School Run

by Sophie King

  ‘I’m starving, Mum. We haven’t had anything since lunch and that was disgusting.’

  ‘It’s all right, darling. We’re going straight home to a nice takeaway.’

  ‘Is Marty getting it?’

  ‘No, Alice. Martine has left.’

  ‘Good. Can you stay at home and look after us like Hugo’s mum?’

  ‘I wish we could, darling, but you know Mummy and Daddy need to work. I’ve found a very nice French woman to look after you for a while.’

  ‘I h-h-hate the French.’

  ‘Now, don’t be racist, Josh. It’s good to have French help. It should improve your school work. Damn. The cameras are outside the house. Duck, everyone!’

  ‘Why is Mummy still in hospital?’

  ‘Dad told you, Beth. She’s had an operation but she’ll be home tomorrow.’

  ‘Were you scared, girls?’

  ‘Not really. Miss Hayling was lovely. She got us to marinate.’

  ‘Meditate, stupid.’

  ‘Why did she do that?’

  ‘To help us relax. It’s really good. You just think of something really nice and concentrate. I’ll tell Mummy about it when she’s back. It might help her get better.’

  ‘Sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Not really. It was scary, Dad. Really scary. If Jason hadn’t locked up Curt and that lot, I don’t know what would have happened.’

  ‘Are you sure Jason doesn’t take drugs?’

  ‘Dad, I told you! He’s clean. But loads of kids aren’t at our school. They even try to sell drugs to the little ones. Let's not talk about it any more. I just want to get into the bath and close my eyes. OK?’

  ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘At the office.’

  ‘Doesn’t he know what’s happened?’

  ‘I don’t think so or he would have rung. Are you sure you’re all right, Kate? You look awfully pale. Bruce, please put your head back in the car.’

  ‘I’m waving at the cameras.’

  ‘Well, don’t. We’ll be home soon and then we’ll have some tea. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Starving.’

  ‘I’m not. I feel sick, Mum.’

  ‘I’ll eat hers, then. Can we have it in front of the telly?’

  40

  FRIDAY NIGHT

  NICK

  ‘So relax with Classic FM to soothe you through Friday evening towards the weekend . . .’

  Nick turned down the volume and poured himself a large glass of Chablis. He did the same for his daughter. She was grown-up now.

  She sat opposite him on the sofa, her face creased with determination just like her mother’s had been when she wanted to make a point. ‘It wasn’t his fault, Dad, I’ve told you. Jason doesn’t do drugs. It was the others. He tried to stop them but it was difficult. They’d have got him if he hadn’t pretended to be part of it. Anyway, we’re safe, aren’t we? No one’s hurt.’

  Nick was still trying to make sense of what had happened. According to Julie, there were two factions at school who had been selling drugs to younger pupils. Why no one had cottoned on to this earlier, he didn’t know. An argument had broken out and one of the gangs had demanded money in return for the kids. But Jason and his mates – including Julie – had got them out.

  Thank God his daughter was all right. And Evie had been lucky too. His suspicions about the woman in the pink coat had been right. Harriet had rung to say she’d heard they’d found the little boy, thankfully unharmed. Evie probably didn’t know he’d helped but that didn’t matter. He hated to think of the poor kid in that woman’s clutches. ‘I think we ought to have an early night,’ he said to Julie.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

  She clung to him and he put his arms round her, breathing in his wife’s scent. Correction. Breathing in his daughter’s scent. A woman who had a different identity from Juliana and himself; a young woman whom he had to learn to release. ‘What for?’

  ‘Everything. Being difficult. And for lying to you, the other night. I was driving without L-plates because Jason didn’t have any.’

  Nick stiffened. ‘It’s breaking the law.’

  ‘I know. But I want to drive so much. I want the independence.’

  ‘I understand. But it was stupid and incredibly dangerous.’

  ‘And I miss Mum so much.’

  He held her tight. ‘I know that too. I wish you’d talk to someone about it. It might help. I could talk to school – they have people for this kind of thing.’

  ‘Maybe next term.’ She sniffed.

  ‘Wipe your nose on my shoulder.’

  She giggled. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Yes, you can.’

  ‘OK.’

  They both smiled through their tears. ‘There’s something else, Dad,’ she said slowly. ‘Well, two, actually.’

  Nick’s skin crawled with apprehension.

  ‘That woman today,’ she began. ‘The one who’s got that hyperactive kid.’

  ‘She’s just a friend,’ said Nick.

  ‘I’m not having a go. I liked her. She’s got a kind face. And I’ve been thinking about how I have all the fun and you’re just here, working. Maybe I’ve been unfair. If you want to go out with someone, I suppose that’s all right, providing she’s like that woman and not like that photographer. She was a tough bitch – you just didn’t see it.’

  ‘She was?’ Nick was shocked.

  ‘You’re so naïve sometimes, you men.’ She grinned.

  ‘Thanks. And the second thing?’

  Julie twisted her hair nervously, the way her mother used to.

  ‘I’ve sort of done something you might not approve of . . .’

  Nick took a deep breath. ‘Go on.’

  Julie tossed her head defiantly. ‘It’s like this.’

  And then she told him.

  KITTY

  ‘Gosh, you’ve had quite a day, then.’

  Kitty shrugged. ‘You could say that.’

  The man opposite her at the fashionable restaurant, looked concerned. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right? We could leave now if you want to.’

  If she’d been honest, Kitty would have admitted that she would much rather go home and have an early night. But when she’d got out of school and made sure, along with the other teachers, that the children were safe (amazingly, no one had been hurt although some had been in tears and needed comforting), she had made her way home on the bus to find Duncan already at her door. ‘Sorry I’m early,’ he had said. ‘Terrible habit, I know, but I’m still getting used to this part of London and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t late.’

  She’d explained about the siege – which he’d heard about on the news but hadn’t realised it was her school – and he’d insisted on coming back when she’d had a chance to relax. Later, he had whisked her off in a taxi to a smart restaurant where he entertained her with tales about the bank where he worked. It had been just what she needed to take her mind off the gruelling events of the day. But now, after a delicious dinner, she felt exhausted. ‘I keep thinking of what might have happened,’ she said.

  He had nodded understandingly. ‘I can see that.’

  ‘I mean, supposing they’d hurt the children . . .’

  Duncan reached across the table and took her hand. ‘You were so brave. And helping them to meditate was a real inspiration.’

  She retrieved her hand. His clammy touch and those too-understanding eyes were getting on her nerves. It wasn’t his fault, poor man, she was just irritable and tired and . . . ‘Duncan, I’m really sorry but you’re right. I’m shattered. Do you mind if I go home now?’

  His face was a picture of disappointment. ‘Of course not. I understand. Let me just sort out the bill and then I’ll get a cab.’

  She allowed him to take charge. ‘I’m sorry I can’t ask you in for coffee,’ she said.

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Another time.’

  ‘Actually,’ began Kitty, ‘there was something I was going to ask you . . .’
/>
  ‘Fire away.’

  She took a deep breath. Could she really do this? Alex’s face, Champneys and the Ofsted inspector’s moustache flashed through her mind. Yes, she could.

  HARRIET

  ‘So relax with Classic FM to soothe you through Friday evening . . .’

  Harriet was chopping onions for chilli con carne when she heard Charlie’s key in the lock. She turned off the radio, which had been keeping her company.

  ‘Do you know what’s happened?’ she said, rinsing her hands under the tap.

  ‘What?’

  She told him all about the siege. ‘Didn’t you hear about it on the radio?’

  ‘No, I told you. I was in a meeting.’

  Her eyes were watering from the onions and she dabbed at them with a tea towel. ‘Not according to your secretary.’

  ‘I told you about that, too. She’s a temp. She should have known where I was but obviously she didn’t.’

  He had an answer for everything, though Harriet, as she put the dish in the oven. Later that night when they watched the news on television, it was some consolation to see the astonishment on his face when the siege came on, showing pictures of the culprits being led away by the police. ‘I hadn’t realised it was so bad,’ he murmured. For a moment, the horror on his face actually made her feel sorry for him. And there was something else: Charlie, shoulders slumped, looked really unhappy. He didn’t want to be here. But his sense of obligation made him stay. Was that what she wanted?

  He got up and left the room. Harriet heard him pad upstairs and along the landing to the children’s rooms. He’d be kissing them goodnight – too late, as they’d nodded off ages ago. He loves them, she thought. It’s me who irritates him.

  He was asleep – pretending? – when she went into their bedroom. The wet towels in the children’s bathroom indicated he’d showered there. Harriet lay and listened to his even breathing. Was he awake too, wondering what was going to happen to them?

  You have a choice.

  Monica was right. It wasn’t a one-way street. All she had to do was cross the road. Without anyone to hold her hand.

  EVIE

  ‘And now for Book at Bedtime.’

  ‘Can’t we have Radio 1?’ complained Leonora.

  Evie hesitated. ‘We ought to turn it off and go to sleep. I was really waiting for the news but I think we’ve missed it.’

  ‘Lie down, Mum,’ demanded Jack. He was in her king-size bed instead of his own. Evie needed him close – and the girls, who were also on Evie’s bed, felt the same. No one wanted to sleep alone after what they’d been through so the girls were at the bottom and Jack at the top. Later, she’d just slide in beside Jack.

  ‘Can we have some hot chocolate?’ asked Natalie. ‘Mum always gives it to us if we’re pissed off.’

  Evie nodded – ignoring the language – went downstairs and returned with a tray of steaming mugs. She hated to admit it but Rachel was right: even in the summer, hot chocolate could be comforting. They sipped it together, and somehow Evie managed not to warn the girls against spilling any.

  ‘Fun! Camping!’ said Jack, his eyes gleaming.

  ‘It is,’ said Leonora, ruffling his hair.

  ‘How’s your leg, Natalie?’ asked Evie. She’d bruised it in her eagerness to fly into her sister’s arms.

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  ‘Have some more witch hazel.’

  Natalie rubbed it in. ‘Do you think Dad will call?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wish I did. I’m sure he will at some point.’

  She drew a deep breath. They had a right to know what was going on – or, at least, a censored version.

  ‘As you know, your dad owed some money – I don’t know why but there’ll be a good reason for it. I think he’s gone away to sort it out.’

  ‘But he’ll come back?’ Leonora’s eyes were wide with anxiety.

  Evie crossed her fingers mentally. ‘Of course.’ He’d bloody better, she told herself. It was all very well telling the girls that Robin was ‘sorting things out’. That was what she’d thought at first. But suppose something else had happened? Evie had always thought of suicide as the coward’s way out and Robin was no coward. But he was a proud man. Redundancy had been a hard pill for him to swallow. She should have been more understanding. She would have been if she’d had more time but she had always been rushing – rushing to get the kids off to school, rushing to work, rushing to a meeting, rushing to get the magazine’s figures turned round. And for what? Evie asked herself bitterly. Just so that bloody Janine could take over. Typical, absolutely typical, that she should offer to shorten her maternity leave in order to concentrate on the job. Shit! The car! She should have returned it. Well, it would just have to wait until Monday now.

  Gradually, over the next half-hour, the girls and Jack fell asleep. Jack was sucking his thumb and whimpering occasionally. He was bound to be unsettled, Evie thought. She lay on the bed and dozed until the phone rang. Grabbing the receiver, she ran to the top of the stairs so as not to wake the kids.

  ‘Evie? It’s me. Sorry to ring so late.’

  Her heart plummeted. ‘Hi, Dad.’

  ‘Any news?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I still think you should tell the police. I don’t trust those loan people.’

  Evie would have laughed if the idea hadn’t been so preposterous. ‘You think they’ve taken him away? Come off it, Dad. That sort of thing only happens in films.’

  ‘Well, you thought Bad Ron was involved, didn’t you?’

  She allowed herself a wry smile. Whoever Bad Ron was, it hadn’t rung any bells with her dad’s contacts. But it showed what a terrible state she’d allowed herself to get into, if she thought her son’s garbled sentences were that important.

  ‘If I haven’t heard anything by tomorrow, I will call the police,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got this odd feeling that he wouldn’t want me to. Besides, you know those missed calls I’ve been having? I’m sure they’re from him.’

  She said goodbye and went back to her bedroom. The girls’ chests were rising and falling slowly, and Jack was curled up against Natalie’s back. Thank God, thought Evie, that the hospital examination had shown he hadn’t been abused.

  She resigned herself to a sleepless night. The shock had woken every nerve in her body. Being taken hostage was nothing to the terror of discovering Jack had been snatched. If the policewoman hadn’t found him in that horrible little house, God knows what might have happened. She should never have left him. She was a bad mother. Softly she began to cry.

  ‘It’s all right, Evie,’ said a voice.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Nattie.’

  ‘I thought you were asleep.’

  ‘I was. Then I heard you crying.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right. You must have been awfully scared about Jack.’ Evie became aware of a hand holding hers. ‘Sorry I’ve been such a bitch.’

  ‘You haven’t. Well, you have, but so have I.’

  ‘Friends?’

  Evie squeezed her hand. ‘More than that.’

  ‘Thanks. Night, Evie.’

  ‘Night, love.’

  SATURDAY

  41

  HARRIET

  ‘Traffic is building up on the Marylebone bypass and there are reports of . . .’

  Time to get up, Harriet thought. No, it wasn’t. It was Saturday. There had been no need to set the radio alarm last night. She had forgotten in the aftermath of what had happened that she could sleep in. Now she’d been woken up early. She switched off the radio. Still, no school run for two months. Summer holidays. Charlie home. She turned towards him and he moved away. Her heart sank. This morning, she felt as confused as she had last night. Maybe she needed to do more for herself. The photography idea had come to her out of the blue during the siege. Maybe Nick was right. You did think of irrelevant things during crises that were actually quite important.

  It was hard
to breathe with the window shut, the way Charlie liked it. During his absence she’d kept it open. Since his return, she’d tried to leave a gap but he’d closed it, declaring he got cold in the night. The stale air had induced a headache and she got out of bed to make tea.

  While she was waiting for the kettle to boil, she went through Bruce’s schoolbag for his report. It was a complete mess, full of hand-outs that he should have stuck into the relevant exercise books plus three notes that he should have handed to her about school trips, long past, and arrangements for yesterday’s sports day. The report was at the bottom, heavily stained with an unidentifiable purple substance that might or might not have been fizzy drink.

  Harriet sighed as she flicked through it.

  Maths: Bruce needs to pay more attention.

  Science: Bruce would do better if he could sit still in class.

  Geography: Bruce must learn to put up his hand instead of shouting out.

  English: Bruce shows terrific imagination and writes wonderful stories. With help, I believe his spelling could improve.

  The last paragraph was written by that new teacher, Miss Hayling. Harriet reread it; the first positive comment he’d had since nursery. She put the report into a kitchen drawer. She’d show it to Charlie later, maybe even next week. He would home in on the criticisms, which outweighed the nugget of praise. She thought of Nick, who would, she suspected, react in a more balanced way. He seemed such a natural father. Far more so, she thought, than Charlie.

  The rest of Bruce’s school-bag stank of stale crisps and liquorice. It was dry-clean only so she’d have to take it in. That reminded her: a pile of Charlie’s suits needed to go too but she ought to clear out the pockets first. Might as well do it now while the house was quiet.