Afterwards

by Rosamund Lupton

  PP: I’d like to ask you about who you let in earlier today.

  AJ: You think it was deliberate? I mean, like arson? It’s a bit weird, isn’t it? To suddenly get a fire, like, out of nowhere? I mean, yeah, it’s hot. But it’s not hot like Australia, is it? I mean, we don’t get bushfires, stuff like that. Not in a building.

  “I told you,” Jenny says, seeing my expression. “I bet she loved this, being interviewed by the police.” The drama queen finally gets her stage.

  PP: If we could return to who you let in?

  AJ: Just the usual. I mean, no one I didn’t know.

  PP: I’ll ask you for a list a little later. This afternoon, during sports day, who did you let in?

  AJ: There were a couple of children who needed to use the toilets and Mrs. Banks, the year-two teacher, was with them. We have to call people Mr. and Mrs. at school. It’s very stuck up. But they weren’t here long. There were a couple more teachers who’d forgotten something or other. Not for long either. Then there was Adam Covey and Rowena White, and then her mum. She’s very polite, Mrs. White, waves a thank-you at the camera so I see it on the screen. Hardly anyone does that.

  PP: Anybody else?

  AJ: No.

  PP: You’re sure?

  AJ: Yeah.

  PP: You said you have a screen.

  AJ: Yeah, it’s linked up to a camera on the gate so I can see who it is before pressing the buzzer.

  PP: Do you always look at it before pushing the buzzer?

  AJ: Yeah, not much point having it if I don’t, is there?

  PP: But it must be tempting when you’re busy just to push the button and let them in.

  AJ: ’Course I look at the bloody screen. Sorry. It’s stress. I mean it’s just so tragic, isn’t it? What’s happened. Tragic.

  “That’s bollocks,” Jen says. “I’ve seen her press the buzzer and not look at the screen. She’s done it while she’s talked to me, for Christ’s sake. Doesn’t she get how important this is?”

  It’s what Rowena had said too, in a milder way.

  I look again at the word tragic. It’s as if Annette had thought about it for a while and found the appropriately dramatic label.

  PP: What about earlier in the day?

  AJ: You mean like somebody came and hid?

  PP: Could you please answer the question?

  AJ: No, just the usual. People who are a part of the school. One or two suppliers, bringing things in.

  PP: Do you know these suppliers?

  AJ: Yeah, a caterer and a cleaning guy. They go round to the side entrance into the school, the building, I mean. Everyone has to come in through the main gate.

  PP: Do you think it’s possible that someone could have gotten in?

  AJ: Dunno. But if they did, it wasn’t me who let them in.

  PP: I’d now like to talk about the immediate events around the time of the fire. Where were you when the fire alarm sounded?

  AJ: In the office. As per usual.

  PP: On your own?

  AJ: No. Rowena White was with me. She’d come into the office to get the medals for sports day.

  PP: You’re sure Rowena White was with you?

  AJ: Yeah. I was telling her about a friend of mine’s problems when the alarm went off. Christ, it made a din.

  Like Sarah earlier, Penny was presumably crossing suspects off a list.

  PP: You said that as part of your job, you keep the registers. Can you explain how that works?

  AJ: Well, yeah, at eight forty and again after lunch the teachers tick off all the kids in their class against the class register. Any kid who isn’t there is marked as absent. The register is brought to me in the office—a kid usually does it, like a treat. Anyways, if a kid arrives after the register’s taken, they have to sign in a different register that I keep on a shelf in my office. Anyone leaving before the end of the school day has to sign themselves out in that too.

  PP: Anyone being who?

  AJ: Kids, mainly, leaving early because they’ve got to get to the dentist’s or whatever. But adults too, sometimes, like parent readers.

  PP: And teachers?

  AJ: Yeah, but hardly ever. I mean, they get in before me and leave later. Mrs. Healey makes them work like dogs. But teaching assistants, well, they’re different. I mean, it’s like me. An eight-thirty-to-five deal and any excuse to leave early. So they sign themselves out.

  PP: What did you do after the fire alarm went off?

  AJ: I went outside.

  She hasn’t told Penny that she waited for five minutes before going outside. Nor what she was doing in that time. Presumably Penny didn’t know to ask her.

  AJ: I gave Tilly Rogers, that’s the reception teacher, the register for her class, but there wasn’t any need. I mean, she knew all the kids were there. Then I saw a boy getting hysterical. By that statue. Rowena was trying to calm him down, but he was just getting more wound up.

  PP: Do you know the child’s name?

  AJ: Now I know; I mean, I realize now why he was like that. Anyways, Rowena asked me if I’d seen Jenny. I said not to worry, that I knew she wasn’t inside. I knew, OK. Everyone gives me that look, but I knew.

  PP: How did you know?

  AJ: Because she’d signed herself out. In the register I was telling you about. The one in my office. Look at it yourself if you don’t believe me.

  PP: You think a paper register survived the fire?

  It doesn’t give a tone of voice, but I imagine Penny’s was contemptuous. Window frames and plaster and carpets didn’t survive the fire, so how the hell would paper?

  AJ: She signed herself out, right? In the register. I remember her doing it.

  PP: What time was that?

  AJ: Around three, I suppose. I didn’t check the time.

  PP: Didn’t she write the time in the register?

  AJ: I watched her sign out, but I didn’t go and check what she’d written. Why should I?

  PP: Why didn’t you bring the register out?

  AJ: I didn’t think it mattered. I just thought the reception-class one mattered.

  PP: Surely the whole point of that register is to know who’s in the building in case of fire?

  AJ: Look, I’m new, OK? Only been here a term. They had a fire practice a few weeks back, but I was off sick. Even if I had brought the register out, it wouldn’t have made no difference, right? It would have said Jenny was out of the building. Shown her bloody signature. Proved what I am telling you now. That she signed herself out.

  I glance at Jen, enough to know that she still can’t remember and that it’s tearing her up. “Perhaps she just doesn’t want everyone to think it was her fault,” I say. Because why on earth would Jenny go in again?

  PP: When did you realize that Jennifer Covey was still in the building?

  AJ: I saw her mother running in, yelling for her. And then that daft cow went in too.

  PP: Do you mean Rowena White?

  AJ: Yeah. There were fire engines coming up the road by then. She should have left it up to them, not made their job even harder for them. They ended up having to rescue her too. Not sure what she was trying to prove. She must have wanted the attention.

  I hear Annette Jenks’s jealousy without needing to listen to her voice. Because when it came down to it, the drama queen failed to do anything remotely deserving of attention. I can almost taste the bitterness of her words. She’ll be seething now about Rowena’s small mention in the Richmond Post.

  [Detective Sergeant Baker asks PP out of the room. After three minutes, PP returns.]

  PP: Do you know Silas Hyman?

  I remember Sarah telling you that the head teacher or a governor would have given the police information on anyone who could have a grudge against the school, “straight off the bat.” So someone, presumably Sally Healey, had told the police about Silas Hyman.

  Perfect recall and logic and they think I’m a cabbage.

  AJ: I’ve no idea who Silas Hyman is. What kind of a name is Si
las anyways?

  PP: He was a teacher at the school, who left in April.

  AJ: I wouldn’t know him then, would I? Only started working there in May.

  PP: You’ve never heard of him?

  AJ: As I said, only started at the place in May.

  PP: Nobody gossiped about him?

  AJ: No.

  PP: A teacher who’d been fired only a few weeks before and there was no gossip?

  [AJ shakes head.]

  PP: I must say that I find it hard to believe.

  My respect for the harsh-faced PP goes up a notch.

  “You see,” Jenny says. “Silas and Annette didn’t even know each other. Let alone have an affair.” Sarah gets another crumpled statement out of her bag.

  Her mobile rings and she starts, as if someone has seen her. I go closer and hear Mohsin’s voice at the other end.

  “Prescoes, that printing company, they printed three hundred copies of the Sidley House calendar. Does that help at all?”

  “Three hundred people knew that it was Adam’s birthday on Wednesday. And also that it was sports day so the school would be virtually empty. What about the witness?”

  “Sorry, honey, Penny won’t budge on that, and no one else is talking to me either. They probably don’t trust me. Fuck knows why.”

  She thanks him and hangs up. Then she smoothes out the next crumpled statement.

  The key this time is SH for Sally Healey. The interviewer is AB—Detective Inspector Baker. The time it started was 5:55 p.m. The interviews were almost concurrent.

  22

  I remember Sally Healey on the telly the evening of the fire—her pink linen shirt and cream trousers and assembly voice and immaculate makeup. And how the carefully assembled frontage had started to fall apart.

  AB: Can you tell me who you knew to be in the building at the time of the fire?

  SH: Yes. There was one reception class. Our other reception class was at the zoo. All their names are in the register I gave you. There was also Annette Jenks, the school secretary; Tilly Rogers, a reception teacher; and, of course, Jennifer Covey, who’s a temporary classroom assistant.

  AB: Was every other member of staff out of the building?

  SH: Yes, at sports day. We needed all of them. We are ambitious in the number of activities, and it would be chaotic unless there were enough staff to run things smoothly.

  “Christ,” Jenny says. “Even now she’s trying to promote the school.”

  AB: Did you see any members of staff return to the building?

  SH: Yes, Rowena White. Or, at least, I didn’t see her but I was told she’d gone to get the medals.

  AB: Anyone else?

  SH: No.

  AB: I know one of my officers asked you about this at the scene of the fire, but if you’d bear with me, I need to go over the same territory again.

  SH: Of course.

  AB: How easy is it for people to get into the school?

  SH: We have one entrance to the school, which is a locked gate. It has a numerical keypad. Only members of staff know the code. Everyone else needs to be buzzed in from the office. Unfortunately, there have been instances in the past where parents have been irresponsible and held open the gate for someone, without checking. We had an incident when a complete stranger got into the school because a parent inadvertently held the gate open for him. Since then we have had a monitor installed and our school secretary has to watch exactly who she is letting in.

  AB: So you think your school is secure?

  SH: Absolutely. Security for the children is our top priority.

  “Like Annette can be bothered to watch the monitor,” Jenny says. “Mrs. Healey must know what she’s like, surely?”

  “Yes. I don’t suppose she did when she hired her.”

  “And she knows that parents and some children know the code?”

  “Gets really annoyed about it.”

  If she’s lying about the security on the gate, what else might she be lying about?

  AB: Do you know of anyone who has a grudge against the school?

  SH: No, of course not.

  AB: I have to tell you that it looks, at this stage, as if the fire was arson. So can you please think if there is anyone who may have a grudge against the school?

  [SH is silent.]

  AB: Mrs. Healey?

  SH: How could someone do this?

  There are no stage directions for her mood at this point—misery? fury? panic?

  AB: Can you answer the question, please.

  SH: I cannot think of anyone who would want to do this.

  AB: Perhaps a member of staff who—

  [SH interrupts.]

  SH: No one would do this.

  AB: Have any members of staff left the school recently? Say, in the last six months to a year?

  SH: But that’s nothing to do with the fire.

  AB: Please answer the question.

  SH: Yes. Two. Elizabeth Fisher, our former school secretary. And Silas Hyman, a year-three teacher.

  AB: What were the circumstances?

  SH: Elizabeth Fisher was getting too old to be able to do the job. So sadly I had to let her go. There were no hard feelings. Though I know she misses the children a great deal.

  AB: I’ll need her contact details, if that’s possible?

  SH: Yes. I have her number and address in my palmtop.

  AB: You also said Silas Hyman, a year-three teacher?

  SH: Yes. Circumstances there were more unfortunate. There was an accident in the playground when he was on duty.

  AB: When was this?

  SH: The last week of March. I had to ask him to leave. As I said, health and safety is our top priority.

  AB: You actually said security was your top priority.

  SH: It all lumps in together, in the end, doesn’t it? Keeping the children safe from physical or criminal harm.

  The words or both must have hung in the air but weren’t recorded.

  AB: Are Silas Hyman’s contact details also in your palmtop?

  SH: Yes. I haven’t updated it.

  AB: Can you write them down for me?

  SH: Now?

  AB: Yes. [SH writes down Silas Hyman’s details.]

  AB: If you could please excuse me one moment. [AB leaves the room and returns six minutes later.]

  Baker must have gone to tell Penny about Silas Hyman. Presumably he also sent someone to find him—he’d told you the police had spoken to Silas Hyman that evening.

  AB: We were talking about school security. Can you tell me about the fire regulations at the school?

  SH: We have appropriate fire-fighting equipment—extinguishers, both foam and water, as well as fire blankets and sand buckets on every floor and in vulnerable areas such as the kitchen. The walking distance to the nearest extinguisher does not exceed thirty meters. Staff are trained in the use of appropriate equipment. We have signed exits, both pictorially and in writing, in every classroom and in rooms such as the art room, dining room, and kitchen. We also routinely practice evacuating the building. We have certified smoke detectors and heat detectors, which are linked directly through to the fire station. We have quarterly, yearly, and three-yearly maintenance and testing by a qualified engineer as required by BS 5839.

  “It sounds like she’s memorized it all,” Jen says, and I agree with her, but why?

  AB: You have all those facts to hand?

  So Baker noticed this too.

  SH: I am the head teacher of a primary school. As I just told you, safety is my number one concern. I delegated myself as the fire safety manager. So yes, I have the facts to hand.

  AB: Firefighters reported that windows at the top of the school were wide open. Can you comment on that?

  SH: No. That’s not possible. We have window locks to prevent them being opened more than ten centimeters.

  AB: Where are the keys to the window locks kept?

  SH: In the teacher’s desk. But surely …

  She must have traile
d off at this point. I imagine again that figure going to the top of the school, but now more was required before he could fling open the windows and let the breeze suck the fire upwards.

  AB: You said your staff was trained to put out fires?

  SH: Yes. Clearly, containment, alongside evacuation, is the best method of minimizing the impact of a fire.

  AB: But the staff was all out at sports day? Apart from the three you told me about? [SH nods.]

  AB: Why was Jennifer Covey inside the school and not at sports day too?

  SH: She was in charge of the medical room. For minor injuries.

  AB: Where is the medical room?

  SH: On the third floor.

  AB: At the top of the building?

  SH: Yes. We used to use the secretary’s office. Elizabeth was a qualified nurse. There was a sofa in there and we had a blanket. Just to hold the fort until a parent arrived to take the child home. But the new secretary isn’t medically trained in any way so there was no point keeping it there. Mr. Davidson, our head of upper school, has it on his floor. He’s our trained first-aider, but he was needed at sports day.

  AB: How long had you known that Jennifer Covey would be the nurse this afternoon?

  SH: Nurse is a little grand for the title. Clearly I didn’t expect a girl that age to deal with anything remotely serious.

  “I did a St. John Ambulance training, you witch,” Jenny says as she reads it, and I’m glad she’s focused on Sally Healey’s answer and not Baker’s question. Because right at the beginning he’d suspected the fire was aimed at her. I suppose he’d have put her name in the computer and the hate-mail case would have come up instantly.

  AB: If you could answer my question. How long had you known that Jennifer Covey would be the nurse this afternoon?

  SH: I announced it at the Thursday staff meeting last week. It wasn’t my original plan, but I decided that in view of Jennifer’s consistently inappropriate clothes during the warm weather, it would be better if she wasn’t in view of the parents.