My forehead clenches into a scowl, and my hands shake. What on earth would I want to speak to her for?
‘It’s okay, Tom has his own phone, and I’ll be calling him on a very regular basis.’
Simon laughs.
‘Whatever makes you happy,’ he says, and then slides into the car.
‘When I was a teenager, I always thought that weekends in my twenties would be all about clubbing and chasing women. But this? I could never have imagined anything as exciting as this!’
Zach holds his head in his hands, while he stares at the black-and-white picture on the screen.
‘Will you stop! I need to know if it’s Margaret that’s setting me up, and the only way I’ll know is if it’s on these tapes.’
I look at the screen, and watch as I talk to a parent through the reception window. Thank goodness the camera points that way. It isn’t there to record anything in my actual office, but because of the angle, I can see part of my desk, including the area where I keep my bags. If anything has been planted by Margaret or anyone else, it should show up here.
‘This is the Friday morning when I think the money made its way into my handbag. If Margaret did it, it will have been when I ran to the staffroom to get a cup of coffee. That was at about 10.15.’
I fast-forward through the picture, and sure enough, at 10.17am, I check the clock, press a few buttons on the phone, and then disappear from view.
‘Gosh, you were two minutes late for your break,’ Zach says. ‘Hope you put that onto your overtime.’
‘Shush! This is where it’s going to happen… If it did.’
We both watch the screen, our fingers pressed to our lips, and eyes almost crossed from the concentration. Sure enough, at 10.20am Margaret appears, holding some keys in her hand, and then she disappears.
‘Look! It’s the keys to the safe! Now, watch. If she comes back into view with envelopes in her hands, we’ll know that what that parent told me is true.’
One minute later, Geraldine appears at the front door, and buzzes. As predicted, a mound of envelopes falls onto the floor, and what looks like pieces of cash, appear on the carpet. Margaret comes into view, buzzes Geraldine into the building, speaks for a moment, hustles her out, and then looks towards the corridor. The principal then bends down to pick up the envelopes and money.
‘Here we go.’ Zach and I are so close to the screen that our heads are almost touching, but it’s worth the eye strain. As Margaret scrambles on the floor, her hand moves to under my desk, and for a split second, disappears into my bag.
‘Bingo! Oh My God!! Did you see that? Did you see it? Look!’
‘Show me again.’
I rewind and play the whole thing again. This time we watch in slow motion, and the camera shows Margaret dumping something – the money – into my bag. My heart beats so fast that I think it’s going to jump out of my chest. I can’t believe this. My own principal wants to sabotage my career. But why? What is the purpose of it?
‘Where’s the tape with the exam paper?’ Zach has gone into investigative reporter mode, and we both sort through the bundle of discs until we come across one close to the day in question. We watch two separate days and nothing, and then on the third there it is – Margaret enters reception, sorts through the exam papers and drops one of the envelopes into my shopping bag.
‘This is unbelievable!’ My head spins, and my back is in actual physical pain. Why did she do this? Why does this woman – who I have worked quietly with for years – suddenly want me to lose my job? It doesn’t make any sense.
‘Seems we’ve found the culprit.’ Zach rewinds the film and watches it again. ‘Wow, I know we have some back-stabbers in my office, but I’m not sure even they would go this far. What did you do to her, to make her hate you so much?’
‘What did I do to her?! I have done nothing, except pander to her every wish, for the last five years, that’s what I’ve done! This makes no sense!’
I get up so quickly that my chair knocks off the back of my knees, and Zach reaches over to catch it before it tips into the fireplace. He stares at the screen again, and then puts on his reading glasses, as if that’s going to help anything.
‘What are you going to do?’ he asks, and I shrug, as I pace up and down the living room.
‘What can I do? I’d say go to the police, but I’m not sure this sort of thing is even their department, is it? Sabotage of a career is not the crime of the century in a criminal sense. So, what else is there to do? I’m just so confused.’
Zach grabs a huge salt-and-vinegar crisp from the bowl I put out for refreshments, and crunches down so hard that a million crumbs fly out of his mouth and onto the table. I try to ignore his bad table manners, but it’s hard.
He presses a few buttons on the laptop, and the evidence is downloaded onto a memory stick. He hands it to me.
‘Put this somewhere safe, and we can figure out what to do about it over the weekend.’
I run my fingers over the plastic stick, and then throw it into a drawer, as if it’s on fire. The thought of what’s on there is nauseating and I can’t bear to hold it in my hand.
‘What do you think I should do?’
‘I’m not an expert at this kind of thing, but I’d say maybe go into school and tell her you know what’s happened, show her the evidence and then demand your job back. If she says no, we go to the governors or the union, or the police. Maybe even the Citizens Advice people could help. Believe me, someone will have an answer as to what to do, and then Margaret will be screwed.’
I nod, though I have no idea how I’m going to emotionally prepare for any of that. But whatever we do won’t happen until Monday anyway. For now, I’ve got to get through the weekend, knowing that my son is going to be in London with his father and stepmother. I have to survive that before I can even think about getting my job back. I take a glug of wine, and hope for the best.
Zach has gone home. I’m watching a Friends marathon on Comedy Central, and trying to forget about Margaret, and the fact that Tom has embarked on a weekend away with Simon and Monica. Why did I ever agree to it? I must be raving mad.
When I was a teenager, my mum used to say that I was the kid who was easily led. If my friends needed anyone to buy cider from the off-licence, using a bag of ten pence pieces, it would be me who was sent. If they got drunk and didn’t want their parents to know about it, I’d be the one who volunteered to hide them in my house until they sobered up. It was a constant cause of complaint from my mother, who wondered what high building I’d throw myself from, if my friends suggested it.
Thinking back, I wasn’t as bad as she made me out to be, but I must say that I didn’t have many questions when asked to do something for somebody. That’s what got me into trouble with Simon if I’m honest – not that I would ever admit that to my parents. But anyway, in this case I had stuck firm and said that Tom could not go away for the weekend with Simon and Monica, but somehow, I had been railroaded into it. Not only that, but my parents – who always believed I was easily led – were now completely under Simon’s spell. I wish that I had remained firm about this trip, but what can I do about it now?
Nothing.
Tom phoned me just after seven, to tell me all about the huge bedroom he’s sleeping in. Apparently, it has Tiffany-blue walls (Monica told him that), and white carpets. They had lasagne for dinner, but it wasn’t as good as mine, because it had peppers in it. My son hates peppers, and left them in a pile on the side of his plate. I’d love to know what Monica thought about that! When Tom called, he had just finished playing Wii golf with Simon, and Monica had made him a hot chocolate before he got into bed for an early night.
‘I have to be up at 6am tomorrow,’ he said. ‘That’s even earlier than I get up for Christmas!’
He was so excited, and couldn’t wait to get to sleep, so that his big day would come quicker. I said goodnight, told him I love him, and that was that. I haven’t heard from my son since, and my last two m
essages have gone unread.
Should I text him again? No, best not. It might wake him up and then he’ll be frightened and will want to come home. Would that be a bad thing? Not in my eyes, but in everyone else’s for sure.
Still, the urge to talk to someone in the house is unbearable, so I dial Simon’s number, and listen as his phone goes straight to voicemail. I look at my watch. It’s 10.42pm. He must be in bed now, too, all of them giddy for their perfect birthday trip. I hang up and phone Zach. He picks up with a yawn.
‘Were you in bed?’
‘No, I fell asleep on the sofa. I was watching Catfish and must have nodded off. What can I do for you?’
That’s a good question. What can he do for me? Why am I ringing him at this hour? I have no idea.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘I’ve been wondering if Tom is okay, and he didn’t see my last two messages, so I think he must be in bed, but then I phoned Simon and…’
‘Charlotte!’
‘Yes?’
‘I know this is the first time you’ve ever let Tom out of your sight, apart from sleepovers at your parents’ house, but I’m sure there’s no need to worry. They’ll all be in bed – which is where you should be by the way – and I’m sure if you ring them in the morning, you’ll get to speak to Tom.’
Zach’s right, I know he’s right, but even so, I can’t help but worry. He has no idea what it’s like, since he’s never had children, but one day he’ll learn just how hard all of this is. As I bid him goodnight, I spot my boots, sitting next to the stairs.
Donovan Grove isn’t too far away from me. If I drive over and have a quick peek down the drive, nobody will ever know. I’ll be happy that I’m just feet away from my son, and then I’ll head back here and get to bed.
I slip on my boots, grab my keys, and head out of the door.
22
I pull up outside Simon and Monica’s neighbour’s house, for fear that if I stop at the end of their drive, my son’s new family will see me and declare me nuts. It would be a hard thing to deny, to be honest… Sitting alone in a car at 11pm on an autumnal Friday night is not the behaviour of a sensible human being.
I turn off the engine and pull my coat around me, trying to savour the last of the waves of heat, coming from my fan. I stare towards Simon’s house, but I have trouble seeing through the hedge. Damn it, I should have parked a few feet closer, and then I’d have had a perfect view, but it’s too late now. If I start and stop my engine again, it might wake up the Neighbourhood Watch and I don’t want that.
I grab my bobble hat from the passenger seat, pull it down low, and get out of the car. I only need to walk six feet, and I’ll get a proper look at Simon and Monica’s house. Then I’ll be able to put my mind at rest, jump back in the car and head home.
I lock the door and stroll towards the mansion, but as I turn into the opening of the driveway, something strikes me as not being right. The garage door is open, and Simon and Monica’s cars are both gone. For a moment, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. The garage can’t be open. It must be a trick of the light, making me think that the space is empty. I walk closer and closer, but there is no mistake. Apart from a garden hose, an artificial Christmas tree and a white plastic bench, the garage is empty.
Where is the car that drove Tom from our home just hours ago?
Where is the car that is supposed to drive them all to the station tomorrow morning?
My heart races, and I beg it to stop. There must be an explanation. Perhaps Monica went out for the evening and her car broke down, and Simon had to go and rescue her. He must have taken Tom with him, and didn’t bother to tell me because, why would he? They’ll all be back in a minute and I’ll have to run for cover, so that they don’t see me.
That scenario buzzes around in my mind as I make my way to the patio doors, at the back of the property. It’s damp, and I can feel my hair getting frizzier by the minute, but if I can just see some sign of life through the door, then I’ll be on my way. What kind of sign I don’t know, but there must be something that proves I’m being a paranoid, anxiety-ridden idiot.
As I reach the door, I’m stunned to see that the curtains are open. Who leaves their curtains open in the middle of the night? Surely that’s an invitation for any old pervert or criminal to take a gander into your private life. But still, it’s better for me, because now I can see straight into the room, and convince myself that everything is okay…
Only it isn’t okay.
As I stare through the large window, my breath catches in the back of my throat and I struggle to breathe. Whereas just weeks before there had been a dining table, chairs and posh units, now the room is empty. To a stranger it would seem as though the house hadn’t been lived in for months, but I know better.
Where is the furniture?
Where are Simon and Monica?
Where is my son?!
‘Have you checked the front of the house? Maybe it’s a trick of the light. Darkness can do some strange things to our vision.’
Zach’s voice is relaxed – disappointed even – no doubt wondering why the hell I’ve gone round to Simon’s house so late at night. I hold the phone closer to my face, so that I don’t have to shout, but even before I speak, I can feel my voice going up an octave.
‘I looked through the letter box. Everything is gone. The table next to the door, the armchair in the corner, and even the rug.’
‘What about the living room? Can you see through that window?’
‘Hang on, I’ll check.’
My breath is short as I move to the front window. Leaves crunch underneath my feet, and I can feel the damp soil moulding itself to my shoes, but I don’t care.
‘Are you there yet?’
‘Yes.’
There are no curtains to hide the view, and I hold my hand up to the glass to hide the reflection from the lamp post. Once again, the room is empty. The only thing left is a lampshade hanging from the ceiling, and the thick carpet.
‘There’s nothing here at all.’ The words stick in my throat and I can hardly get them out. ‘It’s gone. Everything is gone.’
‘Have you tried to contact Mr… er… Travis on the telephone?’ Constable McGarvey flicks through her notebook and then stares at me. She thinks I’m an idiot.
‘Yes, I phoned him and I’ve phoned my son. Neither one is answering.’
‘That may just be because it is the middle of the night, and they’ve got their phones turned off. I’m sure that if you try again in the morning, there will be an answer.’
I run my fingers through my damp hair. I want to reach inside my head and pull my brain out. I’m in so much emotional pain, and nobody will listen to me. Why won’t they listen?
‘The point is that the house is empty! They’ve gone and they’ve taken my son with them.’
‘And you knocked on the door?’
‘Yes! It was the first thing I did when I realised the furniture had gone. There was no answer – as your colleague saw for himself when he knocked just a moment ago!’
Across the road, a curtain twitches in one house, while the front door opens in another. Nobody is even pretending to be discreet with their nosiness, and I just want to tell them all to get lost – or words to that effect.
‘Charlotte, let’s go and sit in here, and we can talk in private.’
The policewoman points to her car, and I follow her. She shows me into the back seat, while she sits in the front. It’s still cold in here, but at least it isn’t raining.
‘I’m going to take down a few details, okay?’
I nod, and even though I’ve already told her everything, I go through it all again… And again.
‘Did Mr Travis say that he was bringing Tom back to this house?’
‘Yes! He said that Tom could stay at his house overnight, so that they could get up early tomorrow.’
Constable McGarvey swats at her fringe as though it’s a fly, flicks through her notebook again and then turns to m
e.
‘I know Mr Travis told you that he’d take Tom to his home, but did he say it was this actual house? Did he give you an address?’
Her words rattle in my brain. What is she talking about?
‘No, he never mentioned this particular house, but this is where he lives. I’ve visited him and his wife here several times. We had lunch here a couple of weeks ago.’
Constable McGarvey shakes her head.
‘It may be that they moved out in the meantime, and didn’t tell you. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation, and Mr Travis has taken Tom to his new house, wherever that may be.’
A car pulls up behind us, and the headlights shine straight into the back window. Constable McGarvey shields her eyes and we both stare to see who is in there, but it’s too dark to see. The policewoman’s partner speaks to the driver, and then comes over to Constable McGarvey’s car. He taps on the window and she opens the door.
‘The owner of the house is here.’
The owner of the house? Oh, thank God, it must be Simon. I dive out of the car, just as a woman exits the vehicle behind us. My first thought is that it’s Monica, but she’s too broad to be her…
‘Charlotte. What on earth are you doing at my house in the middle of the night?’
Lights dance in front of my eyes, and I feel as though I’m about to pass out. This can’t be right. How is this possible?
‘Margaret. What are you doing here?’
The principal stares at me, and I stare straight back.
‘Do you two know each other?’ Constable McGarvey looks from me to Margaret, and we both nod.
‘Charlotte is a receptionist at my school.’
‘Your school?’
The policewoman takes out her notebook, as though this is exclusive information that needs preserved.
Hell Hath No Fury Page 20