Another Chance, Another Life

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

  ‘Liza! Are you all right?’ Henrietta’s voice cut across the Chief Inspector’s last question, just as Liza’s head dropped forward. Becky caught her, when she slumped sideways in her chair.

  The Chief Inspector glanced over his glasses, and promptly swept their joint paperwork to the side, clearing the tabletop. ‘Lift her onto the table,’ he said, his voice calm and authoritative. ‘Get her head at the same level as her body – she’s fainted. Here . . . let me.’

  He took Liza’s body from Becky, lifting and laying her down onto the table top. Taking one of her hands, he gently patted her face. ‘Miss Forbes? Miss Forbes?’

  ‘I’ll get cold water,’ Henrietta said, flying from the room.

  ‘She’ll be fine – she’s coming round.’

  Liza’s eyelids fluttered, then opened to stare dazedly at the ceiling, and the faces looking down on her. Weakly, she tried to roll over and rise but was gently pushed back by the Chief Inspector.

  ‘Stay there,’ he told her. ‘Let the blood flow back into your brain.’

  Henrietta erupted into the room, with a glass of fresh water and a towel which left a trail of drips on the floor. ‘Is she. . . ?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Becky, holding one of Liza’s hands.

  ‘She shouldn’t have come here,’ Henrietta scolded. ‘She wasn’t fit.’

  Liza didn’t have the strength to answer back; nevertheless colour was returning to her face. She tried again to rise, and was held down gently for a second time by the Chief Inspector.

  ‘Let the blood circulate yet,’ he said. ‘Don’t rush.’

  ‘I’m perfectly fine,’ Liza protested weakly.

  ‘You’re anything but. . . .’ Henrietta snapped. ‘I’m taking you home, whether you like it or not. . . .’

  ‘But the inspection. . . .’

  Becky squeezed Liza’s hand. ‘You’ve drilled me through every sentence of our submission; and what I can’t answer, Henrietta or Pop will know. We’ll manage. Let Henrietta take you home – you’re in no fit state to answer questions.’

  ‘I’ll phone for a taxi,’ Henrietta said.

  ‘Here, take my car.’ The Chief Inspector produced a well-worn set of keys. ‘It’s all right,’ he smiled. ‘It’s an old Volvo – built like a tank and indestructible.’

  He eased Liza semi-upright and she struggled to sit up. ‘Easy, easy,’ he chided. ‘Give yourself time – or you’ll just flake out again.’

  He helped Liza down onto her feet. She swayed, but Henrietta’s sturdy frame propped her up.

  ‘Leave me alone, Henrietta,’ she said. ‘Stop fussing.’

  ‘Do what you’re told, for once. . . .’ But Henrietta was gentleness itself, as she half-steered, half-carried Liza from the room.

  The door closed behind them.

  ‘A well-matched team,’ the Chief Inspector smiled.

  ‘They are. There’s no better head teacher in the land for a school like this, than Miss Forbes. And nobody will fight harder for the school, its pupils and its staff, than Henr—Miss Yates.’

  Gathering his forms, the Chief Inspector arranged them carefully across the table. ‘I’m an ex-soldier,’ he said quietly. ‘I respect courage, wherever I find it, and in whatever form it takes. These two ladies of yours have a wonderful reputation that has reached even Ofsted. They are the heart and soul of this small school. Long may that continue.’

  He glanced up, apologetically. ‘However, now that we’ve started the inspection process, I have no other option but to complete it – but not until the Chairperson of the Trust has returned. So we have a choice. . . .’ The frosty blue eyes twinkled. ‘We can sit in silence for the next twenty minutes, or go off the record, be human, and have a chat. I vote for chatting. Tell me, how did you find adjusting to multiple-group teaching, after all your training and experience of much larger classes?’

  Becky hesitated: there is no such thing as a free dinner, and perhaps off-the-record chats fell into the same category.

  ‘Hey,’ the Chief Inspector smiled. ‘There’s no Dicta-phone running, no hidden cameras, no newspaper stings. I asked, because when I started teaching myself, it was in Northumbria. My first class had six pupils in it – each at a different stage. It was like preparing for six classes, every day, until I found a way to pick a topic that I could teach at six different levels. I was there for eight years, and they were the happiest years of my life. My wife keeps telling me to go back and pick up a stick of chalk again. . . .’

  Becky laughed. ‘We’ve plenty of chalk, feel free.’

  She found herself talking, liking the man. They chatted through the teaching issues of how best to merge curricula. She found herself telling him how Pop and Liza had dropped in, the first few days – not so much to check on what she was doing, as to make sure that she was coping and not needing help. ‘It was like having two guardian angels, watching over you,’ she finished.

  ‘How did you handle all the quasi-religious stuff that Cluny the founder brought with him into the school?’ he asked thoughtfully.

  ‘Pop – Mr Bailey – took that at first. Then I got interested, sat in on the discussions, and we’ve taken joint seminars from that point on. It’s the most interesting material I’ve ever taught. And these children are young enough to be completely open-minded. For generations, this school has turned out pupils who understand and accept sociocultural material from all around the world – leaving them able to see exactly where other nations are coming from, so that they can mix and work with people from other cultures. That can only be good.’

  The Chief Inspector nodded. ‘As a soldier, I served throughout the world and our narrow-minded attitude often appalled me. We have no monopoly of truth – or the right to rule others. . . .’

  ‘Who hasn’t?’ Henrietta pushed through the doors, handing over the car keys. ‘No fresh dents that I’m aware of,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Is Liza. . . ?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Tucked up in bed, protesting. A hot-water bottle beside her and a cup of tea and some biscuits within reach.’ Henrietta slipped back into her seat at the table. ‘Liza Forbes has willingly given her life to this school. It’s my responsibility, as Chairperson, to make sure she doesn’t do that too literally. Where are we?’

  The Chief Inspector smiled. ‘Waiting for you, ma’am,’ he said.

  ‘Right,’ said Henrietta. ‘I’m here. Fire away!’

  ‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake,’ snapped Liza. ‘Stop fussing, I’m not an invalid.’ She flapped a hand at Henrietta, who was tucking a travelling rug around her in the chair. Henrietta ignored her completely, and carried on.

  ‘How did the inspection go?’ Liza asked, over her head.

  ‘No howlers, I think,’ said Becky. ‘They did the general inspection this morning, while the Chief Inspector went through our submission with Henrietta and myself. Then he picked about twenty issues, where his team could check the accuracy of our claims during the afternoon. And while the other two were ticking off these points with Pop’s and Kathy’s classes, we held our meeting with the parents from our PTA and he systematically took them through how we had developed their greater level of involvement in school policy. They did us proud.’

  ‘And?’ Liza frowned, furious with herself for failing to last the course.

  ‘Then they packed away their pens and papers, shook our hands, smiled nicely, and drove off. Job done.’

  ‘No hints of their decision?’

  ‘Is there ever?’ Henrietta grumbled. ‘They leave you to chew your nails, and wait. It will be weeks, before we know.’

  ‘If there was anything doubtful, the Chief Inspector would have surely probed it further,’ Liza murmured. ‘No follow-up questions? He didn’t come back to check anything, did he?’

  Becky shook her head. ‘Just to thank us for looking after them.’

  Liza turned to Kathy: ‘How did things go at classroom level?’ she asked.

  ‘Easier than I expected,’ Kathy said. �
�The woman inspector was really nice – she sat in on my classes all morning. She and the second inspector went through the project work with me over lunchtime, and he came in to question the children about that in the afternoon. Both of them knew their teaching – they stayed quiet, and any questions they asked helped the lesson to move along. The kids were great – even Deborah. My heart was in my mouth every time they picked on her. But she was a real trouper today, never put a foot wrong.’

  ‘Stop worrying, Liza,’ Henrietta scolded.

  ‘I’m not worrying. I’m simply trying to get a feel of how things went.’

  The doorbell rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ Becky said. She walked through Liza’s neat hallway, and opened the door. Pop stood there, round and benign, carrying a huge box of chocolates.

  ‘How’s Liza?’ he asked.

  ‘Not well enough to eat all these.’

  ‘Then we’ll maybe have to help her.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Liza’s voice came through.

  ‘Me,’ said Pop. ‘I came to check that they were looking after you, and to tell you that we owe a huge debt to these two young substitutes who came on off the bench and scored for us. Here’s a box of chocolates, to help you celebrate.’

  ‘Teacher’s pet,’ scoffed Henrietta. ‘What kind of chocolates?’

  ‘Her kind of chocolates,’ Pop smiled. ‘Posh Belgian.’

  ‘Drat,’ said Henrietta. ‘I like the ones from York.’

  Kathy came running lightly down the lane, enjoying the fresh breeze and the last of the afternoon sunshine. The stress of the inspection was behind her and its tension sweated out by the run. For the first time in weeks, she felt almost at peace with herself. As if, somewhere deep in her mind, she had worked out where she stood and what she wanted from life.

  A strange feeling: a decision made, without her aware of any details.

  Her feet skipped lightly over the loose stones, and she felt she could run like this forever. Out of nowhere, she found herself wondering if she should try to phone David when she got home. She would have his number on her Received Calls log. She could simply scroll to that and ring, that should do it.

  Or would it? Was she ready to go back to Southport and try again, knowing that the pattern might still be two steps forward, and one back – could she take that, with all its bruised feelings of anger, and frustration?

  Surely, it was worth one last attempt. After all, she was fighting for her future. Her stride lengthened, bringing the village into sight. As she approached the canal, she saw a familiar car parked in the broad space between the pub and the bridge. She faltered, and came to a halt, as the car doors opened.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her heart in her mouth.

  ‘Waiting for you,’ David said. ‘We went to your school, and one of the locals said he’d seen you go off running. You’re looking good.’

  ‘I’m a mess,’ said Kathy.

  ‘Have you been up into the Dales?’

  ‘Too easy. I’ve been running up the Pennine Way, among the tops.’

  ‘Bet I would have beaten you,’ he said.

  ‘In your dreams!’

  They shared their first real smile in weeks.

  David came over and took her hands. ‘We couldn’t wait any longer. It was Sally who said that we should climb into the car and keep driving until we found you and brought you home.’

  Sally had been standing behind her father. Now, she hesitated, then came slowly forward. As if she was making a huge and conscious effort to close the gap between them – a gap far wider in its emotional implications than in distance.

  Instinctively, Kathy freed a hand, and held it out. The gesture seemed to take away any final barrier: Sally slipped inside and Kathy’s arm went naturally around her shoulders. She squeezed gently and felt answering pressure from Sally’s arms round her waist.

  ‘Please come home,’ said Sally. ‘I’m sorry I was so naughty, before.’

  ‘That goes for both of us,’ smiled David.

  ‘Me too,’ said Kathy. ‘I have my Irish grandmother’s temper.’

  They walked slowly towards the car, arms round each other.

  ‘Will you come back, then?’ asked Sally. ‘I just want him happy. He’s been miserable without you. Mum wouldn’t have wanted that.’

  Now that the decision point had come, the last shreds of doubt disappeared from Kathy’s mind. This was the man she wanted to share her life with. This was the family she would be part of . . . no longer on the outside, looking in.

  She tightened her arm round Sally’s shoulders. ‘I’ll come back, if you want me as well. Not just for your dad’s sake – this must be a three-way deal, covering all of us. And I want only to stand beside your mum – never, not ever, in front of her. She owns the first part of your life; all I ask is that you let me share the rest of it with her.’

  ‘That makes it a four-way deal,’ smiled Sally.

  ‘So be it. Deal?’

  ‘Deal.’ Sally’s arm tightened.

  Kathy turned to David. ‘What about you?’

  David turned her gently into his arms and kissed her. ‘No more stepping away and hiding, ever,’ he said quietly. ‘I promise. I love you and want you into every corner of my life. I‘m happy to wait until you can leave your job here. So long as we know that everything’s OK, and you’ll come back.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ said Kathy. ‘We’ll make a new start, then – all four of us – and take it from there.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Kathy wriggled free. ‘But first,’ she said, ‘just follow me.’

  She set off like the wind, sprinting over the ancient bridge across the canal and heading into the village proper.

  ‘Where to?’ he called.

  She stopped, the evening sunshine like a halo round her happy face.

  ‘To my friends,’ she said. ‘The best friends in the world. I want to show you off to them – let Becky see what all the fuss was about.’

  Then she was gone. David sighed, stepped into the car, did a quick three-point turn, and set off in pursuit of her flying figure.

  ‘She’s like trying to hold quicksilver in your hand,’ he complained.

  Sally watched her father smile, felt her own heart lighten.

  ‘Let’s get there first!’ she said.

  ‘Why is Mike standing on the bank and staring at our bows?’ Noel asked.

  ‘What bows?’ Becky emerged from her schoolbooks.

  ‘The pointy end of the Ella Mae,’ Noel explained patiently.

  ‘I know they’re the pointy end,’ she said irritably.

  ‘Well, he’s staring at them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Good,’ said Noel. ‘Now that you’ve caught up with the rest of the world, that’s exactly what I was asking.’

  Becky gathered up her schoolwork. ‘I’ll do these later.’

  Noel’s eyes twinkled. ‘Good again,’ he said.

  ‘And now I’ll go out and ask him what he’s doing, staring at our boat like that.’

  ‘Even better thinking.’

  Becky climbed the steps through the open cabin door. The air was full of soaring birdsong, and she savoured the scent of wild flowers from the meadow alongside the towpath. She loved this canal-family life, had barely given a thought to her flat which was rented out in Southport. One day soon, she must tell her agents to sell it – giving her the funds to buy a house in Longbank for the winter.

  But not right now. The present was too precious.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ She went to Mike and confidently threaded her arm through his.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ he said.

  ‘Then come in, and tell us in the comfort of the cabin.’

  Noel emerged, carrying a couple of folding chairs. ‘Let’s sit outside,’ he said. ‘It’s a lovely evening, despite the midges. Too good to stay indoors.’

  ‘Where’s Jon?’ Mike asked.

  ‘Somewhere,’ Becky said vaguely. ‘Off on
his bike, with the lads – they could be playing football, or cricket, or just cycling like mad things up into the Dales. They have more energy than they know what to do with.’

  Just as it should be, Noel thought contentedly. Jon had finally cast off his wrappings of cotton wool.

  Mike came up with a third chair. ‘I’ve filled the kettle and put it on,’ he said apologetically. ‘In case my throat gets dry.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Noel.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Becky repeated solemnly, and stuck out her tongue at Mike’s wry grin.

  ‘Well, it is,’ sighed Mike. He took a deep breath. ‘I’ve gone and bought a boat. And because I’ve got a boat, I’ll have to change my whole way of life – take on someone to work for me. So that I can spend some time with my boat.’

  ‘What sort of boat?’ asked Becky.

  ‘An old canal barge. It was rescued and rebuilt as a small houseboat by my granddad – oh, about forty years ago. Then she was rescued again by my dad, about twenty years later and rebuilt as a cruiser, just like this. Now the guy who ran her is packing up . . . and gave me first refusal on her.’

  ‘You won’t regret it,’ said Noel.

  ‘I bought first, and thought second. I’ve never acted like that in my life before – without a second’s pause or planning. Now I have to find a way to make it work.’

  ‘You will,’ said Noel. ‘I’ll go down, and brew the tea.’

  He went down the cabin steps and they heard mugs clinking.

  ‘I’m so glad, Mike,’ said Becky. ‘Both about the boat, and you getting help – you work too hard.’

  ‘Listen to who is talking!’

  Becky smiled. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But you do need more time to yourself. How big is she? A forty or a sixty tonner? What’s her name?’

  ‘She’s bigger than the Ella Mae, but less than sixty tonnes,’ Mike replied. ‘She was named after the man’s wife, but the lady died a few years ago. Now he’s no longer fit enough to go through the locks himself, so he’s selling up. That sort of name is personal, belongs to a private and happy past. He’s taken it off the boat – painted it out – and right now, she’s nameless. So I have to come up with another name that’s why I was staring at your Ella Mae nameplate.’