Calamity in Camberwell

by Alice Castle

  It was true. Even the most mundane jobs routinely attracted sheaves of hopefuls, mostly over-eager parents.

  ‘Everyone thinks if they get a job, it’ll either get money off the fees for their kids, or they’ll be able to shoe-horn them in here without doing the entrance exam,’ Janice sniffed. ‘As if!’

  Beth nodded automatically, though she had harboured very much the same thoughts herself when she’d applied, and was still hoping against hope that Ben might have a better chance of wiggling his way in because of her job.

  ‘But what did the marketing post have to do with it?’

  ‘Oh, nothing really, except there were just so many people around in the afternoon, doing the full tour. You know how we always show people over the whole school as part of the interview process, even if they’re no-hopers. I’ve told the Bursar time and again that it’s a terrible waste of time, but you know what he’s like,’ sniffed Janice. Beth, no fan of the Bursar either, did indeed know him only too well. ‘Didn’t you see all the people being taken around, they probably popped their heads round your office, didn’t they? It’s one of the highlights now, thanks to all your clever research.’

  Normally, Beth would have taken this compliment to heart and would have been thrilled. Today, keen only to cover up her absence yesterday, and realising with a sinking feeling that there had been all too many potential room-wreckers prowling her corridor at the vital time, she tried to turn the conversation back to her main concern.

  ‘But Jeff, did he manage to sort things out? And how long did it take him?’

  ‘Well, everything’s working perfectly this morning, so I’d say he did a great job,’ said Janice, seeming to pat herself on the back for finding the man.

  If only she knew, thought Beth.

  ‘You won’t hire him again, though, will you?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s an odd question, Beth. Is there anything going on I should know about?’ said Janice. You could mistake her, easily enough, for someone who was just fluffy and gorgeous, a Persian cat of a girl. But Janice was sharp enough to run the school, and now Dr Grover, too, for good measure. It was a mistake to underestimate her.

  Beth was wondering how far to take her into her confidence, when there was a rap at the door. Talk of the devil. It was the Bursar, Tom Seasons, and typically, he didn’t wait for an invitation. He breezed in with all the aggression of a retired rugby player, still more at ease on a muddy pitch than in this pretty, light-filled room. He eyed Janice’s bump a little askance, threw even more of a sharp look at Beth, then – without being asked – dragged one of Janice’s occasional chairs up to the desk, and plonked himself down.

  ‘Just wanted to talk about the marketing candidates. Dr Grover is tied up at the moment, so I just thought I’d go through the runners and riders with you. Power behind the throne, and all that,’ he said, creasing his eyes in a bonhominous smile.

  Beth could tell that this eminence grise comment, meant to be a tremendous compliment, had not gone down well with Janice. Like many women who were influencers rather than movers and shakers in their own right, she hated to be reminded that the real power was not hers to command.

  ‘Um, this might not be the right time, Tom,’ Janice began.

  ‘Nonsense, we can say anything in front of Beth, can’t we?’ said the Bursar forcefully. He clearly wanted to get this off his chest and get on with other things, and wasn’t planning to hang around for anyone. ‘No secrets here.’

  ‘Right,’ said Janice with a set face.

  Beth could see her dilemma. If she insisted on deferring the meeting, she might be inadvertently insulting Beth, and would certainly be challenging the Bursar’s authority. She really had little choice but to let it go ahead. Beth, meanwhile, knew she could have excused herself and saved her friend this dilemma, but as usual her curiosity was piqued. She just loved knowing stuff, even if it wasn’t particularly relevant to anything. And also, she was still feeling a little light-headed, after the revelation about Jeff. Staying put would be good all round.

  The Bursar was announcing a litany of names. They seemed to be the candidates that had so far shimmied under or over the array of fiendish obstacles in their path before they would be allowed the signal honour of joining the marketing team. Wyatt’s was a product that needed little introduction, and absolutely no selling, to any parent with a child the right age to go to this or any other school, so the job was little more than a sinecure with, as Janice had already pointed out, the tantalising prospect that it might offer an unfair advantage to the successful candidate’s offspring. Beth wasn’t surprised that all the possibles sounded like total whizzes in their fields.

  She allowed the names to wash over her as she reflected on the events of the morning and the thunderous news of Jeff’s tinkering yesterday. She was just starting to feel a little steadier, and wondering if she shouldn’t toddle back to her own office for a final tidy-round, a serious think about this morning’s news – and the remote possibility that she might settle down to a bit of work of her own – when she realised the Bursar and Janice kept coming back to one particular name. Barbara Pine.

  ‘I thought she was a reasonably strong candidate,’ said the Bursar, damning with faint praise as usual. Janice said nothing more than a ‘hmmm’. Beth wasn’t sure that was because she was disagreeing with the man in front of her, or simply reserving judgement for her own reasons. But wait a minute. That name. She’d heard it before. But where?

  It took her a few more minutes, while Janice and the Bursar had moved on to another woman entirely, then back to Barbara Pine again, before Beth realised why the name rang a bell. Barbara. Babs. It was Babs; little Jess’s slightly out-of-her-depth stepmum, who’d all but blubbed over her kitchen table the other night, and seemed to be the only person in the world, apart from Beth herself and Jess, who had the slightest concern over the whereabouts of Jen.

  ‘Is that Babs Pine, Tim Patterson’s partner, you’re talking about?’ piped up Beth suddenly. Both the Bursar, who’d more or less forgotten Beth was present, and Janice, who’d been so involved in wrangling with this wilful man that she’d become oblivious to her friend as well, turned to her in surprise. There was silence for a beat.

  ‘Well, she could be a Babs. She said “Barbara”, and we called her that in the interview, but I suppose she’s allowed a nickname, it’s not against the law,’ said Janice airily. ‘No idea what her partner’s called.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll get the job?’ asked Beth.

  ‘Now, well, we really can’t discuss such things with anyone outside the official recruitment process, Beth. I’m sure you understand that,’ said the Bursar, spreading his meaty thighs and doing what he did best, patronising an underling with a small smile of pleasure.

  Instantly, Janice rose to the defence of Barbara, whom she’d hitherto seemed unconvinced about. ‘In fact, Dr Grover is terribly keen on Babs and, yes, he’s thinking strongly that she’ll be a real asset to the team. She’s got tremendous skills to bring to the table, she’s been taking a leading role at her current employer for quite some time, and seems really ready to stretch her wings with all the opportunities for personal growth and development that we can offer here at Wyatt’s,’ said Janice, slightly breathless by the time she’d finished her spiel.

  The Bursar, with a tetchy look that took in both women, said a little more quietly, ‘Well, I didn’t realise the Head’s thinking was developing along those lines, but it’s a very sound point of view, very sound. Well, must get on. The under-13s rugger lot won’t coach themselves.’

  With that, he hoisted himself out of his chair, clearly feeling the twinges of old injuries besetting him, as well as the current blow landed upon him with such dainty accuracy by Janice. With a nod at both women, he took himself off, his heavy tread soon receding down the corridor.

  Beth looked at Janice. ‘I’m surprised you were that keen on Babs. I didn’t like her that much when I first met her.’

  ‘To tell you the
truth, I can’t even remember which one she was. We saw so many people yesterday, coming out with the same old jargon. I’m sure they were all really good; they’d made it to the interview stage. We weeded out loads before we got to the sessions yesterday. But once you’ve heard one person telling you how wonderful they are at selling stuff, you’ve kind of heard them all. It was a bit like an endless episode of The Apprentice,’ Janice smiled.

  ‘God, it sounds a nightmare,’ said Beth. There were few things she’d dislike more than being up close and personal with an Apprentice wannabe.

  ‘Added to that, we had a load of prospective parents in for a whistle-stop tour. Not just potential Year 1s but all the way up the school, right to Sixth Form. It was a really busy afternoon. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.’

  Beth nodded and tried to look well aware of all the comings and goings. It was a bit absurd, really. Janice was nominally her line manager, yes, and in that capacity wouldn’t have been officially amused at the idea of her bunking off all afternoon to attempt flirtation in a Dulwich café. But with her dating mentor hat on, Janice would have been screaming, ‘Go for it, girl!’ and punching the air. After all, the whole thing had been her idea in the first place, and poor old Richard was her cousin.

  But the fact that Beth’s office had been ransacked, due to her own negligence, had put her so much on the back foot that she decided not to burden Janice by mentioning that she’d been MIA for hours yesterday.

  Mind you, she was going to have to tell her about the coffee date soon, or someone else would get in first. Since she’d been spotted by Belinda MacKenzie, the Dulwich grapevine would be heavy with this low-hanging, ripe, and juicy bit of gossip. Beth didn’t over-estimate her own worth, as far as Belinda was concerned. The woman had as keen an interest in matchmaking as Noah did when preparing for embarkation, but Beth had so far flouted her generous attempts to set her up with emotionally-damaged bankers. Although she had never said as much, Beth suspected Belinda had now abandoned her as a hopeless case.

  Felicity – Richard’s ex – was firmly on Belinda’s list of approved chums, however, so the fate of her discarded other half was always going to be of interest. And the two of them getting together would be an irresistibly neat conclusion, which Belinda could easily convince herself she’d always seen coming.

  So trouble was looming, but Beth was willing to chance her luck and delay mentioning her coffee with Richard until at least this afternoon, if possible. In the meantime, she wondered if there was more research she could usefully be getting on with. Nothing to do with her job, of course.

  ‘Do you have a list of names of parents who came on the tour yesterday?’ Beth said to Janice, aiming for a casual tone but sensing, from her friend’s sharp glance, that she had failed.

  ‘Of course. Why would you want to look at that?’

  ‘Just working on some early marketing strategies for the Institute,’ said Beth vaguely, hoping her nose wasn’t growing as she spoke.

  Janice looked at her again, but said, ‘Well, I don’t see the harm in letting you have the list. I’ll ping it over to your email.’ She turned back to her screen and got busy.

  Beth took the hint and got up to go. ‘Will you have time for a coffee later?’ she asked, her hand on the door.

  ‘Of course,’ said Janice. ‘But decaf. This little person isn’t keen on coffee,’ she smiled, fondly stroking her bump.

  ‘Not keen on coffee? They’ll have to move out of Dulwich when they’re finally with us, then,’ Beth laughed.

  Having carefully unlocked her office, Beth was glad to see everything was, of course, just as she’d left it. She was always going to have that little pause now, she realised, just before going in; that moment when she braced herself for what she might see. It was a nasty little aftertaste of the malice that had been at play. She hoped the perpetrator, whoever it was, would lose sleep over their actions, feel guilt corroding their pleasures. But people who could do stuff like this didn’t have remorse. Their consciences, if they possessed them, were like stainless steel, fighting off the rust of doubt and self-reproach.

  In her swivel chair, and swaying gently from side to side, Beth peered down the list that Janice had sent across. The number of people turning up for a speculative tour of the school should have shocked her, but knowing Wyatt’s – and Dulwich, and parents – she scrolled down name after name after name and wasn’t even surprised. She probably should have gone on the tour herself just to have seen what the competition was like, even though she knew the school front to back these days. She was, she very much hoped, going to be a Year 7 parent herself, next September. She sighed.

  She’d just had the results back on Ben’s eleven plus attempt. He’d done well, but, as they said, no cigar. It was a respectable placing, but he wasn’t in the top echelons that got guaranteed places. That meant he’d almost certainly fall foul of catchment areas. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. Anyway, it had been practice, more than anything. But had she missed a trick with this Wyatt’s tour? She could have asked pertinent questions, made the teachers leading the tour think, ‘Oh, she must have a smart kid, must look out for him.’ Except that they’d recognise her as their archivist and probably think she was crazy instead.

  Such musings occupied her as she waded through names, letting them go in one eye and out the other. Until she got nearly to the end. There, she found a name which really did astonish her. She sat up straighter. That was beyond bizarre. What on earth was this person doing on a Wyatt’s School tour? They had no possible reason to be there.

  So Babs, Jen’s ex’s new partner had been touring the school yesterday. Meanwhile Jeff, Jen’s current husband, had been merrily fixing an IT problem. And, if this register was correct, a third person with a connection to Jen, who had no business at all to be at Wyatt’s, had been floating around the school as well, large as life.

  The mystery had deepened by yet another degree. Beth hit the desk in front of her with the flat of her hand. It was all so frustrating! If she hadn’t had her office burgled, she’d be on the phone again to York, trying to prod him into investigating the whole matter. But the only reason she now knew about this strange triangulation of people in the right zone and time to be the culprit, and therefore probably – she knew she was making a leap here, but she was willing to bet she was right – the person who’d whacked her on the head as well, was because she’d left her office unlocked. So she couldn’t tell York, because it was all her fault. He’d see in two seconds that her door hadn’t been forced, and she’d have to admit she’d left it more or less swinging in the breeze.

  But maybe that didn’t matter. He could hardly arrest her for carelessness, could he? And yes, Janice and all the powers of the school would also be furious with her, but was that the end of the world?

  For once, she understood Ben’s reluctance to ’fess up when he’d been naughty. Knowing you were going to be punished, and realising you deserved it, was worse than being told off out of the blue. Miles worse.

  She decided to mull it over for a while. In the meantime, there was one thing she could usefully do. Apart from her actual job, of course. She could finally get round to reporting Jen missing. First of all, though, she’d try giving her a quick ring. She could imagine the way her friend’s freckled nose would wrinkle, and how she’d shake her head, when she picked up the phone and told Beth not to be such a fusspot.

  Beth dialled, and the little icon with Jen’s familiar face popped up on the screen. It rang once, twice, three times… and clicked. Beth sat up straighter, said, ‘Hello?’ then felt her hopes plummet as the answering machine came on. The same old phrase: leave a message after the tone. Oh Jen, Jen, thought Beth. I’ve left so many messages after that damned tone. Have you heard them? She hesitated to leave yet another, but after a second, just said quickly, ‘Hope you’re ok, Jen. Please ring me.’

  Right, she had no choice now but to get busy with all the admin necessary to report someone missing in a busy
city like London. Should she ring 101, as York had suggested, or would doing it online be quicker? She’d certainly feel less of an idiot tapping in the details from behind a nice, safe screen, but would it be as effective? Would her form ever meet a human? Well, she could sort that out by asking York to do as he’d promised and look into the matter for her. No need to mention the office ransacking if she didn’t want to.

  A quick Google search brought up a form, and immediately she faced a choice. What would you like to report: a missing person, a sighting of a missing person, or a person you haven’t seen or heard from in days, weeks, or months?

  Jen fitted both the first and the third options. The wording of the third box was a little odd. Were the police trying to screen out people who’d just had spats with each other; those who weren’t missing, but just sulking or moving on? Fair enough, she supposed. If the police wanted to concentrate on solving major crimes, they certainly couldn’t get involved in he said/she said tussles. And from what Beth remembered about Sam and Lily’s strictures on Tinder, half the men on there could easily fall into that category.

  She clicked box three, though. She didn’t really know if Jen was missing, as such. All she knew was that she hadn’t seen her. The next screen asked whether Jen was in immediate danger. This was impossible to know. If Beth hadn’t seen her for weeks, she couldn’t possibly judge her current circumstances. So that, she supposed, had to be a no. ‘In this situation, we’d always advise you to take the usual steps,’ said the site, telling her to check with friends, family, and neighbours. All perfectly sensible, but she felt as though she’d been fobbed off.

  Beth went back to the beginning, and this time firmly declared Jen as a missing person. This time, she was told to ring 101, with a list of details about her last sighting of her friend, a description, down to the clothes she’d been wearing, and details about her car and even whether she had an Oyster card to get around the city. It was very sobering.

  Where was Jen? She had to be somewhere. Was she just lying low in Camberwell, not getting in touch for reasons of her own? Or had she taken off in her car? One of the last times Beth had seen her, Jen had been coming back from a trip, with a bag weighing down her shoulder and the general demeanour of someone who’d tangled with public transport all too recently. Camberwell was a hub for buses; they drifted up and down Camberwell Church Street restlessly like whales looking for plankton. Jen could have gone anywhere. But, for some reason, Beth was sure the answer lay nearer to home.