by Sophie King
Finally the traffic was flowing more freely. With luck, she would only be about eight minutes late. Then she’d need to go into the school to gather up the sports kit that Bruce would have left on the floor of the boys’ changing room. Kate would have hers neatly folded in her bag. What was happening now? A policeman was standing in the middle of the road, waving people on past the turning to school. Cars weren’t being allowed down it. Why not? What had happened?
She wound down her window. ‘Excuse me, Officer, I need to get down to the school.’
Under the helmet, his face was impassive. ‘I’m sorry, madam, but all cars are being diverted. Please follow the signs.’
‘Has something happened?’
‘Move along, please.’
Sick with fear, she lurched on. She needed to find a space fast, then rush back. Had a child been run over? Had Bruce done something crazy?
‘Betty of Balham has rung in again to say there’s some sort of trouble at St Theresa’s School, Balham. Not sure what, exactly, but avoid the area if possible as there’s severe traffic congestion.’
Oh, my God! If it’s on the radio, it’s serious! Cars were pulling up on to pavements and worried parents were emerging, talking in huddles and pointing. Harriet squeezed into a space. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, as she got out.
‘I don’t know,’ said one of the mothers, who was hanging on to a struggling toddler. ‘They’ve told us to stay here. Maybe it’s a fire alert.’
‘Can’t be a practice,’ said another. ‘Not on the last day of term.’
Harriet began to run towards the do-not-enter sign. On the right she spotted a line of scrappy allotments. She squeezed through the hedge and ducked down out of sight of the policewoman on the other side. With any luck, she might be able to get out further down. Yes, she’d done it. The road ahead, normally crammed with cars, was deserted, apart from four police cars and a large turquoise Discovery. There wasn’t a child in sight, but it was well after three thirty.
‘Madam, you can’t wait here.’
A policeman came up from behind, taking her by surprise.
‘But what’s happening?’ Harriet’s throat was so choked she could hardly speak. ‘What’s going on?’
‘There appears to be some disturbance at the senior school.’
My God. Bruce? He wouldn’t have done something stupid, would he? ‘Can I get my friend’s child? She’s in the primary school next door.’
A look akin to sympathy crossed the policeman’s face. ‘We understand that the primary children are in the main building for an end-of-term concert.’
‘But why can’t they get out?’ Harriet was angry now. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Madam, please go back to the other side of the cordon like everyone else. We will let you know when we have some information.’
‘No. No! I’m not going back.’
‘Harriet!’
It was the man from the counselling centre – Nick. He was on the other side of the orange cordon. ‘Harriet, come here.’
‘What on earth’s happening?’
Nick patted her shoulder. At any other time, she’d have considered the gesture over-familiar but now she was grateful to see a friendly face. ‘I don’t know. All I’ve been able to find out is that something’s going on in the senior building.’
‘I know that.’
‘Calm down. I’ll call a mate of mine who works for the Press Association. Maybe he can find out what’s up. Stay here. I’m going along the road for a better reception.’
Harriet was shaking. What was happening to the children? Where were they? It wasn’t just Bruce and Kate, but Lucy and Beth too. Oh, God! Pippa! She couldn’t ring her: she’d be coming round from the op right now. But she ought to let Derek know.
‘Derek? It’s me, Harriet. How’s Pippa? Right. Look, don’t say anything if she’s just come round but something’s happened at school . . .’
34
PIPPA
‘Where’er you walk, green trees shall fan the breeze . . .’
That song again! Pippa tried to sit up. The room seemed out of focus, rather like it did when she woke up too early in the morning or when she’d had jet lag in the days when there were nice holidays Before Children. She had a pain in her back, too, which was odd.
Shaking with apprehension, she touched herself gingerly. Relief washed through her. Thank God! Both her breasts were there, although that didn’t mean she was in the clear. Her chest throbbed under the dressing.
‘Is it sore?’
How long had he been there? ‘Derek?’
‘I’m here, love.’
Gratefully she squeezed his hand. ‘Am I all right?’
‘You’re fine.’
He sounded tearful and she knew he was lying. ‘The lump. It’s malignant, isn’t it?’
‘Too early to tell. Remember what they told us? They need to analyse it. How do you feel?’
Something wasn’t right. She could tell. ‘Woozy.’
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘Listen, love, will you be all right without me for a bit? I’ve got to pick up the girls.’
‘Harriet’s doing that.’
‘She’s got a problem. I shouldn’t be too long.’
‘What kind of problem? Charlie again?’
‘Something like that.’
Poor Harriet. ‘Don’t be long. Please. I need you.’ She remembered something. ‘Weren’t you meant to have your appraisal today?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, but HR said it could wait in the circumstances. Apparently my department head is really pleased with our performance this year.’
‘Good. See? I told you not to worry.’
‘’Bye.’ He gave her another kiss, still on the forehead. Why not on the lips like he usually did? Even in her near-stupor, Pippa could tell something was wrong. Had he found out somehow about Gus?
A nurse popped her head round the screen. ‘Everything all right, love? Just ring if you need something.’
She nodded. As she reached out for the plastic cup of water at her side, she saw her mobile. Maybe she’d ring Harriet to find out what was happening. It was hard to lean to one side and pick it up. If it was this difficult, how was she going to manage when she got out?
Awkwardly, she picked up the phone. MESSAGE.
‘Hi, Gorgeous. Gd luck for tomorrow. Sorry about today. Love you always. Gus.’
Pippa froze. He must have sent it last night. That was why Derek had been so quiet.
Sorry about today. Love you always.
Pippa retched into the bowl beside her. How could she have been so stupid? Even if her lump was benign, she had a hideous feeling that one part of her life – that comforting security with Derek – had already ended. And she only had herself to blame.
KITTY
‘Turn down that music, you lot. It’s not the end of term yet!’
Kitty, who had just had lunch in the canteen, smiled at the sound of another teacher’s voice yelling at his class. The end of term had led to great excitement both for the kids and staff who were looking forward to a much-needed rest.
She got on with preparing for the next lesson. They were going to play verb and noun games, which was a sneaky way of improving their grammar. Then she heard the noise. At first it sounded like a crowd of children running along the corridor, which wasn’t allowed at St Theresa’s so she put her head out of the door, ready to calm them down. She’d just been reading a fascinating book on communicating with pupils that had been recommended in the Times Educational Supplement. It included a section on meditation, which Kitty was considering trying out on year eight. It wasn’t difficult. All you had to do was close your eyes, focus on an image in your head and shut out all noise round you. As you breathed out, you said, ‘One,’ in your head. Apparently, some children identified with ‘One’ better than ‘Omm’, according to the book. Kitty could see that it might help pupils like Bruce.
‘What’s going on?’ she said, walking to the
door.
Three lads from the sixth form raced by, almost knocking her to the ground.
‘Be careful,’ she shouted angrily.
‘Do what you’re told and no one will get hurt, Miss,’ said one, and stopped.
Kitty’s heart began to pound. There was no mistaking those hard black eyes and that very short hair. Or his height, which made him look more like a tough adult than a seventeen-year-old. It was the boy on the bus from yesterday.
‘Don’t you dare threaten me,’ she said. ‘Ouch, let go of my arm. Stop it! Help!’
‘Shut up, Miss,’ said the second boy. ‘We don’t want to hurt no one. Just get in there and look after the class, will you?’
‘What?’ gasped Kitty.
She found herself thrown into a room packed with children, some at the tables and others on the floor. Many were crying but they all looked at her expectantly as she picked herself up.
Kitty ran to the door but it wouldn’t open. On the other side, she could hear something heavy being moved towards it, as though to bar it. Her head reeled and she went to the window. No one was around but they couldn’t get out as they were three storeys up. What on earth was going on?
She turned to find all the children’s eyes on her. ‘Right, everyone,’ she said, trying to sound calm. ‘I’m not sure what’s happening but let’s just try to make the best of the situation, shall we, until someone lets us out? Have you all got your books with you?’
Most of them nodded. Kieran from the bus was there, Kitty noticed, and Bruce, as well as children from other years. ‘Good. I think we’ll start with something light like some poetry.’
There was a groan. ‘Please, Miss,’ said a girl. ‘I don’t feel like doing any work. I’m too scared.’
Kitty went up to her and put her arms round her. To hell with protocol. ‘It’s OK, Kate,’ she whispered. ‘I’m a bit scared too, but we’re all together so we’ll help each other.’
Kate nodded and so did some others.
‘Tell you what,’ said Kitty, ‘why don’t we play a game I’ve been reading about?’ She tried to smile. ‘I want you to close your eyes and think of something really nice. As you breathe out, say, “One,” really softly so that it hums in your ears. When other thoughts come into your head, ignore them. Shall we have a go? Right. Everyone together now. One . . .’
The meditation helped her too, thought Kitty, as she sat in front of the class, legs crossed. She’d been so preoccupied over the last few months with finding Mr Right. Now, in the middle of this nightmare that was scarily like that American school siege, she could see how unimportant it was. All that mattered was common decency towards each other. As a teacher, she could help the children to understand that.
‘Miss, I’m scared,’ said a year five boy in the front row.
Kitty jumped up and put him on her knee. These kids needed comforting and it was her job – her vocation – to do that.
BETTY
‘Desperate Dan has rung in to say there’s some trouble outside St Theresa’s School in Balham.’
How did he get in first? I put my call in ages ago.
‘Sorry, madam. Do you mind if I listen through the window to your radio? It might tell us what’s going on. No, you’re right. They’ve gone on to music now. Can you call me over if there’s more news? Meanwhile, would you like some tea? Or a leaflet? Thank you, madam. Yes, I’m in charge of a safety campaign for parents. Can I tell you more about it?’
I like being useful. Terry’s the same. Very good at helping the customers. That’s what the deputy manager told me afterwards.
Lucky I’ve got all these spare Thermoses. Terry and I used to like picnics, especially when he was little. Smell a bit musty now but they still do the job. ‘It’s hot,’ I say, holding out a mug.
Some take it and some don’t. ‘I know how you feel,’ I say to one. ‘I lost a child once. Several, actually.’
That makes her cry even more.
I couldn’t cry afterwards. Still can’t.
‘Tea?’ I say, to one of the camera crew. Quite a few have arrived now. School sieges are getting popular, after America and Russia. One of the newsmen is saying something about drug dealing and kids falling out with each other. Wouldn’t surprise me. They all take something nowadays. Apart from my Terry, of course.
‘Sugar?’ I ask one of the men. He looks at me sharply.
Thankfully, I recognise him first. It’s the man in the car this morning. The one I stopped.
‘Move,’ hisses Terry.
So I snatch my Thermos and my bag of sugar and disappear into the crowd.
Time to go home. I’ll catch up with the news on the radio.
35
NICK
‘News flash. St Theresa’s School in Balham, south London, is being held in a siege by two rival teenage gangs, thought to be involved in an argument over drug dealing. A number of children and teachers are believed to be held inside.’
God, he wished he could do more. He felt so hopeless, sitting there. They both did.
‘Did you get hold of him?’
‘No.’ Harriet spoke flatly as she put her mobile back in her pocket. ‘His secretary hasn’t seen him all day, which is odd as he was meant to be going into the office.’
Nick twisted his wedding ring. ‘He couldn’t do anything if he was here, anyway.’
‘No, but he ought to know.’
Nick felt sorry for her. It wasn’t fair that she should have to handle this without her husband. He wondered if he should mention seeing him in the car that day, speaking to someone in French, but decided against it. Best not to interfere in other people’s marriages and, besides, she was worried enough about the children. Her pretty face was drawn with the same kind of tension he felt inside.
‘Look!’ He nudged Harriet. ‘See that woman?’
‘Where?’
‘She’s just walked past us. There, in that pink coat – walking fast past that group of parents.’
They both watched the woman scurry across the road into a dark-looking terraced house.
‘What about her?’
Nick rubbed his eyes: he was tired and things that should have made sense didn’t – and vice versa. ‘I think there’s something weird about her. I found her outside school talking to a toddler this week. And this morning she tried to stop my daughter in the car.’
‘Why?’
Nick wondered if Harriet would understand. ‘She was crazy. Said something about Julie running over her kid two years ago. I tried to calm her down by pointing out that Julie wasn’t even driving then but she’s definitely a bit touched.’
‘Two years ago.’ Harriet looked pensive. ‘Was that the boy from the senior school? I remember that. He was knocked down by a hit-and-run driver. Terrible.’
‘What sort of time in the morning?’
‘Before the school run had really built up, from what I remember. Yes, that’s right. I was caught in the traffic queues. Horrible.’
From what the woman on the bike had said, the child had died just a week or two before Juliana. Towards the end, she had hardly had the energy to get out of bed. Her ribs had stuck out and she’d been listless. Lifeless. So different from the old Juliana who had laughed and moved all the time. If she’d been standing here now, she wouldn’t have allowed her daughter to be trapped in school. She’d be doing something about it.
‘Just going to chase my newspaper friend,’ he said, snapping open his mobile. ‘He should have got back to me by now . . . Ross? It’s Nick. Got anything? . . . I see. How much? . . . Are the police moving in? . . . Why not? Christ, Ross, that’s not on. Julie’s in there. So are God knows how many other kids . . . I know. OK . . . Thanks.’
He walked back to Harriet. ‘Did you know there was a drugs problem at the main school?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither but it fits in with that newsflash. One of these druggy gangs has taken a load of younger kids hostage because the other gang owes them money. Now they
’ve phoned the local radio station, demanding cash.’
He watched her eyes fill with tears, again wanting to reach out and comfort her. Would she misread it? Possibly.
‘What are the police doing about it?’
He snorted with disgust. ‘Apparently, they’re reluctant to move in yet in case someone gets hurt. They reckon the teenagers will give in. Look, I want you to wait here. I’ve got your mobile number. I’ll call you when I find something.’
‘Where are you going?’
Nick looked round to check that no one was listening. ‘Where do you think?’
Then he walked away, ducked under the hedge by the allotments and made his way back to the school, crouching low so that no one could see him.
If the police weren’t going to rescue his daughter, he’d just have to do it himself.
EVIE
If only there was a radio or television, she might know what was going on. Instead there was an eerie silence outside, punctuated only by children sniffling and fidgeting. She’d have to do something: she owed it to the kids to take charge.
‘Excuse me, but I need the loo.’ Evie stared defiantly at the spotty youth, who had come in with a jug of water for the kids. They were passing it round, one or two still whimpering. On the whole, though, they had calmed down. Evie was sitting with one arm round Leonora. ‘I need the loo,’ she repeated. Look him in the eyes. Firmly. That’s what Just For You had advised in last month’s feature on ‘What To Do If You’re Threatened’. Be rational. Practical. Appeal to his own values.
‘I’m not as young as this lot,’ she continued. ‘I’m probably your mother’s age. I need to go to the lavatory more often.’
One or two children tittered and something gave in the eyes of the boy in front of her. He was so young. So hard. ‘I’ll take you.’