Katy Carter Keeps a Secret

by Ruth Saberton

  Chapter 12

  Why oh why do I listen to Maddy Lomax? By now I should surely know better. Her good ideas always end in total disaster, so whatever made me think this time it would be any different?

  Desperation. That’s what.

  “Well, go on then,” Mads says, giving me a little shove. “Get out the car and go kick ass. Give that slapper a run for her money.”

  I can honestly say I have never wanted to get out of a car less in my life or felt less inclined to kick ass.

  “I’m not sure—” I begin, but Mads leans across and pokes me so hard in the ribs that I’m out of the seat before I have a chance to finish my sentence.

  “We’ve been through this, Katy! No more chickening out!” Mads scolds, tossing my bag after me. “You said you wanted to see for yourself once and for all what’s really going on with this Carolyn floozy, so now’s your chance. I don’t know what you’re waiting for!”

  “I don’t know, Mads,” I say nervously. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  “It’s not a ‘good idea’. It’s a bloody genius idea, that’s what it is. How else will you ever know for certain there’s nothing going on? Now, go and get ’em!”

  The car door slams and tyres spin on gravel as Mads tears away, waving merrily and leaving me staring after her in shock. I can’t believe she’s just abandoned me! She wouldn’t really, surely?

  She’ll be back in a minute.

  Or maybe two?

  But five? Five minutes is seriously pushing her luck and this is when I realise Maddy isn’t returning. Thank you very much, I think as I shoulder my bag and try to decide what to do next. She really has driven off and dumped me and Tansy’s cast-off bag in the St Jude’s car park and, as agreed, I know she won’t be back until three-thirty. So until then it looks as though I’m on my own.

  It’s ten to nine on Tuesday morning, smartly attired students are scurrying through the school gates before the bell has even sounded, and several teachers are circling the playground just in case there’s a whiff of bad behaviour or, heaven forbid, somebody isn’t wearing their blazer. If the lack of swearing/footballing/shirts hanging out isn’t already unnerving enough, knowing I could bump into Ollie at any minute is even more terrifying. He’s no idea that I’ve booked a supply day here with the express purpose of seeing first-hand what goes on between him and Carolyn at work, and that’s the way I’m intending to keep it – hence the blonde wig I’ve borrowed from Gabriel and the trendy clear-glass specs that Frankie’s loaned me. Having teamed these with a suit from Maddy’s jumble mountain and a pair of heels I could barely walk in, I hardly recognised myself when I peered in the mirror.

  “That’s the whole point,” Mads said, while I tottered up and down the vicarage kitchen in an attempt to walk. “You look totally professional and nothing like your usual self.”

  I chose to ignore this comment. Still, if I looked nothing like myself I supposed it was job done. If I accidentally bumped into Ollie in a corridor, he wouldn’t know it was me.

  It’s strange how what seemed like such a great plan after a few glasses of wine doesn’t feel quite as clever in the cold light of day. What am I doing here in a second-hand and rather musty disguise, spying on the man I love and wearing what looks like a vain film star’s hairpiece?

  I must have been drunk. This is a crazy idea!

  I’m contemplating turning tail and heading out of the gates in search of a bus when an efficient-looking teacher comes over. Glancing down at her clipboard she says in a bright voice, “On supply? Mrs Carter?”

  “Err, yes,” I agree, caught on the hop and not able to think fast enough to deny it.

  “Well, no point standing in the playground. You need to book in at reception, pick up a lanyard and then Ms Miles will show you where to find your first class. It’s Mass first though, so you’ll have time to grab a coffee and a biscuit.”

  Mass? Coffee and a biscuit? Feeling as though I’ve been dropped into a strange parallel universe where teachers actually have time for snacks, I follow her into St Jude’s and, just like that, the decision is out of my hands. Heart beating hard, I head towards the reception where I’m signed in, given a lanyard and badge to wear and then asked to wait outside Carolyn’s office. Children flow past with shirts tucked in and their ties done up rather around their heads Rambo style, and then the corridors empty as if by magic when they go into the chapel. Chapel? Can you believe it? At Tregowan Comp I’m delighted if the kids sit down at their desks, never mind go to church. What kind of a place is this?

  I’d completely forgotten that St Jude’s is a Catholic school; Ollie, a very lapsed Catholic indeed, had to brush up on the Hail Marys and other bits when he’d applied for the job. He kept quiet about living in sin with me too, which seemed a bit bonkers in the twenty-first century. While I sit outside the school office like a naughty girl, I contemplate the agonised Jesus hanging from a crucifix on the far side of the corridor and start to feel very uneasy indeed. What if there are nuns lurking about who can tell just by looking at me that I’m LYING about who I am? Will I get dragged to confession? Have to say some chants? Go to hell, do not pass go and do not collect two hundred pounds? Beneath my borrowed polyester suit I begin to sweat. Is it my imagination or is Jesus looking at me in a particularly disappointed manner? Has he been chatting with the Reverend Richard?

  I shift nervously on the hard plastic seat and try looking at the floor, but I’m sure I can still sense Jesus’s scrutiny and His sadness that I’ve let Him down. Any minute a lightning bolt will fry me. Or maybe I’ll be eaten by a swarm of locusts or something? To be honest, I’m not altogether sure. My knowledge of Catholicism is a bit sparse. For a start, my parents are totally against organised religion, and apart from watching Sister Act and reading The Da Vinci Code, my education on all things religious is rather vague.

  I knew I shouldn’t have bunked those lectures on Dante when I was at uni…

  Anyway, my own personal circle of hell is heating up fast, because now the office door is opening and none other than Carolyn and Ollie are emerging. They’re deep in discussion and Ol is clutching a huge pile of paperwork, so I’m sure they’ve just been planning the day ahead and nothing more. I duck my head down but luckily Ollie’s too busy flicking through one of his folders to notice a lowly supply teacher, and Carolyn’s preoccupied by touching his arm and flicking her hair at him. Floozy.

  “Catch you afterwards, OK?” she says, and Ollie nods.

  “Sure. Better get to chapel. See you later, C.”

  C? He even has a pet name for her? Never mind the hair flicking. This is way worse than I thought.

  As Ollie walks away I stare after him, wanting nothing more than to follow, throw my arms around him and tell him just how worried I am. Normally I can tell Ollie anything and he always makes it better. Of course he does. He’s my best friend. Lately though it’s starting to feel as though there are so many misunderstandings and secrets between us that I simply don’t know where to start when it comes to unravelling them all.

  “Mrs Carter? Welcome to St Jude’s.” Carolyn is holding out her hand. As though in a dream I find myself taking it and having my own hand pumped up and down. “Here’s your map and your timetable for the day. Chapel finishes at nine-twenty and then you’ll have lower fourth English in the Loyola Suite.”

  I have absolutely no idea what she’s on about but I nod manically. At this point my wig starts to slip over my eyes, so I have to shove it back hastily. Coils of ginger hair make a bid for freedom and I push them out of sight.

  “Have we met before?” Carolyn asks, looking confused.

  “I’ve not done supply here before,” I hedge, which isn’t fibbing, is it? There’s no way I can tell a bare-faced lie with Jesus watching.

  “You look very familiar,” she says thoughtfully. “And, I don’t mean to be rude or ask personal questions, but why are you wearing a wig?”

  “I’ve got very brightly coloured hair,” I improvi
se. “Pink and green and, err, ginger. It doesn’t look professional does it? And the prospectus rules say quite clearly that natural hair colours only are allowed, so I didn’t want to start the day with a black mark. Ha ha!”

  “Those rules are generally applied to the students rather than the teachers,” Carolyn tells me slowly. “We don’t expect our staff to wear the uniform either, you know.”

  “I like to set a good example,” I say piously, folding my hands in front of me and raising my eyes to the crucifix in a saintly manner. “It’s what our Lord would want, after all.”

  She looks rather alarmed by all this and I make a mental note not to over-egg my religious pudding too much in future.

  “Right,” Carolyn says with a frown. “Anyway, here’s your map of the school and the number of our emergency mobile in case you have an issue. One of the senior teachers always carries it. My advice is to pop the number into your own mobile when you’re in the staffroom.”

  I nod. “Thanks. I will.”

  Feeling like I’ve landed in an Enid Blyton novel I set off along a clean and gum-free corridor, clutching my map and doing my best not to break my ankles in the heels Mads lent me. After I’ve gone a little way I slow down because I have no intention of wasting time in the staffroom. No. I need to find Ollie’s classroom and have a look for any evidence. If he’s in the chapel then it’s the perfect time to snoop around. There are no children about, most of the teachers are occupied and I’ve got my lanyard ID on, so I’m good to go.

  The trouble is I have absolutely no idea where I am. The bloody map’s so small I can hardly make out anything and all these white corridors look exactly the same. I daren’t retrace my steps in case I bump into Carolyn again and she rumbles me, and I don’t dare ask anyone where Ollie’s office is because I have no right or need to be there. I guess I’ll just keep doing circuits of the school until I see his name on a door or catch sight of him again.

  I round another corner and pass down a flight of steps before crossing a courtyard. Aha! Ollie’s mentioned that courtyard. All the teachers hate it because it isn’t covered; when the rain comes down, which it tends to do on a very regular basis in the West Country, they get soaked going to and from their classrooms. Ollie’s office can’t be far away.

  And then suddenly I’m right on top of it, and because this is St Jude’s and not Tregowan Comp, the door’s unlocked and I’m in. For a second I dither in the doorway, all too aware that this is wrong and I shouldn’t be here. But then a picture on top of a filing cabinet catches my eye.

  Oh! It’s of me!

  I step forward for a closer look and there’s a big lump in my throat because it’s a picture I know very well. It’s one Ollie took when we went travelling around Europe in his old camper van, back when we were first together and before we’d bought the cottage. I’m sitting in the camper’s doorway with my arms around Sasha and beaming at the camera. The sun’s setting behind us but it’s not the golden rays making me glow: it’s love and happiness. Just recalling what happened shortly after the photo was taken is enough to bring a similar flush to my cheeks now, and I know that every time Ol looks at it he’ll remember too. Of course he will. That’s why it’s there.

  I’m such an idiot. Ollie isn’t having a fling with Carolyn. It’s obvious that he isn’t. Ollie loves me, just like I love him. That picture says it all.

  I’m just picking it up for a closer look when the door flies open and Carolyn strides in.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demands, and I jump out of my skin. Bollocks!

  My heart’s racing as I put the photo back. I can’t be discovered now, I can’t! If Ollie finds out I’ve been spying on him he’ll be absolutely devastated.

  “Oh! Hello again!” I do my best to sound normal, as though I haven’t been caught snooping around the Assistant Head’s office. “I’m afraid I got a bit lost. I was looking for—” I glance down at the crumpled map clutched in my hand, “the Loyola Suite?”

  She frowns. “Your map’s upside down. You’re in totally the wrong part of the school. This is the Assistant Head’s office.”

  “It is?” I hope I’m doing a good job of looking surprised. “Oh dear! Just as well I’m not here to teach geography. Ha ha!”

  Carolyn stares at me as though I’m deranged. She’s probably wondering how anyone remotely sane could confuse an office with a classroom. She’ll be looking up my CRB check as soon as she can and I don’t blame her either. Heaven only knows what she’ll say to the supply agency. I’ll probably never work again.

  “If you follow me, I’ll show you where you should be,” she says briskly.

  Where I should be? My heart sinks. The last thing I want to do is stay here now. All I want is to get out of here as fast as I can and before I bump into Ollie. And once I’m home I am never listening to Maddy Lomax and her bright ideas again.

  “I’ll find it,” I begin, but Carolyn isn’t having this.

  “I really don’t have the time to hunt you down if you get lost a second time. I’ll take you to the Loyola Suite.” She checks her watch and clicks her tongue in irritation. “We’re running late as it is and I expect Mr Burrows is already there settling them down for you. It’s his classes you’re looking after today.”

  I’m covering Ollie’s lessons? But why? He’s here! I’ve just seen him.

  I gawp at her. “But isn’t Ol – I mean Mr Burrows here today? Why am I covering his classes?”

  Carolyn Miles looks taken aback to have a lowly supply teacher demanding to know the ins and outs of the Assistant Head’s whereabouts.

  “He and I are off timetable at Burrington Hall today.”

  Every cell in my body freezes. Burrington Hall? As in the plush country house hotel just outside the city? Ollie’s going there for the day with Carolyn? He never mentioned it to me.

  Trust, Katy, trust. Remember the photo? There’s bound to be an innocent explanation.

  “Right,” I say, and it sounds as though I’ve been strangled.

  “So if you don’t mind, maybe we could get going? Senior management inset days cost time and money and we can’t afford to wait around,” she barks. “It’s why you’re here, after all.”

  “Oh! A training day! That’s OK then!” I follow her out of the room and into the corridor, full now of children fresh out of Mass and keen to let off steam. I need to get out of here and fast, but before I even have the chance to make an excuse, she clamps her hand onto my shoulder and steers me towards a classroom.

  Shit! It’s Ollie’s classroom! And there he is on the other side of it (with his back to me, thank heavens), writing on the whiteboard. It’s only a matter of seconds before he turns around and sees me. Seconds I cannot waste.

  I have to get out of here!

  “Right, this is where you need to be. Lower fourth form war poetry. They should get on quietly,” Carolyn tells me. “I’ll let Mr Burrows explain what he needs you to do, but all the work is set and taped to the desk.”

  “Actually, I’ve just realised that there’s somewhere else I need to be. Sorry!” I attempt to spin on my heel but that iron hand holds me so tightly I can hardly move, while another tortured Jesus gazes at me with sympathy from His position above the whiteboard. I know this is a Catholic school and everything, but I have absolutely no desire to confess everything at this moment in time.

  If I don’t escape now I’ll have some serious explaining to do – and the worst of it is that even to me this all sounds insane, so goodness only knows what Ollie will think.

  “Good God!” Carolyn roars, and I jump so hard that my feet leave the ground. “I’ve just spent the best part of twenty minutes looking for you. You’re not going anywhere! You’re here on supply and you’re going to teach this class. Now get on with it!”

  Never mind the kids being scared of her.

  I’m bloody terrified.

  “I think I need a change of vocation!” I yank myself away and make a bolt for freedom. “I’ve j
ust realised I don’t want to teach anymore! It’s not for me! Blame the Education Secretary. Blame the government, but I just can’t handle it. Too much stress! Sorry!”

  Carolyn’s mouth is open and she’s frozen with disbelief, which is just the chance I need. Before she can come to her senses and grab me or, even worse, Ollie comes out of his classroom, I’m off as fast as my legs and high heels can carry me. Even when she shouts after me I don’t stop, and as soon as I’m across the courtyard and in the car park I kick off my shoes and start to run.

  There’s no way I dare stick around. I’m out of here.

  Chapter 13

  This morning has been a total nightmare. I may be closer to proving my fears about Carolyn to be unfounded – at least on my boyfriend’s part – but in the process I could have caused Ollie a lot of embarrassment. And I should imagine that, thanks to me, St Jude’s senior leaders never got to have their relaxing day out of school. If Ollie ever finds out that the mad runaway supply teacher was me I don’t know what I’ll do. Die of humiliation probably.

  As I sit in the kitchen trying to write another episode in the quite frankly knackering sex lives of Alexi and Lucinda, I’m feeling utterly despondent. Even Nicky’s tongue-in-cheek input doesn’t cheer me up, and neither does the big packet of chocolate biscuits Maddy’s brought round as a peace offering.

  I can’t eat a chocolate biscuit? Things must be really serious. And anyway, it’s going to take her more than a packet of digestives to make up for this latest near miss.

  “How many more times can I apologise?” Mads asks. “It seemed like a great idea at the time. How was I to know you’d be asked to cover Ollie’s lessons? I’m not a sodding psychic.”

  It’s a fair point but I’m not willing to concede it yet. She needs to grovel a bit more first.

  “Besides,” she continues, “I still think it was a good idea. At least you saw for yourself that there was nothing going on. I’d say that’s a bloody good result actually. You ought to be thanking me, not sulking.”