, condemning her with the smashed phone inside the pocket. She thought of Rohan choosing it in the shop, gift wrapping it with his careful fingers and felt her betrayal of him like a knife in her chest. The breath came as a sob and she pressed her hand over her lips to suppress it.
“Emma, nothing will happen this time. No kidnappers, no double crossing computer guys and no danger. I’ll be home soon and I won’t take another job until the baby comes. I’ll sit at my desk and crunch numbers for the bean counters but I’ll do no retrievals. Ok?” Rohan lifted her chin with his finger and Emma blinked, feeling stray tears roll down her cheeks. She nodded and they plopped onto the wooden floor. “Oh, Em!” Rohan crushed Emma into his chest, ignoring the lipstick smear across his clean shirt. “You need to explain how you’re feeling, dorogaya. This is where we went wrong before.”
“If I tell you how I feel, Ro, will you stay? I don’t want you to go and I’d beg you if I thought you’d listen.” Emma wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, cursing as black mascara streaked the skin.
Rohan shook his head in exasperation and let her go. He wrapped his hand around the corner post of the huge bed and rested his forehead against it. The rose coloured drapes hanging from the oak rail shivered at his touch. “Where’s this coming from? It’s too late now, Em. You know how this works. I’ve taken the advanced payment so I have to go; I don’t have a choice.” Rohan closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He banged his forehead lightly against the heavy oak and shook his head in frustration.
“This is never gonna work.” Emma’s voice sounded flat. “I can’t keep living this way. I want security. Nicky needs a father and so does this baby.” She smoothed her hand across her stomach, hope dying in her eyes.
Rohan ran his fingers through his hair and looked aghast. “This is ridiculous, Em! You can’t dump our marriage over a miscommunication!”
“It’s the same bloody miscommunication every damn time though!” Emma shouted. “You left me pregnant with Nicky and now you’re doing the same again.”
“I didn’t leave you!” Rohan’s anger spilled over, his eyes flashing with fury. “Stop saying that! I was deployed and I didn’t know you were pregnant! Don’t let Nicky hear you say that? Are you trying to destroy my relationship with my son?”
Emma shook her head. “No.”
Rohan flicked his thumbnail on his teeth and paced. “You asked me not to take the job after Christmas and I didn’t, did I?”
“No.”
“You knew I met a contact in London last week, yet you said nothing until now. Why?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t just the job after Christmas; I was asking you not to take any more jobs. Not ever.” She shrugged and wiped her nose on her hand. “You did it anyway.”
Rohan exhaled loudly and looked up at the ceiling. “Der’mo!” He banged the side of his fist against the bed post. “No more jobs ever? Like, retire?”
Emma nodded. “We both nearly died last time you took a retrieval job, Ro. Nicky almost ended up an orphan.”
Rohan sighed and watched his wife as her fingers writhed against each other in an agony of suppressed emotion. “Emma, listen. I’m sorry, ok. I didn’t understand.”
They both jumped at the sound of small feet thundering up the stairs. “Dad!” Nicky’s voice yelled. “Daddy! The taxi’s comin’. I pressed the button and let him in.” His blue eyes were wild as he ran into the room, stopping at the sight of his parents standing stiffly apart. He hovered, looking awkward with one foot covering the other. “I shouldn’t have done it, should I?” The child looked anxious. “I didn’t know what to do so I let it in.”
“It’s fine, Daddy needs to go.” Emma turned a wooden smile on her son. “Thanks baby. Get your coat and shoes on and we’ll head off to school. Please can you give Farrell some biscuits and then let him out?”
Nicky looked unsure. His eyes went from Rohan to Emma and the years of it being just him and his mother won through. He walked along the corridor and Emma heard him slide down the bannister, exactly like she asked him not to a million times. Emma swallowed.
“We’ll talk about this when I get back.” Rohan’s face was blank but the vein in his neck ticked, revealing his stress. “I will be back, Emma, I promise.” His blue eyes flashed.
Emma shrugged and Rohan took a step towards her. Her eyes strayed towards the broken phone, nestling in the folds of her clothes. Now she couldn’t even show him the foundation of her terror; the text messages hidden in the broken glass and crushed plastic. Rohan’s hand felt rough on her face as he caressed her cheek. “What’s this really about, Em?”
She stared at the fireplace, the ashes cold and dead in the grate, as numb as she felt. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she replied, a sad smile lifting her lips.
His thumb stroked the soft place under her eye and Rohan leaned in and pressed his lips over hers. “Vy kogda-nibud’ mne doveryat’?” His voice was a whisper as he asked her if she ever trusted him. “How can I earn it?” he questioned, waiting for Emma’s damning answer. She shrugged again, grinding her teeth until it hurt.
The doorbell sounded downstairs in the cavernous hall and Rohan’s hand jerked on Emma’s face. She put her left hand up to brush his fingers away and Rohan clasped it, lifting it to his lips. “You have no ring,” he said quietly. “Nyet obruchal’noye kol’tso. I married you and gave you no ring. No wonder you don’t trust me. I’ll make it right, Emma, I promise. I’ll be home soon. Wait for me, da?”
Despite herself she nodded, wanting to cling to his legs and stop her beautiful husband leaving.
‘Don’t let him leave.’
She failed. Fear washed over her as she listened to his heels click along the floorboards and down the stairs. “I didn’t let him leave,” she whispered. “I just couldn’t stop him.”
Chapter 4
“I need to go to my office, Nicky. Just kiss me and join your class.” Emma waved her arm towards Kaylee’s hopeful expression but Nicky clung to her leg and pressed his face into her coat. “Nicky if it’s about this morning, everything’s fine. Daddy’s coming back.”
“No, it’s not.” Nicky shook his head against Emma’s stomach and she cringed at the pressure.
“What then? I need to start work, love. Mr Dalton will get cross.”
Nicky lifted his head, his eyes sparkling like pale blue diamonds. “Mr D is never cross and I’m waitin’ for someone.”
“Who? Kaylee’s waiting for you, so it’s rude to ignore her. Come on, Nicky, your class is lined up to go inside. Quick!”
“Oh!” Nicky’s face lit up like a sunbeam. “Here she is!”
Emma’s mouth dropped open as the elderly lady hauled a suitcase up the huge step into the walled playground. She wore a pair of exceedingly wrinkled knee high tights and her white knees were bare as the wind tugged at her tweed skirt. Skater shoes adorned her tiny feet, the tongue sticking up to her shins and she walked with a swagger. Her purple knitted hat sported a pom pom almost as big as a second head and her pale mackintosh flapped around her thighs, the belt dragging along the dirty floor. “Here I am, here I am!” she sang, spotting Nicky and making a beel
ine for his shining face.
“Freda!” He abandoned Emma and wrapped his arms around the woman in her ninth decade, hugging her slight frame until she nearly toppled. “Look, Mum. What a surprise, it’s Freda!”
Emma scoffed. “What a surprise my a...armpit!” She glared at her son. “What’s the story young man?”
“Nicky kindly invited me to stay at Wingate Hall while Rohan’s away; so I packed my bag and here I am.” Freda patted the suitcase with too much force and it fell over with a slap onto the playground.
“Did he?” Emma turned her forced smile onto Nicky, who winced.
“I should join my class,” he said with an angelic pout of pure innocence. “Mrs Clarke will sit on me if I’m late.” He leaned in towards Freda and whispered confidentially. “They never found the last kid she sat on.”
“Oh, he’s probably still up there,” Freda whispered.
Emma pointed her finger at the line of bouncing six-year-olds and Nicky joined them, pushing in to stand next to his best friends, Kaylee and New Mo.
“I love his little black friend,” Freda said with far too much volume and indignant adult faces turned in their direction. Emma pursed her lips and hoped her new job at the school lasted past today. “Coo-ee, Mo!” Freda waved to Mohammed and he smiled and waved back.
“Freda,” Emma began. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m happy for you to come and stay with us, but I have to work until lunchtime. Why don’t I leave your suitcase in the staffroom and pick you up from your apartment when I’m finished?”
“Oh no, that won’t do at all!” Freda exclaimed, grinning at Emma. Her top set of false teeth clacked onto the bottoms creating a ghoulish expression. She shoved them back up with a gnarled finger. “I’m here to help you, dear.”
“Help?” Emma gulped and felt sick.
“Yes! Nicky said you’re going through old photographs and records for the 150th anniversary.” Freda waved her arm to take in the expansive school building with its apex roof and Georgian windows. “This was my school. I can probably name everyone in the photos from 1930 to 1935 and many more besides. Mother came here too and my stepfather, God rest his rotten redheaded soul, so I’ll recognise people from the town.” Freda crossed herself in a traditional Catholic movement and winked. Emma knew she was Anglican.
The archivist in Emma desperately wanted to lock Freda in the office and not let her out until she’d named every last photo, but the realist in her prevailed. “I’ll have to check it’s ok with the headmaster,” Emma began, halted by Freda’s shriek.
“They’re going in, they’re going in!” The old lady battled her suitcase into an upright position and wheeled it up the ramp, following Nicky’s gyrating class of fidgets. She joined the back of the wobbly queue and farted so loud, it must have hurt. Thirty children let out snorts and giggles and Emma put her hand up to her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache.
Mr Dalton was happy for Freda’s help, thrilled with the prospect of two archivists for the price of one. “Ooh yes,” he said, sounding enthusiastic. “I’ll just grab a police check form for you.” He bustled down the corridor and promptly forgot.
“A police check?” Freda sounded horrified. “Does he think I’ll steal the photos?”
“No, not at all. Everyone who works with children needs to be police checked.”
“But we won’t be working with children, just photos.”
“Yes, but we might see the children; and this office is right next to the Year 1 and 2 toilets, so we’re bound to bump into a few.”
“Ohhhh.” Freda looked doubtful. “I don’t think I want to help them to the toilet. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“It’s fine,” Emma reassured her. “You won’t have to.”
A low hammering on the door made Freda jump in fright. “Are the police here to do their checks?” she squeaked. “I couldn’t get my corset done up to the top, so I’m underdressed.”
“It’s just Sam. He fetches boxes for me. I can’t lift them from the attic so he gets them. This is his office.” Emma flung the heavy door open and admitted the puffing caretaker as he peered over two large boxes filled with photo frames.
“Just these?” he asked, laying them on the bench and bending double to catch his breath.
“Thank you.” Emma patted him on the shoulder and he reddened in embarrassment.
“Hi, Sam,” Freda said and simpered like a teenager. She fluttered her eyelashes and beamed at the young man. “How old are you?”
“I’m er...I’m...” He gulped at the sight of the old lady in the strange shoes. Then he pointed. “Do they have wheels that pop out the bottom so you can skate?”
“Oh, I’m not sure.” Freda plopped into a chair and tried to lift her foot. Her tweed skirt slithered upwards revealing skinny white knees and a pair of bloomers. Emma stared, wondering if she could display them at the anniversary celebration. They looked old enough.
Sam looked to Emma for help. “Sam’s thirty two, Freda. He came to this school as a little boy and works here. He’s married.”
“That’s nice.” Freda peered at the sole of her shoe. “Will you help me skate on these shoes, young man?”
“No way!” Emma panicked. “You’re ninety years old. Don’t be crazy; you’ll fall and break something!”
“Maybe not.” Freda smiled and her teeth did the strange clacking thing again.
Emma stared hard at Sam and jerked her head towards the old lady. “Don’t even go there. It won’t be as funny as you might think.”
“Oh, he could put me in the tube. Do you think you could do that, young man? Can you fit me in the tube?”
“Tube?” Sam looked sick, his ruddy skin pinking again.
Emma’s eyes widened in horror. “Not YouTube?”
“Yes, that’s it. I want to be on your tube, skating on my shoes. Let’s get the little wheels out.” Freda scrabbled around on Sam’s desk and retrieved a large screwdriver.
“No!” Sam and Emma lurched for the screwdriver at the same moment but he got there first, moving sharp objects out of Freda’s way with frantic, haphazard shoving actions.
The door burst open and Mr Dalton stood in the gap, his tie resting over his left shoulder where the wind blew it as he chased a Year 3s drawing. “What on earth..?” he started, appalled by the sight of his archivist and caretaker laying into a defenseless old lady.
Emma and Sam darted backwards to reveal the elderly school visitor brandishing a long screwdriver in her gnarled hand. “Bloody ‘ell!” he squeaked, clapping his hand over his mouth and looking around him guiltily at the impromptu slip in decorum. He waved the police check form in Emma’s direction. “I’m not ‘appy about this, Mrs Andreyev!” His Welsh lilt lifted his voice a few octaves and Emma bit her lip and looked crossly at Freda.
“She’s got wheels under her shoes,” Sam offered, snatching the screwdriver from Freda’s hand. “We don’t think it’s a good idea for her to use them.”
“Noooo!” Mr Dalton’s eyes bugged and his lips puckered into an angry pout. “Certainly not! Riding any wheeled device is not permitted in our school!”
Freda looked disappointed and Sam leaned in towards the headmaster, speaking in an undertone of confidentiality. “Someone’s already superglued them in.”
“Oh!” Freda hooked her leg over her thigh and peered at the sole of her shoe, looking disappointed. The bloomers went on show again and Mr Dalton looked scandalised.
“I’ll keep her in here,” Emma said, screwing her face up in apology. She reached for the flapping form and Mr Dalton let it go, a look of concern on his face.
“Ok, then,” he said. He whipped around in his usual high speed fashion and disappeared. The heavy door clicked shut and Emma heard him talking to a child in the corridor. “Oooh, lovely hair tie, Emily Parry. Verrrrry impressive.”
“That was close.” Sam looked at Freda through narrowed brown eyes. “I’ve only had this job a term and I don’t want to lose
it.”
Freda ignored him, picking at the sunken wheels with a lined fingernail. She shook her head and the bobble on her hat wobbled like a loose boulder as she smiled up at Emma. “Can we look at the photos now dear? I want to see if my stepfather was as ugly a child as he was an adult, God rest his rotten redheaded little soul.” She crossed herself again and Sam pulled a face and stepped back. He lifted a folder with the label, ‘Maintenance Book’ emblazoned on the front and skirted Freda to reach a set of keys hanging from a hook. His face was pure misery as he stuffed the keys into his overalls pocket and left the room.
Emma sighed. “Freda, you need to behave if you’re staying with me this morning. Sam’s sharing his office because there’s nowhere else. If I get offside with him, I’ll have to leave.”
“Sorry dear.” Freda looked momentarily contrite. “Can we look now?”
Emma dragged a large, collapsing cardboard box towards her. The sides bent to reveal several photographs in frames, the glass covered in a patina of tiny black flies and mildew. “When was your stepfather here?” she asked.
“Around 1914, I think. He might be hard to spot in the sepia photos. Everyone’s hair will look red or brown.” Freda sounded wistful. “I’d recognise my mother perhaps.”
“Did everyone go to school?” Emma asked. “I thought your mother was in service.”
Freda nodded and reached for the first photograph, pulling it from the rickety box with shaking fingers. Her brow crinkled in a mix of emotions as she wiped a thick screed of dust from the glass. Emma opened her mouth to urge the old woman to watch her fingers and stopped. Freda hadn’t got to ninety by being told what to do. “It was illegal to employ children until they were thirteen, but my grandmother worked as Mrs Ayers maid so Mother went along most weekends and after school to help. My grandfather worked on the land and the family lived in a cottage with the other house workers. Grandmother was determined Mother should become a lady’s maid and taught her everything she needed to know to take over from her. Mother was a clever girl and had her heart set on becoming a teacher. She was selected as a pupil-teacher after the testing but her parents forced her into service. She never forgave them and when the lady’s maid to the youngest Ayers girl died unexpectedly, Mrs Ayers employed Mother. Poor Mother wanted to see the school year out but they removed her a day after her fifteenth birthday. Desperately unhappy, she found sympathy with Lady Celia, who was Mother’s age. Lady Celia didn’t treat her like her maid but as an equal, which is possibly where it all went wrong. The fanciful girl believed Mother and Geoffrey Ayers were in love and facilitated their meetings in locations around the house. I was conceived in the laundry room.”