Kathryn felt all eyes scan the headmaster and his wife as they settled into their seats. She had to resist the temptation to stand and shout at the appraising eyes, ‘Yes, I know I am wearing the blue jersey and pleated skirt again, but truth be known it’s my “chapel outfit” and you will all be seeing it for at least this year and probably the greater part of next.’ She was wrong; no one at chapel that day would see this outfit again.
Kathryn glanced over at the masters sitting with jutting chins and narrowed eyes in their allocated seats. She knew that at least three of them would be dozing within minutes, using the ruse of deep prayer and concentration with eyes closed to catch up on sleep. They fooled no one, least of all the children, who would point and nudge at the lolling heads.
Kathryn had almost given up on the God to whom they all paid homage, but it was important that she attended nonetheless. Not to do so would be bad manners and she did enjoy the beautiful surroundings, the singing and the sight of her children, whom she watched surreptitiously from across the aisle. She wondered if every mother felt the same swell of love and pride when they studied the perfect faces of the humans they had created.
Unaware that they were being scrutinised, Lydia and Dominic looked relaxed and natural. Dominic twitched his nose involuntarily; a tiny act that transported Kathryn back to when he was a baby. It amazed her that this boy-man was only ever a minor flinch away from the baby she had held in her arms. If she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, she could still invoke his newborn scent, a unique and intoxicating combination of baked bread and new human. Lydia had smelt quite different: fresher, with an almost citrusy tang, like a warm lemon muffin.
Kathryn watched Lydia put the nail of her index finger into her mouth and start nibbling. It made her wince. Lydia had the beautiful hands of an artist: long, tapering fingers and almond-shaped nails. It was a long-standing family joke that if she sat on her hands she would be unable to communicate; she was so expressive with them, using her palms and fingers to illustrate and emphasise every point.
Dominic sat with his fingers interlaced in his lap. His gaze was steady in the direction of the chaplain. A casual observer might think that he was transfixed by the words being dispensed from the lectern, but Kathryn knew different. From her privileged vantage point she could see that Emily Grant was sitting slightly to the right of the chaplain and was busy returning her boyfriend’s gaze with not so subtle nods, gestures and raised eyebrows. Kathryn smiled to herself, feeling like a secret had inadvertently been shared with her.
The chaplain, Tim Cattermole, was warming to his theme. He grasped both sides of the lectern, as if to add extra gravitas to his words.
‘“I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Boys and girls, staff and parents, I would like you to think about that quote from the Bible while I give my address today, the theme of which is “protection”. I want to talk about our duty to protect all that is precious and important to us, including our wonderful school and all that is in it, but also the need to protect each other, to keep each other safe from harm…’
He spoke at length about how bullies and people that harm others were the opposite of protectors, how they were in fact ‘destroyers’ of all that was good and worth protecting. Most of it went over Kathryn’s head, for she was greatly distracted by a single thought that rang out like a clear note, high and visible above everything else – that the right thing to do was ‘to prosper you and not to harm you’. Tim Cattermole was spot on: she should not be harmed, she should not be harmed any more; this was not why she had been created, not what her parents had raised her for, not why she had been blessed with children. Enough was enough. Kathryn Brooker did not want to be harmed any more.
She closed her eyes as the chaplain’s words rose up and danced about the keystones of the arches, waking the slumbering carvings and gargoyles. For the first time in a very long time, she prayed. ‘Help me, please help me. I am so lonely, I am alone. I am lonely and alone amongst all of these people; I am always alone. Wherever I am and whoever I am with, I am always alone. I am asking for strength because I want to give up. I don’t think that I can do this any more. Help me, please help me…’
In a moment of epiphany, Tim Cattermole’s words pierced her prayer and spoke directly to her. He was quoting the answer, he was giving her the solution, he was answering her prayer:
‘Thou shalt not consent unto him, nor hearken unto him; neither shall thine eye pity him, neither shalt thou spare, neither shalt thou conceal him: But thou shalt surely kill him; thine hand shall be first upon him to put him to death.’
The words replayed in her head until she had little choice but to give them consideration.
After chapel, the great and the good gathered in the refectory for drinks. Kathryn was in no mood for jovial interaction with strangers, but as usual she had little choice. Mark was chatting to Dom and a group of his peers, holding court, making friends. Kathryn caught the tail end of Luca’s story.
‘… the nasty little poof.’
She correctly concluded that the boy under discussion was Jack Hollister, who had recently left school after being outed on the web by his tutor group. She had found the whole episode disgusting.
‘I don’t think you should be talking about anyone in those terms, Luca. It isn’t very nice.’
The group stared in surprise at the unusually opinionated Mrs Bedmaker.
When the last of the assembled parents and masters had scoffed enough plonk and vol-au-vents, Kathryn and Mark found themselves alone.
‘Thank you for your valuable input on the Hollister boy incident earlier, darling. Your insights will I’m sure prove most enlightening to the boys as they venture forth into the world. I find it odd that you felt the need to comment at all. It can’t be news to you that the world is indeed “not very nice” and my personal view is that he is better away from a school of this calibre. We have no need of his sort here.’
‘His sort?’ Kathryn could not keep the horror from her voice.
‘Yes, his sort. Do I need to remind you that I am an educator and therefore fully aware of exactly what a subversive influence in a small group can do? For future reference, if I need advice on what polish to use or the best way to get the dishes really clean, I’ll ask you, but in the meantime kindly don’t offer your views on matters about which you have absolutely no knowledge and that I or anyone else have absolutely no interest in hearing. Is that clear?’
Mark smiled throughout his lecture, but the tone in which it was delivered left Kathryn in little doubt that she was in deep trouble. Before she had a chance to respond, the kids popped their heads around the refectory door.
‘Can we please go home? Some of us have lives outside of school!’
‘God, kids, can’t we have a little smooch without being hounded by you two?’
‘Oh, gross, Dad!’ Dominic shook his head.
Kathryn stared at her husband. His capacity to lie and smirk in unison knew no bounds.
Once the chaplain had been congratulated, the choir thanked and the pupils dismissed, the Brookers walked along the path back to their house. Dominic and Lydia strode ahead, loosening their chapel-smart ties and rolling down their socks, impatient to shake off ‘geek’ and become ‘cool’.
Kathryn watched Mark saunter along the path with his hands clamped behind his back. His gown billowed behind, giving him a bat-like quality.
‘I thought it went rather well this morning,’ he said. ‘I think people found my address interesting; some were clearly captivated.’
‘If you substitute “long” for “interesting” and “bored” for “captivated” then I couldn’t agree more, Dad!’ Dominic shouted back along the path.
Kathryn watched her husband laugh loudly as he tipped his head back. It was incredible how he allowed – appreciated, even – such frankness and deprecation from the children and yet reacted with such wrath
to even the slightest transgression from her.
‘I agree with Dom,’ Lydia interjected. ‘You go and on and on, Dad. Blah, blah, blah. I stopped listening after the welcome bit.’
‘Right, I get it. My children are finally learning the power of combined effort. Well done, kids. Two is definitely better than one when it comes to brain power.’
Dominic and Lydia high-fived each other in a rare moment of camaraderie.
‘Hang on a mo though, kids. Your celebrations may be a little premature. You seem to have overlooked the fact that I am not necessarily outnumbered here. I do have my good lady wife on hand to boost my team numbers.’
‘Actually, Dad, sorry to disappoint you, but I have to say that I saw Mum’s face during your performance today and she looked bored shitless like the rest of us!’
‘Is that right?’
Mark stopped walking and turned to face his wife.
‘Come on, Kathryn, enlighten us. Which were you? Captivated or bored shitless, as our offspring so succinctly put it?’
The three stood facing her. Her children’s faces were open and smiling, but Mark’s eyes were thunderous, his mouth set.
‘Yeah, come on, Mum. Bored shitless or captivated?’
Kathryn studied the trio around whom her world revolved. She practised the correct phrase in her head, mentally forming the words that would placate her spouse and disappoint her children.
It was a split-second lapse of concentration. The briefest of moments when her words leapt from her mouth unfiltered and uncensored. It was done in error.
‘I was absolutely bored shitless.’
Dominic and Lydia doubled over, each laughing hysterically at this unexpected turn of events and delighted that at last their mum was joining in the fun. Dom wiped the tears from his eyes as he put his arm across his mother’s shoulders.
‘That is classic! Bloody classic!’
Lydia put her arm around Mark’s waist, evening out the teams.
Kathryn held her husband’s gaze, which was unwavering despite the physical distraction of the kids.
‘Is that right, Kathryn? Bored shitless, eh?’
Mark narrowed his eyes, trying to better understand his wife’s dissent. He stared as if trying to fathom where this new-found confidence had come from, what had shifted in their universe that meant she felt able to openly go against him. He wasn’t accustomed to being disagreed with and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.
She sought words of solace, tried to find the right words of retraction that would prevent severe punishment later. Try as she might, they remained obstinately hidden, as though a greater force than she was controlling her tongue.
‘Looks like you’re finally outnumbered, Dad!’
Dominic was delighted with the small victory.
‘It would appear so!’
Mark laughed as he released his daughter’s grip. The family continued along the path.
Kathryn felt an overpowering rush of longing for her children. It felt wonderful to be on the same side. She surged forward and put her arms around her children’s backs, clutching at them with outstretched arms and splayed fingers. They chorused in unison, ‘Get off, Mum!’ and ‘What are you doing?’ She didn’t care. The trio stood on the path.
‘I love you both so very much. I am so proud of who you are and I am proud of all the things that I know you will achieve. You are both amazing, my amazing kids! Promise me you will always make good choices.’
Dominic shrugged himself free of his mother’s arm.
‘Sure, crazy lady.’
He did, however, peck her on the cheek before jogging ahead and home. Lydia took her mother’s hand and the two continued along the path, with Mark not far behind.
‘I love you too, Mum.’
Kathryn beamed. ‘Thank you, darling.’
‘Do you remember, Mum, when you asked me a while ago if I would like your life and I said no?’
‘Yes, yes I do.’
‘Well, I should have added that even though I wouldn’t like your life exactly, I would like to be like you. You know, sweet and kind and lovely all the time. I really would like to be like that.’
A single tear rolled down Kathryn’s face.
‘Thank you, Lydia. Thank you.’
Mark opened the gate and stepped back to allow his wife into their garden; ever the gentleman. Kathryn slowed as she walked past him, her eyes cast downward. The earlier moment of euphoria had passed quickly.
‘I will kill you.’
His expression belied the fact that he had spoken. It had been little more than a whisper and was so softly offered that she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it. Maybe she had.
Kathryn tied her floral apron about her neck and waist and put the kettle on to boil. She tried not to focus on the invisible gap on the shelf between Jamie’s Italy and Jamie Does …, where until yesterday her secret copy of Tales from Malgudi had rested, awaiting a snatched moment while the kettle boiled or the dishwasher whirred through its last cycle. Her precious books were all gone, burned. She still couldn’t think about the bonfire without a lump forming in her throat. She tried to soothe herself with the mantra that ‘they were only things, objects. None of it matters…’, but the truth was that it did matter, it mattered a great deal.
In the seconds that it took her to fill the kettle with fresh water and plug it in, the children had changed and were now thundering down the stairs.
‘Bye!’ they yelled in unison.
‘Where are you going, kids? When will you be back? Are you here for supper?’
Dominic paused in the doorway and flicked his long hair from his eyes.
‘Which one should I answer first?’
‘Erm… I’ll take them in order please.’
She smiled at her boy, her smart, sarcastic, funny boy.
‘Barbecue at Amy’s. Late. No.’
‘Have fun and be safe!’
‘Which one?’
‘Which one?’
‘Yes, Ma, you can’t have both.’
‘In that case I will go for safety.’
‘Boring.’
‘That’s me, Dom. Regular, boring old mum!’
Dominic let go of the door handle and walked back into the kitchen. He strode over to his mother, took her in his arms and hugged her tightly.
‘Yes you are, but you are my regular, boring old mum and I love you.’
With the embarrassment of youth, he quickly released her and ran from the house. That one embrace with its sincere sentiment was something Kathryn would ponder time and again. Neither could have anticipated its significance.
With the early start of chapel and all the preparations that it required, Kathryn had neglected to make the bed that morning. She selected a clean set of white sheets from the linen cupboard and made her way to the bedroom. She half unfolded the sheet, placed it over the bed, and shook it open. As she watched the white rectangle billow in front of her, she heard a small thud. There, lying on the bare mattress, was one of her grandmother’s pegs. Correction, the last of her grandmother’s pegs, and not just any peg; it was Peggy.
She allowed the fabric to fall and scooped the wooden splint with its felt-tipped eyes into her hand. As she sat on the edge of the bed and held the precious talisman tight, relief flooded through her. She caressed it, her most cherished peg, rolled it between her palms and sighed.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered into the ether.
‘Who are you talking to?’
Mark had suddenly materialised in the doorway.
‘No one.’
‘I see. Were you delivering one of your insightful speeches on raving homosexuality and niceness?’
She shook her head. Any previous confidence had now evaporated, as it always did within the four walls of their home.
Mark lunged forward quite suddenly and with his open palm hit her across the side of the head. He used such force that Kathryn tumbled off the edge of the bed like a discarded rag d
oll and landed in a heap on the floor. Her right ear rang and her face hurt. She opened her eyes wide and blinked, trying to restore her vision and balance.
‘You see what you made me do? Do you think I like having to control you, Kathryn?’
This she knew was a trick question, because yes, he clearly did like having to control her.
‘Get back on the bed.’
She obeyed his instruction, hauling herself back on to the mattress.
Mark took a step towards the tallboy, where his weapon of choice was neatly wrapped in its waxed paper. He stopped abruptly and turned back to his wife. He was smiling.
‘What is that in your hands?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she whispered.
He smiled again and a small laugh escaped his lips.
‘You have given me two interesting answers, Kathryn. “No one” and “nothing” – a thought-provoking combination. I am a teacher, Kathryn, an educator of young minds. Do you think that you are the first person to utter those two words to me in an effort to conceal and deceive?’
She shook her head. ‘No, Mark.’
‘You would be right, Kathryn. You are clearly not as thick as you look.’
Kathryn felt her body tremble as he approached her, not through fear of what he would do to her, but because she did not want to give up the precious thing that she had found, the one item she owned that had belonged to her grandmother and that her own mother’s hands had touched.
He stroked her hair, rubbing the silky tendrils between his fingers.
‘You will not leave this room until the children get home and need feeding, do you understand me?’
Her response was delayed as her mind processed her options. What could she do to conceal Peggy?
The next time he spoke to her it was through a clenched jaw, with a snarl.
‘I said, the next time you will leave this room will be when the children get home and need feeding. Do you understand me, Kathryn?’
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