Hell Hath No Fury

by Michelle Morgan

  ‘Margaret is the principal of the school where I work,’ I say.

  ‘And you own this house?’

  Margaret nods.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘But there is no furniture inside.’

  The principal laughs and shakes her head.

  ‘I’m decorating the entire bottom floor,’ she snaps. ‘All of the furniture has been moved into the gym, so that the decorators have full access to the rooms. Why? What’s the problem here, constable? Has something happened?’

  Margaret looks over my shoulder at the house. How can it belong to her? Nothing makes sense. Constable McGarvey snaps her notebook closed.

  ‘I think this is a case of mistaken identity,’ she says. ‘Miss Baker thought that her friends lived here, but that doesn’t appear to be the case. Do you have anything that would confirm that you own this house?’

  ‘Of course I do!’ Margaret reaches into her handbag and brings out several envelopes. ‘Here are some letters with my address on them. I also have the front door key and all of my belongings inside.’

  She pulls out her key and jangles it in front of the policewoman’s face, while McGarvey stares at the letters.

  ‘This isn’t possible!’ I shout. ‘Margaret does not live in this house. This must be some kind of set-up! This woman has been setting me up at work, and now this!’

  Both women stare at me, while the policewoman hands the letters back to Margaret.

  ‘These seem to suggest that this house does belong to Margaret,’ she says. ‘What do you mean she is setting you up?’

  The principal throws her hands into the air and shrugs.

  ‘I’m afraid that we’ve had a few problems with Charlotte at school, and we’ve had to suspend her, pending investigation.’

  ‘Investigation into what?’

  ‘Theft of school money, and an exam paper.’

  My chin hits the floor, and I stuff my hands into my pockets for fear that I’ll thrash out at any moment.

  ‘Both of which you set up!’ The words burst out with such force that the nearby policeman steps in and tells me to calm down. ‘I can’t calm down! I’m tired and confused and worried about my son. Where is he? What have you done with my son?’

  Constable McGarvey steps between us.

  ‘I know you’re worried, but shouting isn’t going to get us anywhere.’ She turns to the principal. ‘Miss Baker thinks that she may have brought her son here several weeks ago, to visit with his father. Do you know anything about that? Has anyone else lived in your house recently?’

  ‘Yes, my sister has been staying here with her husband.’

  ‘And what are their names?’

  Margaret stares at me before continuing.

  ‘My sister is Monica Travis and her husband is Simon.’

  My heart falls into my stomach. Monica is her sister? How is this possible? PC McGarvey takes out her notebook again, and writes the names onto a clean sheet of paper.

  ‘Please could you let us into the house so that we can speak with them?’

  Margaret shakes her head.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible,’ she says. ‘They moved out last week.’

  The rest of the conversation is just a blur, as Constable McGarvey asks me question after question. Yes, I gave permission for my son to go to London; once again, no, Simon didn’t tell me that they would be leaving from this particular house; no, I never asked if they owned this house or were borrowing it for a while; yes, I have been suspended from work; no, I don’t have a clue what the hell is going on; yes, I feel like an utter prat. Meanwhile, Margaret claims that she does not have the couple’s new address, as they’re still settling in; she did not know the couple were back in town for the day, but that wasn’t a surprise, since they don’t have to tell her everything that goes on in their lives.

  After much toing and froing, the policewoman has had enough.

  ‘To be honest, this all sounds like a mix-up, which I’m sure will be resolved in the morning. Once you have called Mr Travis – or your son – then I’m sure they’ll be able to explain what’s going on. It’s clear that you gave Mr Travis permission to take your son to London, and we should still believe that is what he is doing. Whether he left from this house or any other, is not important, and I would say no cause for concern. Mrs Holmes, thank you for your help. Miss Baker, please let us know in the morning if you still can’t speak to your son, and we’ll take things further. But for now, are we okay here?’

  Margaret and I both nod, and Constable McGarvey says goodbye. Before we can add anything more to the discussion, she’s started the engine, and the car whooshes off from the pavement, and into the night. Margaret and I watch it go, and one by one the neighbours disappear from their front doors and windows.

  ‘Goodnight. I hope you can sort all of this out in the morning.’ The school principal brushes past me, but I’m in no rush to let her go.

  ‘You set me up.’

  She stops and turns towards me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘With the money and the exam papers. That’s what I was trying to explain to the policewoman, but she went straight on to a different subject.’

  Margaret throws her handbag over her shoulder, and sighs.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she says. ‘Now, I can see that you’re upset, but I’m not about to stand here and let you accuse me of something that you’re already under investigation for. The school governors will decide what is in the interest of the school, and then we’ll explain everything to you at a proper place and time.’

  ‘I better send them the tape, then.’

  ‘What tape?’

  A tabby cat appears from under the bush and brushes itself against my ankle. The tiny hairs on my legs stand up, and it takes me all of my time not to freak out. I’ve always been scared of cats, and the fact that there is one here now, when I’m in the middle of this shit show, terrifies me even more. I try to ignore the fact that its tail is now wrapped around my shin, and stare at Margaret.

  ‘I have a CCTV tape, which shows you putting the money and the exam paper into my bag.’

  Her mouth falls open, and she throws her hand to her chest in the most dramatic of fashions.

  ‘Good try, Charlotte, but I know that’s not true. We do not have any cameras in reception, as you well know.’

  ‘You’re right, we don’t have any in the office, but we do have one at the front door, looking towards the window where we greet visitors. Beyond that you can see a small triangle of my area and the floor beneath my desk, which is where I always keep my bag. But you know that already.’

  The principal tuts and blows something resembling a raspberry, before striding away from me.

  ‘Don’t go around saying things like that,’ she shouts. ‘Lies can get you into trouble!’

  Before I can answer, the principal disappears down her driveway, and then my phone rings. It’s Zach.

  ‘Hey! Thank God! Are you okay? I’ve been trying to get through for ages.’

  ‘I’m on my way home,’ I say. ‘I’ll tell you about it then.’

  The drive home is a couple of miles, but with so many thoughts whizzing around my head, it seems like hours. So, Simon and Monica have been living in Margaret’s house, and I just assumed that it was their own. But where was she when we went over for dinner? In her bedroom? Out for a walk? In another house entirely? Maybe that’s why she’s now decorating – to make a new start now that Simon and Monica have gone.

  Is any of this any of my business? I have no idea. But Margaret being Monica’s sister makes sense regards the sabotage of my job. Monica must have spoken about Simon’s affair many times over the years, and then when Margaret found out that the other woman was right there in her office, it sealed my fate. I can’t blame her. I’m sure I’d do the same for my sister – if I had one – but it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

  I’m so tired that my head feels jet-lagged and full of wool, or fog or
something. I know the work stuff is bad, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel about Tom. I should never have allowed him to go with his dad, no matter how excited he was, and how much everyone around me thought it was a great idea. Granted, the fact that I never questioned whether they owned the house on Donovan Grove, or whether it was there that they were taking Tom, is my fault, and that makes things worse. But all I can do now is pray that when I call Tom’s number in the morning, I hear his excited little voice, telling me what a wonderful time he’s having.

  But first I have to get through the next four or five hours.

  23

  6.30am and Zach has already been in my house for twenty minutes.

  ‘You want another cup of tea?’ he asks.

  I shake my head. I’ve just finished the last one he made, and what I need now is an espresso.

  ‘If you change your mind, let me know. Have you tried ringing Tom again?’

  ‘Not since you went into the kitchen five minutes ago.’

  My friend smiles through thin lips, and I know I’m being snappy for no reason, but I’m so exhausted. I was awake all night, except for five minutes of stressful dozing, every now and then. I lost count how many times I checked my phone, but every time I did, it informed me that Tom had not yet read my messages. When my clock told me that it was 6am, I pounced on my phone again, expecting to see some positive news, but no. Nothing from him or from Simon, who I had messaged through the night. Thinking they must both be up, I tried to call, but I got sent to voicemail again, and since I know that Tom doesn’t have any clue how to access that, I didn’t leave a message.

  ‘I’ll try again,’ I say, and dial both numbers. They’re still off.

  ‘Do you have Monica’s number?’ Zach asks, and I shake my head.

  ‘I did, but then she changed it, and I didn’t think to ask for a new one. Something else to beat myself up about, I guess, but since I had Simon’s and Tom’s numbers, it never occurred to me. Why would it?’

  Zach shrugs.

  ‘That’s screwed up about your boss being Monica’s sister though,’ he says, ‘but it explains a lot about the sabotage.’

  ‘I was thinking about this on the way home, and it does make sense – or at least it would if Monica wasn’t so happy about me and Tom being in her life. If that’s the case, then why would Margaret still want to screw up my job?’

  My friend picks at a loose thread on his jumper but remains quiet.

  ‘What?’

  He shrugs, and brushes the thread away.

  ‘I was thinking earlier that if Margaret is still gunning for you, then perhaps Monica isn’t as happy as she’s pretending to be. Maybe her sister knows Monica’s real feelings and is working on her behalf.’

  I stare at my friend through narrowed eyes. Why the hell is he saying this to me? As if I’m not paranoid enough about Tom being with his wicked stepmother!

  I open my mouth to answer, but my phone rings. My hands shake, and I can’t pick it up quick enough. It’s Tom.

  ‘Baby! How are you? I’ve been thinking about you all night!’

  There’s a silence on the line, and then my son’s small voice comes rattling through.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘I miss you though.’

  ‘Aww, I miss you too, but you’ll be home tomorrow. Are you on your way to London now? Are you on the train?’

  I press my ear up to the phone, but I can’t hear any train noises. Instead, I think I can hear bird sounds, but perhaps I’m mistaken.

  ‘No,’ Tom says. ‘Monica told me we’re not going to London now. We have to stay here because my dad isn’t well.’

  ‘Your dad isn’t well? What’s wrong with him?’

  My heart beats in my throat, as Tom’s voice dips to a whisper.

  ‘I haven’t seen him since last night,’ he says. ‘Monica reckons he’s in his room, but she won’t tell me which room that is, and now I’m just hanging out on my own.’

  He doesn’t know what bedroom Simon is in? How big is this house? Is it a hotel? An apartment block? What?

  ‘Tom, where are you? I’ll come and pick you up right now.’

  My son starts to cry, and I can feel his pain coming through the phone. I knew I shouldn’t have let him go. I bloody knew it!

  ‘I don’t know where we are. We’re not in the house we visited the other week. This one is next to a lake. It’s big with red bricks. I loved it when we came last night, but now I don’t. Monica says she doesn’t like kids to use phones, so I had to hide mine in my shoe so she didn’t find it. Now I just want to come home. I don’t want to be here anymore.’

  What’s going on? My breath is so short that I can’t speak, and I can’t remember any words, even if I could. Zach takes the phone from me.

  ‘Hey, Tom! It’s Zach. Listen, me and your mum are going to come and pick you up, okay? But I don’t have the address, so I need you to tell me if you can remember how you got to the house? Do you remember anything you saw on the way?’

  I lean in so that I can hear my son’s voice. He sniffs, and I can hear a muffled sound as he wipes his nose – probably on his sleeve.

  ‘There was a pub,’ he says. ‘We drove for an hour and then stopped there for dinner. That’s where Monica says Dad must have got ill. He had some dodgy fish, she says.’

  ‘Do you remember what the pub was called?’

  ‘No, but it had a rose on the sign. I remember because that’s Mum’s favourite flower and it made me sad that she wasn’t here to see it.’

  Zach and I exchange glances, and he grabs my hand and squeezes it.

  ‘Okay, listen buddy, we’re going to come and get you, okay? But do me a favour, don’t mention this to Monica, because she might think it’s a bit rude of you to leave before you’ve had time for any fun. Just carry on being yourself and reading your books and whatever, and we’ll be there as soon as we can.’

  Tom sniffs again, tells us he loves us, and then we hang up. My legs are shaking so much that I don’t think they’ll hold me up much longer. I slump down onto the chair, and clasp my hands together. I’m not a religious person, but dear God, please let my child be safe.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Zach asks.

  ‘I’m thinking that we need to do what we promised, and get Tom out of there as soon as we can.’

  ‘I agree.’ Zach sits next to me on the sofa, and he picks up his iPad. ‘I’m going to search for pubs within driving distance that have a rose in their name. That will give us some clue about the direction they were travelling.’

  I let my friend get on with his research, while I try to gather my thoughts. If Simon is ill, then who is taking care of my son? Monica does not come across as being a kid-friendly sort – no matter what she says – and the fact that Tom had to hide his phone from her, says everything I need to know. He’s not happy in that house, and he needs to come home. But how do we find it? How do we know where he is?

  ‘Right! Here’s a start.’ Zach passes me his iPad, open on Google Earth. He points at a tiny square, which I imagine must be a building. ‘There’s a pub called The Rose and Crown. It’s on the road on the other side of Northampton. Only problem is, I can’t imagine that they’d stop there for dinner, since it’s not too far from here, and Tom says they drove for an hour.’

  ‘Yes, but Tom is on his own time. Everything is an hour to him, regardless of how long it is. Is there a lake nearby?’

  Zach runs his fingers across the screen, and the map shrinks.

  ‘Nope. A little river, but no lake.’

  ‘This is hopeless! I need to get to Tom. How can we do that when we don’t even know where he is?’

  As the words leave my mouth, a vision enters my mind. A glossy For Sale brochure… A huge, red-bricked house on the lake… An estate agent logo printed in bold across the top…

  ‘Reid and Wright. Reid and Wright!’

  My friend shakes his head.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘When we
were having lunch with Simon and Monica, they spoke about his aunt’s house, which they’re now selling. It’s on the lake and it’s being sold by an estate agent called Reid and Wright!’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive. I remember the name because it’s a play on words. Look…’ I take the iPad and google the name. Sure enough, up pops an estate agent with the same name. I hand it back to Zach.

  ‘Great. Now if they have the house in their database, we’ll be able to get at least a rough idea of where it is.’ He taps on the screen, and thirty seconds later we’re both staring at the same photo as the one Simon showed me. ‘Red Lake House, in Stoke-Welland. Is that it?’

  I nod.

  ‘It must be. I don’t remember the name, but the house is the same, and so is the lake.’

  ‘It’s less than an hour away from where we are,’ Zach says. He searches for it on Google Earth and nods. ‘Look, it’s about thirty minutes away from another Rose and Crown pub. We’ve found it. Come on, let’s go.’

  He springs out of the sofa and slips his shoes on. I follow his lead, grab my handbag and my coat, and then seconds later we’re in his car.

  ‘What do you make of Simon being ill?’ I stare at Zach, and he shrugs.

  ‘Like Tom says, he had the fish and it made him ill. It’s not rare for that to happen. What bothers me more, is why are they at the lake house when they’re supposed to be on the way to London?’

  It’s starting to rain, and Zach turns the windscreen wipers on. They screech across the glass, as though they can’t make up their mind if they’re needed or not.

  ‘I already told you. They were going to London this morning and just staying at the house overnight.’

  ‘It’s just that Stoke-Welland is nowhere near a train station. Why would they go there, when Northampton has a direct line to London, and is just up the road from where we live? Okay, so they’re no longer staying at Margaret’s house, but they could have checked into a hotel for the night. It doesn’t make sense to go all the way up here, when there’s no public transport. You know what I mean?’