The Secretary

by Zoe Lea

  He grinned. I was standing, bag on my shoulder, jacket in hand. My computer was switched off and my finger was on the light switch. I couldn’t have given a clearer message if I tried, but he leaned against my desk as if we had all the time in the world. He smiled again and I felt the familiar swirl of attraction.

  ‘Where you running off to?’

  ‘I need to go.’

  ‘It’s not even five.’

  ‘I need to collect Sam.’

  ‘I taught him today.’

  I raised my eyebrows and he laughed.

  ‘Lisa mixed up her PPA cover again,’ he said. ‘She put it down wrong on the board, thought Sheila was taking her class when I’d already swapped with her.’

  I found myself laughing along with him. ‘You switched names again? So you could take Lisa’s class?’

  He came forward. ‘I didn’t switch anything. I took Lisa’s class, that’s all.’

  I could smell him, his aftershave and the laundry powder he used. I could see the stubble on his chin, the way his dimples formed when he smiled, the way his eyes danced.

  ‘You never told me if it worked,’ he said. ‘What we did at our last meeting.’

  I opened my mouth, then rethought my words before I replied. ‘It was … ’ I said, thinking back to the last time I was alone with him. The way he’d altered the whiteboard in the staffroom, and everything that had happened since, ‘very effective. I learned a lot from you that day.’

  I felt myself get hot under his stare and readjusted my bag, tried to find something else to concentrate on. ‘I applied your advice to a few things and, well –’ I looked up at him and felt an excited dip in the base of my stomach ‘– thank you.’

  He nodded and I found I had a smile on my lips that I couldn’t get rid of. There was a buzzing in my chest and a giggle at the forefront of my words. There was a lightness in the air that hadn’t been there until he’d arrived. It was maddening the effect he had on me, his ability to change everything in an instant, and I was excited and frustrated with myself at the same time. I didn’t have time to feel like I did around him.

  ‘He’s a great kid,’ he said after a while, and I couldn’t look away. He’d taught Sam that afternoon. He’d met my son.

  ‘He is,’ I agreed. ‘Sam’s amazing.’

  ‘And I’m glad he’s getting the treatment he deserves, Miss Gleason realising that he needs special attention.’

  My heart was thrumming; he was holding my gaze a beat too long.

  ‘You want to go somewhere?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Now. Let me show you something.’

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I’ve got to collect Sam. He’s in the after-school club and then I need to get him ready, he’s staying at his gran’s tonight so … ’

  ‘Half an hour,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’ve had this idea. And you’ve been cooped up in here all week, let me take you out. Both of you. Half an hour.’

  He drove a campervan, an old green VW. I let out a shocked laugh when I saw it.

  ‘Cool!’ Sam said, running up to the back. ‘Do you sleep in here, is that what you do? Do you go camping all weekend?’

  He opened it up to reveal an immaculate interior, a small sink, a two-seater settee, on top of which was a guitar.

  ‘Here,’ he said as Sam jumped up, ‘you sit there, your mum and me up front.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ I stayed still, in the car park, looking back at my lonely car. It was already getting a little dark, the sky taking on that purple-blue undertone. ‘I need to be back in … ’

  ‘Relax,’ Glen said, as he shut Sam in. ‘Half an hour. That’s all. Let me show you something. I had the idea when I was teaching Sam today. Just half an hour.’

  We didn’t really speak in the van. He put some music on, a slow folk band I’d never heard of before, and drove us confidently out of the city and towards Grinsdale and the River Eden.

  ‘Sam’s not,’ I began as we went past the college, ‘I mean, both of us, we don’t really do crowds, we’re not good with … ’

  ‘Shh,’ Glen said and pulled up in a car park at the side of a field. ‘You OK with a five-minute walk?’

  I nodded.

  We got out and walked towards the river and I suddenly realised how remote we were. Sam’s hand was tight in my own, and for a moment I wondered what I was thinking, getting into a van with him, taking my son. He was a teacher at the school, but I barely knew him, he was a stranger. I’d been a fool.

  ‘Up there,’ Glen said, and I saw a tree beside the river, and in the river, a man, fly fishing.

  ‘It’s the end of the season,’ Glen said to me, ‘probably won’t catch anything, but Andy’s got the gear and –’ he shrugged ‘– I thought Sam would like to see it. We were talking about it in lessons today and Sam said how he always wanted to try it because of some computer game he played.’

  I looked down at Sam. He was staring at the river, mesmerised.

  ‘He kind of came alive in class, it was the most he’d spoken all lesson, and I knew Andy would be here so … ’

  I looked at the river, the light playing on its surface behind the silhouette of the man as he launched his fishing line. This was something I’d seen Sam do on his Xbox. This was how they got food in the game he played. Sam would cheer if he caught a fish, shout me in to see.

  Glen bent down to Sam. ‘There’s no one else here,’ he said softly, ‘and we won’t be long, but would you like to have a try? See how it’s done?’

  Sam nodded shyly, his face bright and shining, and my throat got tight at the look on his face. It was so rare to see Sam enthused by something, something that wasn’t on a screen or in a packet ready to be eaten.

  ‘That is cool,’ he said quietly and inched forward.

  Glen looked at me, to check it was OK, and I nodded.

  ‘I thought you might like this,’ Glen said, as we started to walk towards the river. ‘I knew it’d be something you’d want to have a go at.’ And as they set off, Sam did something that I’ve never seen him do before, and it stopped me in my tracks.

  Glen was talking to him about the fish, about how they have to be thrown back into the river, about the fishing season and, as he spoke, Sam lifted his hand and slotted it into Glen’s. It was the first time I’d ever seen him hold a hand that wasn’t mine, my mother’s or Becca’s. It was the first time I’d seen him hold a man’s hand.

  They walked in front of me, holding hands, talking of computer games and fishing like it was the most natural thing in the world, and I felt something soften inside of me. I could feel it melt, could feel my eyes water as it did. I went to the other side of Sam, took his other hand in mine, so he was between us, and I felt, for the first time in about a hundred years, safe.

  TWENTY

  I’d planned a weekend of binge-watching boxsets, baking and trying out a few new recipes. It was what I did when Sam wasn’t with me. I’d decided to try and go to a car boot on Sunday, which meant I’d be kept busy baking for most of the day, but I found myself unsure of what to do. I was like this when Sam was with Will – restless and jittery. And it was even worse that weekend as I’d given him a phone. It was a cheap thing, only had £10 credit on it and only had the ability to send and receive calls and texts. And take pictures. That’s why I got it.

  I wanted Sam to record what he did with Will. I made up a reason as to why Sam was having it. I told him it was so he could practise for when it was our turn to have the class bear and we would have to take pictures of what the bear did at the weekend. It was a stretch, but Sam was delighted at getting a phone so he listened eagerly when I gave him a stuffed toy and told him to take pictures of what he did, especially anything that Will asked him to do.

  My plan was to show what a bad father Will was, and I could only do that if Sam provided me with evidence. I knew that his time with Will was stressful. He often forced Sam into situations that he wasn’t happy with, such as going into th
e city or the supermarket, and I thought if Sam took a few pictures and then explained in his own words why it was something he was being forced into, it would be a start.

  ‘Take pictures of everything,’ I told Sam as I gave him the phone. ‘Take a picture of everything your dad makes you do, especially if it’s something that this little fella doesn’t like doing.’ I held up the stuffed toy. ‘OK?’

  ‘Like the cinema?’

  I nodded. ‘Like the cinema, and the shopping centre, and the supermarket, all those places.’

  I’d shown him how to use the camera on the phone. It was easy, simple enough.

  ‘And you can call me,’ I told him, showing him how to make a call, ‘anytime. Even if it’s the middle of the night, and you want to come home, call me and I’ll come and get you immediately. There’s only one number in there and it’s mine. OK?’

  He’d given a small nod and then thrown his arms around my neck. ‘I love you, Mum.’

  I had to squeeze my eyes tight so the tears wouldn’t spill over.

  ‘Love you,’ I told him, ‘very much, and here –’ I handed him the magazine I’d bought earlier ‘– to take with you.’

  His eyes sparkled again, his smile back on his face.

  To be honest, when we left Glen, as we drove home before the packing and the introduction of the mobile phone, we were both in a little state of wonder and surprise. My mind was full of Glen, at how insightful he’d been to show that to Sam. At how he’d gained Sam’s trust so completely, at him being able to introduce Sam to new things, to show him where his interests lay, to know him, really know who he was after meeting him so briefly. It was a marvel, made my head spin, and it had done the same to Sam. It showed him a slice of a different world.

  He talked non-stop of fishing after we left Glen. Of going fishing, of joining a fishing club, how much fishing rods cost, where the best places to fish were, so much so that on the way home I’d stopped by a newsagents and bought him a magazine about it. His eyes had been shining, his head full of the idea of himself as a fisherman.

  It was unbelievable, invigorating. I’d never seen Sam so excited about something outside of himself before. And I couldn’t stop thinking about Glen, about his smile, about the way he looked at me, how he made me feel. The whole thing was mind-blowing to be honest. It was only a small thing, to show a shy boy like Sam the hobby of fishing, but it was massive to us. We both knew it, I knew it, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. What kind of man is so intuitive like that?

  I dropped Sam off at Jean’s that Friday night, as planned. She hugged me at the door.

  ‘Thanks, love,’ she whispered in my ear, before bending and kissing Sam. ‘I missed you. What’s that?’ Sam held up his new phone. ‘Oh fancy. Aren’t you the little man with your own phone?’

  ‘I know Will is with someone new now,’ I told Jean, ‘someone I’ve not yet met, so I’d really appreciate it if he stayed over at your house on the Saturday night as well as tonight.’

  She nodded. ‘Of course, of course. Whatever you want, Ruth. We’re just delighted to have him.’ But I may as well have been talking to the wall. We both knew that once Will got involved, Jean had no say in what happened to Sam.

  I left him happy, telling his grandparents about his impromptu fishing trip. Showing them his magazine, telling them how he held the rod, what he’d done. It was strange to be leaving him without the usual clinginess, without Sam looking at me pleading with his eyes. He was too distracted to be concerned over a night away from me, his head full of fishing and a new mobile phone.

  I was feeling a little bemused, pleased that Sam had found something but the whole thing was bittersweet. I think it was because I wanted to have him home that night of all nights. I wanted to be the one to see and hear his excitement over the possibility of this new hobby of his, not Jean, or his granddad, or Will, who wouldn’t be interested. I wanted to share in his excitement and enthusiasm, something I’d not seen in him for so long.

  I went straight back to the newsagents and bought him another magazine, toying with the idea of buying him a rod, or researching into any clubs he might want to join.

  That evening, I left Sam with Jean believing they would be doing the usual, spending the night watching game shows, then being taken to Will’s house on the Saturday morning and watching whatever sports Will had on throughout the day. But unbeknown to me, or Sam, Will, in his wisdom, had arranged for Sam to attend a training session at the rugby club that Saturday morning. At that rugby club.

  It was such an idiotic thing to do, and the possibility of Will arranging something like that never even entered my head. But then, it was so obvious. Of course, Will wanted to show Sam off to his new friends, to Janine and Rob and everyone else who was advising him that he should take full custody. He wanted their nod of approval. Christ, I even think Rob might have been holding the training session. What mixed-up person does that? Arranges for their son to be trained by the man that their ex-wife had a one-night stand with? It was beyond unbelievable but so typical of Will.

  The first I heard about it was a call, late on the Saturday afternoon, from Will. They were at A & E and, panicked, I asked why, and then the whole horrendous tale came out.

  Will had bought Sam a new kit. It was too tight because Will didn’t know Sam’s size, so that was the first thing, I believe, that set Sam off in full tantrum mode and drove Will to anger. And then he made him go to the rugby club in this ill-fitting kit, looking and feeling awful. When they got there, he practically had to drag Sam out of the car.

  I don’t entirely know what Will was thinking, but when he forced Sam to walk on that pitch, in front of a group of sniggering boys he didn’t know, in front of a coach who already had preconceived ideas and judgements, it was one of the cruellest things he’d ever done as a father.

  Sam was already crying at this point I understand, begging his dad not to make him do it, but Will had insisted. On the drive to the rugby club, I learned that Sam had been constantly crying, shaking, pleading with his father not to have to do it, but Will hadn’t listened. He got to the rugby club and looked at Sam, who by this point must have been terrified and hysterical, and instead of having any compassion or understanding for his son, instead of telling him that no, he didn’t have to go on the pitch, he dragged Sam out of the car and forced him to do it. He marched him onto the pitch, and with all the other boys watching, he called him ‘soft’ and told him to ‘toughen up’.

  The outcome being that after five minutes on that pitch, five minutes into the session, Sam had a full-on panic attack and was taken to A & E.

  By the time I got to the hospital Sam had calmed down. He was trembling, his body still tense and his face covered in red blotches. When he saw me he seemed to collapse a little, his body loosening as if he’d been holding it together until I arrived. I ran to him, wrapped my arms around him. I looked at the cheap jogging suit he was wearing, the trainers, the belt used for training tight around his stomach, two Velcro tags dangling from it, and felt burning hate for Will.

  ‘What have you done?’ I hissed at him, as I hugged Sam tightly. ‘What have you done to him?’

  Will was nursing a plastic cup of something, his face pale. He began to explain but I didn’t want to hear it, I needed to see the doctor. It was all very well Will saying that Sam had been looked over and was fine, but I didn’t believe a word he said. I needed to talk to a medical professional.

  ‘I couldn’t work the phone, Mum,’ was all Sam said. ‘I took pictures, but I couldn’t call you. I couldn’t find out where your number was.’

  My heart pulled, ached at those words.

  ‘I couldn’t remember how to call you.’

  I eventually spoke to the doctor who’d checked him over and was told the usual: nothing physically wrong, high anxiety, panic attack, see your GP, try counselling. He tried to give me a recommendation, a leaflet, a letter: I refused them all.

  I’d heard it all before with Sam, been there,
done that. The furthest I ever got was a session with a CBT counsellor who seemed intent on giving lengthy lectures in each session and asking Sam a series of questions that he was unable to answer. After three visits with this particular therapist we were given some printouts and that was it. A waste of time and, not that anyone had suggested it yet, but I was not putting my eight-year-old son on medication. The GP had referred us to another therapist, but we were still waiting for the appointment and I wasn’t holding out any hope.

  We dealt with his anxiety in our own way. We knew his triggers and it was something I was used to, but I’d not seen Sam in such a state in a while. Still, I was reassured there was nothing physically wrong with Sam. He wasn’t injured, he wasn’t ill. He’d had a panic attack.

  Once I was reassured it was something I could handle, I went to deal with Will, out of earshot of Sam.

  ‘How could you?’ I hissed. We were in the waiting room, an audience of bored, ill people watching our drama. ‘How could you do this to him?’ I demanded, bordering on tears I was so angry. ‘You’re meant to be his father, you’re meant to look after him.’

  ‘I’ve never seen him like that … ’ Will stuttered and Sam, who’d been over by the vending machine, came to me then, clutching at me, his large body curling into mine like he was a toddler again. I put my arms around him, held him tightly.

  ‘I should never have let you go,’ I told him. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ I kissed his hot forehead, held him tight, comforted him as best I could.

  ‘He just went berserk,’ Will was saying. ‘It was only a game of rugby,’ he said pathetically, ‘it was only a game. And he wouldn’t let go of that bloody phone you bought him; he’s been taking pictures all weekend. He nearly bit me when I tried to take it out of his hand.’

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘You’re not doing this again,’ I told Will. ‘I let you have him this weekend because I was being kind, because I thought we could come to some agreement, but nope. Not happening. You’re not having Sam again.’

  Will looked up suddenly and frowned. ‘What?’