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I thought that pointing out potential financial implications would bring Jo over to my
side, although it seemed incredible that we were battling over her. But Tina sent me a smile
full of mischief.
‘I’ve thought of all that. We could have it a week on Wednesday. There’s a Year 10
Information Evening at six, so we could invite Paddy to start his talk at seven-thirty. As the
school will be open late anyway, and staff present, it would be an efficient time to do it. You
could include it in the newsletter tomorrow.’
I had to smile, and acknowledge her skill, even though my heart sank as Jo nodded in
agreement.
‘It’s an excellent idea, Mrs Wade, well done. We can charge for tickets and drinks, to
make a profit from the event. This is exactly what we need to see – initiative and positivity
from the staff.’
I didn’t know why she looked at me when she said that: I could be extremely positive
when I chose. Just not where Paddy Friel was concerned. I was still smarting over the whole
business at the end of the day when I met Tina at my car to share the drive home.
‘You deserve to walk,’ I said, unlocking the door and throwing my bag onto the back
seat. ‘How could you have arranged this with Paddy behind my back? You knew I didn’t want
him here.’
‘But you heard how good he was at the other school. We hardly ever have events like
that here. We’re too out of the way to draw big names. Why should our students always miss
out? If it inspires one of them it will be worth it.’
I shrugged and reversed out of my space with unnecessary speed. She was right, and I
couldn’t argue with her. I just wished it had been anyone but Paddy who was offering this
golden opportunity.
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‘Besides, you don’t need to come,’ she added. ‘He won’t turn up until long after you’ve
gone home. If you really don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. Forget you ever heard about
the event.’
If only it were that easy.
*
Caitlyn telephoned at the weekend, brimming with excitement about her new life in Paris and
her job as an au pair. Everything was fun and interesting; the family she was working for were
lovely, and the children she was looking after were adorable. The weather, the food, the
flowers, the improvement in her accent already … she was enthusiastic about every detail.
My heart ached to hear her. She was so happy – happier than I ever remembered hearing
her before. Was that my fault? Had I held her back, in our quiet Lancashire town, taping up
wings that were twitching with the urge to fly? Had I held her close, when she wanted to be set
free? Protected her, when she needed to test herself and learn from her own mistakes? I had
done what I thought was best, for Faye’s sake, but it was agonising to think that I might have
promoted her safety above her happiness.
‘How are you getting on with the Be Kind to Yourself vouchers?’ Caitlyn asked at last,
when even her enthusiasm for Parisian life was exhausted. ‘You’ve only sent me one so far.’
‘There will be another one on the way soon.’ I laughed. ‘You might not think it exciting
enough. I had to buy some new running clothes, and I didn’t go for the cheapest own brand this
time.’
In a moment of mouse madness, I had clicked on a hi-tech outfit that apparently could
breathe, sweat and possibly even do the running for me, or that’s what I expected for the price.
It was due to arrive on Monday, in time for the first running group meeting on Tuesday. After
a sustained campaign of persuasion from Lexy, I’d given in and agreed to lead it for her. I was
trying not to worry about what I had let myself in for.
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‘Is it going to make you look young, gorgeous and athletic – unlike the baggy things
you’ve worn in the past?’
‘I don’t think it can perform miracles, even at that price.’ Caitlyn’s laughter floated
down the line. I closed my eyes, and for a bewitching second it could have been Faye on the
other end of the phone. ‘I thought I ought to look the part, if I’m leading the group. That’s if
anyone turns up. Lexy has set up a Facebook event, but no one has signed up yet. No one has
even said that they’re interested.’
‘But the middle-aged people who need exercise might not use Facebook.’
‘That’s a fair point. I’ll tell Lexy that we need to write out flyers on parchment with our
quill pens, and send them off attached to a pigeon …’
‘I didn’t mean you. You’re not middle-aged. Not yet.’
‘Thanks!’ Of course, I spoke too soon.
‘Not until August, when you turn forty and officially go over the hill …’
I clutched the phone more tightly to my ear, staggered by the overwhelming nature of
how much I missed her, felt in every fibre and follicle of my being. Her absence was like a
physical force, buffeting me from all angles.
‘I can tell you’re not missing me at all,’ Caitlyn said. ‘You’re having too much fun with
your running club and nights out with Tina. Where did you go? You didn’t say. I hope it wasn’t
just cinema night with Gran Gran and the Chestnuts gang.’
‘No, we went to Yorkshire.’ I realised that probably didn’t sound much of a treat to
someone currently living in Paris. ‘We attended an evening lecture.’
Caitlyn’s silence confirmed that the extra detail hadn’t helped elevate the outing in the
excitement stakes.
‘You did get the concept of the vouchers, didn’t you?’ she asked. ‘You were supposed
to be having fun.’
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‘It was fun!’ Or it had been until a certain fake Irishman had barged into my personal
space. ‘It was all about Roman Britain and what the archaeological evidence tells us …’
I trailed off. I had deliberately not given Caitlyn any details of the talk when I filled in
the voucher. She knew my history, of course, and knew about my degree, but I had tended to
play it down as a subject in which I had a passing interest, not one that I had intended to make
my career. I had never told her about the plans Paddy and I had made before she came to live
with us; the plans to take time out and join archaeological digs across the world. We had both
been juggling a variety of part-time jobs to fund our travels; my share of the money had
ultimately been used to fund time out with Caitlyn and our travels to Lancashire.
I had never mentioned Paddy to her at all, and as far as I knew she had no memory of
him. I hoped not, anyway. But I certainly didn’t want her to think that I’d been desperate for
her to leave home all these years, so I could pick up my old life again.
‘It was only …’ I began again, but Caitlyn interrupted.
‘That’s fantastic! I didn’t realise you were still interested in all that old stuff. Are there
any more talks you can go to?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ I conveniently forgot the fact that one was taking place at our
school.
‘That’s a shame. What about going on a di
g? Is that the sort of thing you used to do?
You should definitely have another go. I bet you could volunteer for something over the
holidays. Why not?’
‘Well …’ Caitlyn was reminding me of someone again, but it wasn’t Faye this time. It
was me. Wasn’t this exactly the same cajoling voice I’d used countless times to encourage her
to join in with things she wasn’t keen on? Since when had our roles reversed?
We said our goodbyes, and Caitlyn returned to her busy, delightful French life while I
slumped on the sofa in front of the television in my empty house. I had no plans for the rest of
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the evening, or for Sunday either. Rich was busy with his children, Tina was away, and even
Gran had told me to keep clear of The Chestnuts or face the consequences of a nasty gastric
bug. I had no plans for the rest of the year. No plans for the rest of my life, whispered an impish
voice in my head.
I thought about Caitlyn’s suggestion of volunteering on a dig and the stir of excitement
I had felt when she had mentioned it. Could I pick up where I had left off all those years ago?
Could I volunteer on a dig over the summer? Why not, Caitlyn had asked. I thought about it all
night, and couldn’t think of an answer.
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CHAPTER 6
Jo Blair didn’t improve on further acquaintance.
‘Is that business-related post?’ she asked, when she caught me during morning break
on Monday, with the parcel containing my new running clothes. I had just finished writing out
a voucher to send to Caitlyn.
BE KIND TO YOURSELF
VOUCHER TWO
I, Eve Roberts, have been kind to myself by buying state-of-the-art new running clothes!
I would have denied it if I could, but the bag was covered with the name of the sports
shop, making pretence futile.
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘It’s an urgent parcel I need for tomorrow.’
I chose not to elaborate; she looked wiry under her power suits, as if she worked out,
and I didn’t want to risk her turning up to join the run.
‘It’s not school policy to allow personal mail to be delivered here. I thought you would
have been aware of that. Don’t do it again.’
I was half inclined to think she was making it up – Mrs Armstrong had never mentioned
the existence of such a policy, and her gin club parcel used to turn up here every month without
anyone batting an eyelid. But I told myself it wasn’t worth fighting over. I had my clothes and
wasn’t expecting any other deliveries, so there was no point falling out over it. We had to work
together, and though our working relationship had been strained so far, never recovering from
our initial chat, I didn’t want to risk making it worse.
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That was what I thought at break. My good intentions didn’t last beyond lunchtime,
when I returned to my desk and found a pile of posters dumped on it. I picked them up and
marched into Jo’s office without knocking.
‘What are these doing here?’ I asked, waving the stack of posters at her. A piece of
dried Blu-Tack flew through the air and landed on her desk, in bold defiance of the clear desk
policy.
‘I found them scattered around the school, ruining the walls. Have you any idea how
much it costs to paint the corridors in this place? Send an email to all staff telling them not to
put posters up other than on the official display boards. Blu-Tack is banned with immediate
effect.’
My blood, which had been lukewarm already, quickly escalated to boiling point.
‘This has nothing to do with any staff member,’ I said, thumping down the posters onto
her clear desk. ‘I put these posters up. Mrs Armstrong gave permission. They are all anti-drug
posters. It’s an important message.’
‘Mrs Armstrong is no longer here and I’m withdrawing permission. It’s sending out the
wrong message to parents and visitors. We have an important event this week, with Paddy
Friel’s talk taking place, and the press will be here. We don’t want to give the impression that
we have a drugs problem in school.’
The reference to Paddy did nothing to calm me down.
‘What does it matter what visitors think? Any decent parent would be pleased to know
that the school was taking a stand – that we have a strong anti-drugs policy,’ I said. She was
usually a stickler for policy and procedure, so why not this one? ‘Who cares about the cost of
repainting the walls, if the posters make one student think twice before experimenting with
drugs?’
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Jo leant forward, and if I hadn’t already concluded after a week’s acquaintance that she
was an efficient machine and incapable of human feeling, I would have sworn she was trying
out a sympathetic expression.
‘I understand, Eve, why you feel so strongly about this crusade, but you need to pursue
it in your own time and not let your obsession …’
I froze. She was giving me a pointed look – a look that suggested she knew things about
me, about my background, that I certainly hadn’t told her.
‘My obsession?’ I repeated. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She clearly didn’t
understand at all. This wasn’t an obsession. It wasn’t a crusade. I wasn’t charging into battle
for my own glory, far from it. But what did this woman, with her own obsession for policies
and efficiencies, know about the things that were really worth anything in life? ‘Call it what
you like. This is a million times more important than exam results and budgets. This is a chance
to save lives. I can’t think of any better way to spend my time.’
I was still shaking when I reached the staffroom, and Tina took one look at my face and
shepherded me into the nearest empty classroom.
‘What’s up?’ she asked, pushing me down onto a chair. ‘Is it Phyllis? Caitlyn? Your
mum?’
‘No, everyone is fine. It’s Jo …’
‘Oh crikey, what’s she done now? The staffroom is still up in arms about her decree
that we need permission to photocopy more than ten sheets of paper. What has she planned
next? We can’t cope with another of her bright ideas yet.’
‘She’s taken down all the anti-drugs posters.’
I didn’t need to say more. Tina understood, more than Jo ever could, and immediately
leant forward to give me a hug.
‘Oh, love. What’s she done that for?’
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‘Because posters might damage the school walls. And she doesn’t want parents to think
there might be a drugs problem here …’ I stopped. Jo’s concerns were so trivial, when
compared to what was at stake. How could she think any of that mattered?
‘So what, we ignore the issue, and keep our fingers crossed that nothing like that
happens here?’ Tina said. ‘She’s more of an idiot than we realised.’
‘She called it my crusade.’ I looked at Tina. ‘How does she know?’
Again, Tina needed no more explanation about what I was asking. She shrugged.
‘I suppose it must be on your per
sonnel record somewhere. Mrs Armstrong knew all
about it, didn’t she? About Faye, and how you came to have Caitlyn …’
So Jo Blair had been snooping, grubbing round in our private lives – for what reason?
Looking for the weak links, who she could then remove in a round of budget cuts? Perhaps I
wouldn’t have minded if it were my secrets she was raking over. But not Faye’s. I didn’t want
her to know anything about Faye, didn’t want someone like her to judge my sister. There had
been enough judgement already. And what had Jo found out? The truth about Faye, and how
she had died, presumably. Because Faye had died unexpectedly, but not from an accident or a
freak illness. She had died from taking a pill – a drug – that had turned out to be a bad one, and
that had killed her.
But that wasn’t the real truth about Faye. It wasn’t how she deserved to be remembered.
She had been so much more than the tawdry tale of her death that had featured in the local and
national newspapers for days afterwards; sleazy journalists hadn’t been able to resist front-page
photographs and stories about the beautiful young woman who had thrown her life away
because of drugs. She had been vibrant and funny, a wicked impressionist, a talented artist, and
the most wonderful sister I could have wished for. Hardly a day went by without me regretting
what I had lost, and even more, what Caitlyn had lost. I had done my best for Caitlyn, but it
could only ever be second best to what she should have had.
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I stared out of the window, nails digging into my palms as I forced my thoughts to stop
there, not to prod at the memories of that time, at the bruise that would never heal. Tina took
hold of my hands and uncurled my fingers.
‘Sod Jo Blair,’ she said. ‘Print me out one of your posters and I’ll put it up on the history
display board. She doesn’t have a key to open it, so it will be safe there. I’m sure I can convince
some of the other teachers to do the same. A bit of rebellion will boost staff morale no end.’
A Dozen Second Chances (ARC) Page 6
