Another Chance, Another Life

by Another Chance, Another Life (retail) (epub)

  ‘Is that why you have been so crabby, these last two weeks?’

  ‘Have I?’ David picked up his keys. ‘Sorry, Sal,’ he said. ‘Yes, I love her – I’ve been miserable since we had the row.’

  ‘Over me?’

  David shrugged. ‘Over both of us. We made things impossible for her – it’s been so difficult, adjusting to living after your mum died.’

  She came over to take his hand, in an instinctive role reversal.

  ‘Mum’s dead,’ she said. ‘We can’t change that. I’ve tried.’

  ‘Me too. Hundreds of times. Wakening up, dreaming it was a mistake . . . that there was a simple explanation of why she’d simply dropped out of our lives.’

  ‘Then you waken, and it feels so bad. Like she has just died again.’

  David nodded numbly. ‘You too?’ he asked.

  ‘All the time.’

  A silence grew, lengthened.

  ‘So, what are we going to do about it?’ he finally asked.

  Tears rolled down Sally’s cheeks. ‘Accept that Mum’s dead,’ she said.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I don’t know. Only that we can’t bring her back. And that what Kathy shouted, that time, was true. Mum wouldn’t have wanted us to bury ourselves beside her, stop living. So we have to start again, and learn to live without her. And maybe that means letting other people into where she once was, in our hearts.’

  David looked quizzically at his daughter. ‘Deep thoughts for a 10-year-old,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Not mine, from Mum’s favourite symphony,’ she replied. ‘Mahler’s Symphony Number 2 – “Death, and Resurrection” – where the melody comes out from the darkness, and steps into sunshine again. Mum was always playing that to me.’

  He found himself smiling. ‘How do you remember all this?’

  ‘Because what she taught is all I have left of her.’

  David wrapped his arms tightly around his daughter. They hugged in gentle silence, until she pushed herself away.

  ‘Kathy was right about me,’ she said. ‘I loved every minute of being up there, on stage, and singing. Maybe she’s right about you too. Maybe Mum sent her here, to look after both of us, because she couldn’t bear to watch us struggling on our own.’

  He tried to gather her back into his arms again, unable to speak.

  She pushed herself away. ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s too late,’ said David. ‘The damage done.’

  ‘Think Mahler,’ she told him. ‘Life always triumphs over death. Love never dies. Have you Kathy’s phone number?’

  David grimaced. ‘We always started arguing, before we got that far.’

  She pushed him through the door. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s drive over to her supermarket. We can ask them if they have her contact number. Refuse to leave, until they tell us. She won’t just have run away.’

  David spun her round. ‘Sally,’ he said, ‘Kathy was right about you. You are a star – and not just on stage.’

  After school, Becky found Kathy leaning on the bridge across the canal and staring up at the hills. ‘Haven’t you got used to them yet?’ she teased.

  Kathy jumped. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  Becky leaned on the low stone bridge beside her. ‘Why don’t you phone him?’ she asked quietly. ‘He must be wondering where you are.’

  ‘We never got round to swapping phone numbers,’ Kathy said.

  ‘I can’t believe that!’

  ‘It’s true. We were either running, or visiting . . . or having a row.’

  ‘So how does he get in touch? Or how do you get in touch with him?’

  Kathy shrugged. ‘I’m not really ready for that yet,’ she mumbled.

  ‘One day, one of you is going to have to make the effort.’

  Kathy turned away. ‘I’m going for a run,’ she said. ‘To clear my head of chalk dust and fretting about the inspection.’

  Becky sighed. When you’re happy and have found someone who fills your mind and heart, you want the whole world to be happy too. Especially your best friend. ‘The Pennine Way goes through the village,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how rough the track is, but people cycle it. And it would take you up into the hills.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Kathy. ‘More form-filling tonight?’

  ‘No – thank goodness. I’ll drop in and check Liza doesn’t need anything, then get home and start cooking our supper. It’s Noel’s night off. He and Henrietta are away to listen to a choir in Skipton tonight.’

  ‘In her coal lorry?’ A brave but hollow echo of Kathy’s normal quick humour.

  ‘I’d love to see them turning up in that! No, she has the use of a friend’s ancient car as well. Mike’s dropping in, for supper – like to join us?’

  ‘Three’s company – four’s a crowd.’

  ‘Don’t be daft – come along. You can prepare for tomorrow’s classes later – that’s what I’ll be doing.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Kathy turned from the bridge. ‘I’m off to climb into my running gear.’ She hesitated. ‘Becky – Mike is just about perfect for you. Make sure you get and keep his phone number. . . .’

  ‘I already have,’ said Becky. ‘It’s in my phone, it’s written down – and it’s memorized. A real belt-and-braces job!’

  ‘What’s Mike carrying?’ Jonathon asked, crossing the cabin and peering eagerly through the towpath windows. ‘It’s a bike!’

  He had exploded up the cabin steps and was out before Becky turned. She dried her hands, leaned forward to look through the windows, sighed, and went up to meet Mike. A well-used boy’s bike was draped over the broad shoulders, the frame and wheel rims cleaned until the sunlight glinted off them.

  ‘What have you done now?’ she asked resignedly.

  ‘It was going to waste,’ Mike said. ‘Her kid had grown out of it, and it was rusting in her garden. She was glad to sell it to me. It only cost a few pounds,’ he added. ‘My pleasure.’

  Jonathon was jumping all over him, like an eager spaniel. ‘It’s perfect!’ he shouted. ‘And it has real gears.’

  ‘It’s a Ridgeback MX20, twist-handle Derailluer,’ Mike told him. ‘A really good make,’ he added to Becky. ‘Years of solid use and wear in it. I’ll get some cycle paint and we can touch up the chips on the frame. But it’s all checked over and greased, with new brake blocks fitted.’

  Becky shook her head. ‘You’re spoiling him,’ she said. ‘You, and Noel.’

  Mike grinned. ‘You asked me to help him fit in at school. All boys have bikes – they’ll be living on them over the summer holidays. So it’s part of the treatment. . . .’ He was watching Jonathon swoop along the path, turn and head back, skidding to a halt on the clay of the path. ‘That saddle needs raising.’

  ‘No. It’s fine,’ protested Jonathon.

  ‘It’s not a BMX for trick work, it’s a proper cycle. You need to be able to straighten your legs as you pedal, or you’ll cramp. Bring it over . . . watch, this is how you release the saddle . . . that lever, open it, like this. Takes off the clamp pressure, and lets you ease the shank out. See?’

  The two heads were close together, absorbed in the work. Boys’ toys. In her mind, Becky put in the apostrophe for plural.

  Then Jonathon was off in a shower of grit.

  ‘What am I going to do with you, Mike?’ she demanded.

  ‘Marry me.’

  Becky’s heart stopped. ‘Is that a proposal?’

  ‘No, you’re not ready yet. Take it as a final warning. When the real proposal comes, I want candlelight and gypsy violinists, while I go down on one knee – that had better be my good one – and ask you over our shared bag of fish and chips.’

  ‘With salt and vinegar? No expense spared?’

  ‘You can even have pickled onion,’ he offered.

  ‘No onion,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re not buying my favours that way.’

  The laughing grey eyes became serio
us. ‘That wasn’t what the bike was about,’ he said firmly. ‘That was between Jon and me.’

  ‘I know.’

  She threw her arms round him, felt a hug which drove the breath from her body, then a gentle pat on the back.

  ‘What’s for dinner?’ he asked.

  ‘A surprise,’ she said. ‘As Noel will be surprised, when he comes home. I’ve been checking out where the fairies are leaving his booze and, do you know, there was a bottle of Shiraz waiting for us there.’

  ‘Fairies think of everything,’ Mike said solemnly.

  Kathy had run until she was ready to drop, along the narrow country lane leading onto the broad track which was the Pennine Way, up through fields and moorland, until she was high in the hills she had seen from Longbank. She stopped, set her hands on her knees and gasped for air. At the best of times, this would have taxed her severely, because she was more used to running on the flat, where speed and not strength was the essence. However, this was not the best of times and she had pushed herself mercilessly, trying to exorcize her demons.

  She felt the buzzer of her mobile phone tickle through her tracksuit pocket, then came the ringtone, rising in volume. Becky?

  Kathy fumbled out the phone, glanced at the number. Unknown.

  ‘Hello? Kathy?’

  It was a young girl’s voice. She recognized it instantly.

  ‘Sally?’

  ‘Yes – it’s me.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Kathy couldn’t believe the sense of panic she was feeling. ‘Has something happened to your dad?’

  ‘He’s fine. He’s here. He wants to talk to you. . . . I found your note. Oh, Kathy, you were right about so many things. Why did you go away and leave us?’

  Tears streamed down Kathy’s face. She fought for words, found silence.

  ‘Daddy wants to speak to you. Come back, please.’

  It was just as well the mobile phone was made of rugged materials, or it would have snapped in Kathy’s hand. A new voice came. . . .

  ‘Kathy? Where are you? Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m up on the Pennine Way,’ she told him. ‘Sweating out my troubles.’

  ‘You’ve been pushing hard. I can hear your breathing.’

  ‘Thin, clear air – and you should have seen the climb.’

  ‘I can imagine. But where are you?’

  ‘The back of beyond. A tiny place called Longbank, in North Yorks.’

  ‘What are you doing up there? Why did you leave? We had a heck of a job, getting the supermarket to release your mobile number. The manager wouldn’t give it; we only got it because one of the supervisors took a chance.’

  ‘Jean?’

  ‘I don’t know her name, but she’d seen us collecting you before.’

  A silence. High up over Kathy’s head a buzzard wheeled round and round, in a thermal. Her mind felt as if it was going round in circles too.

  ‘I got a phone call from a friend,’ she finally said. ‘They needed a teacher in the village school. There’s inspectors coming, and the head teacher was taken into hospital. They were in a mess and I came here to help her out.’

  Another silence. ‘How long will you be away, then?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The buzzard, now a tiny dot in the sky, glided away from its thermal towards the far end of the valley. Putting more distance between itself, and her. Was there a message for her in this?

  ‘Are you still there, Kathy?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sally’s right. We need you here. It’s going to take the three of us, to sort out where we go from here. Try to find our way from the darkness and back to the sunshine again. Please come home and let’s talk it through.’

  Kathy searched for her buzzard. It was gone. Like her tongue.

  ‘Kathy – I love you, dearly. I need you here. Things will be different, so much better, now.’

  She should have leapt into the air with joy. Instead, that now-familiar leaden feeling settled over her, despair where there should have been delight, doubt and depression where there should have been joy.

  ‘I can’t,’ she finally whispered. ‘I’m too messed up. I need time and space, to sort myself out. To think through where I am, and what I want to do with my life. I’ve never felt so confused and lost. Anyway, I can’t come now – can’t leave the others when they’re depending on me. Not with the inspectors due within the week. I’m sorry, David. I can’t come back – even if there weren’t any inspectors due, I still wouldn’t know what to say, how to handle us. Let me sort myself out. . . .’

  Eyes blurring, she closed her mobile phone and switched it off.

  No buzzard, anywhere. Right now, it felt as if it had taken away all hope with it. Why did she feel this way? Why cut him off, when he was saying the very words she ached to hear? Didn’t she want to go back and help David and Sally to build a new life?

  A life that included her?

  Kathy thrust the phone into her tracksuit pocket, and zipped it up. She looked at the track ahead, a rough mix of gravel and dried-out mud, weaving in and out of the rocks and boulders. Climbing ever higher, towards the blue sky. Once, she would have been unable to resist the challenge. But that day was over – and a new day had not yet begun.

  Kathy turned wearily away and began to run downhill, stumbling, because her eyes were looking but not seeing where she was going.

  ‘What are you doing here, Noel?’ Becky demanded.

  The tall frame ambled alongside her and leaned against the wall of the schoolhouse. ‘Solidarity,’ Noel said. ‘And there might be a scoop in it for me.’

  ‘ “School inspectors arrest temporary staff”?’

  ‘I was thinking more along the lines of “Coal merchant bags Ofsted inspectors.” ’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Henrietta. ‘I’m struggling to keep my breakfast down.’

  ‘Relax,’ said Pop. ‘The school hasn’t changed, and until now we’ve always won top grades. So let’s simply go in there and teach. Right, Kathy?’

  Henrietta craned her neck. ‘That’s not them, surely,’ she said. ‘It’s the village taxi. Who. . . ?’

  The taxi drew up at the school gates, and kids crowded round the school railings to watch. The driver came out, and helped an ashen-faced Liza Forbes through its doors.

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ groaned Henrietta. ‘Wait here. I’ll send her home.’

  ‘Fiddlesticks,’ said Liza. ‘I heard you, Henrietta Yates. This is my school too. Why has the bell not been sounded? Why are the children not in line?’

  ‘Oops!’ said Pop. He disappeared, and the school bell rang.

  ‘Stop fussing, Henrietta. I’m perfectly fine,’ snapped Liza.

  She reached the steps as the children lined up meekly in front of her. Liza surveyed them, as Wellington once must have studied his troops, then her back straightened, and she became every inch a head teacher.

  ‘We have inspectors coming today, children.’ Her calm voice carried over every inch of the schoolyard. ‘We are going to show them that this is a very special school. For you, as for your parents and grandparents. You are carrying a brave torch for tradition, and you will not let us down. You will behave quite normally, answering any questions you are asked promptly, telling the inspectors calmly and clearly what you know – which means no sudden flights of fancy, Deborah Fotheringham. . . .’

  This brought a snicker of laughter from the kids, and Deborah beamed.

  ‘Now, quietly into your classrooms. Lessons start in two minutes’ time.’

  Liza turned to Kathy and Pop. ‘Take the two classes, please. Becky and myself will handle the Chief Inspector. Henrietta, stop fidgeting.’

  ‘I’m nervous,’ Henrietta said.

  ‘Nonsense! What is there to be nervous about? Here they come.’

  A line of three private cars turned slowly into the village street and drove towards the school. Liza waited on the steps, her head spinning behind her stoic and determined stance. Two men and a
woman got out, and walked through the schoolyard to meet them.

  ‘I’m Miss Forbes,’ she said. ‘Head teacher of this school. Please follow me to my study, where you can tell us how you would like to run this inspection. Henrietta, could you organize us some tea, please?’

  The coal merchant stopped in her tracks, then a wry smile came onto her taut face. ‘Yes, Miss,’ she said – and ignored the scathing look this drew from Liza. Worth it, she thought gleefully. Feeling pretty much the urchin-in-trouble that she’d always been, when she was being taught here as a child.

  About half an hour later, the Ofsted Chief Inspector spread out the detailed paperwork underpinning the visit, the forms Liza and Becky had slaved over for weeks.

  ‘Everything that we need is here,’ he said quietly. ‘But, before we start, I feel bound to give you some advice. With your two core staff incapacitated on grounds of ill health, and the current teaching programme in the hands of young temporary teachers, you are entitled to ask for a postponement of the inspection. You appear to have coped admirably, and the children’s education has not suffered. But this formal inspection, once launched, must be carried out in a thorough and objective manner, no allowance made. I can easily refer back, and ask Ofsted to set a new date – probably in the autumn term. By then, you will have reorganized yourselves, and Miss Forbes will be fully fit and in post.’

  Henrietta looked at Liza Forbes. Who didn’t bat an eye.

  ‘I have every confidence in my school,’ she said calmly. ‘I have total trust in the quality and diligence of the staff who have been preparing the children for this inspection. I see no reason whatsoever, why the inspection should be postponed.’

  ‘Miss Yates, as Chairperson of the Trust?’

  Henrietta swallowed. ‘I agree with Miss Forbes. We are ready to be inspected, and look forward with confidence to the grade you will give us.’

  The Chief Inspector nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said quietly. ‘My colleagues will enter both your classrooms, while I shall start to take you rigorously through the Self Evaluation case that you have submitted to Ofsted. Can we begin, please?’

  Chapter 10

  Liza Forbes was struggling: the waves of dizziness were getting stronger, more frequent. Please not now, she pleaded silently . . . not here.