by Sam Hayes
I turn my back on him and concentrate on what the headmaster has to say. In a few words, he cheerfully prepares us for the start of term; reminds us of the responsibilities we have to the three hundred and fifty-seven girls attending Roecliffe Hall; encourages us to give a moment’s prayer for another successful and happy school year. When everyone bows their heads, I hold mine high. I blink back hot tears. In my experience, prayers don’t work.
The girls arrived around seven – battalions of noise and belongings. From the small leaded window of my room, I watched the procession of cars on the drive below. My breath clouded the old glass as expensive vehicles deposited their children at school after the long summer break – some departing with no more than a cursory wave goodbye once the boot contents had been unloaded.
It made my throat go tight.
‘Sylvia, do you mind if I quickly make a phone call?’ We were ushering girls to the correct dorms and helping the new pupils.
She shooed me away with a grin. ‘Run for your life, if I were you.’
The cacophony of schoolgirl clatter diminished as I tunnelled down the corridor to where I’d spotted the payphone earlier. I didn’t have a mobile phone. Underneath the Perspex hood, names and numbers were jotted on the wall, along with general graffiti scribed in nail polish, Tippex and compass points.
I fished fifty pence from my pocket. I pushed it into the slot and listened to the dial tone for several minutes before hanging up. The coin dropped out. With the receiver replaced, I dialled the number anyway without credit. No harm.
‘Everything OK, Miss Gerrard?’ The headmaster slowed as he walked past. In the dim light, his face appeared carved, made from weathered wood. Seeing him down the dark corridor made my skin prickle.
I put the coin back in my pocket. ‘Everything’s fine, thank you,’ I replied, but he hadn’t stopped to listen.
The next morning at breakfast, Adam sits down next to me at the refectory table. All the other spaces are taken. He nods a greeting at me and the other staff around us, and then opens up his laptop. He taps away at the keys, punctuating his work with bites of toast and jam. He asks a woman I don’t know to pass the teapot.
‘How was your first night?’ He glances up from the screen, able to think, type, eat and talk without getting in a bother.
‘I was only woken four times. Three weepies and a vomit.’ I take a large sip of my coffee. None of the other staff bothered me with much more than a good morning.
Adam stops, toast halfway to his mouth. He drops it on to his plate and then types again for a minute or two. I can’t see what’s on the screen. Rays of coloured sun burst through the stained-glass window, highlighting the edges of his hair.
‘Bad luck then,’ he says as if he’s just remembered we were talking.
‘Not a bad night, considering,’ I reply vaguely. Truth is, even if the girls hadn’t woken me, I don’t think I would have slept.
‘So.’ Adam turns to face me, snapping his laptop shut. ‘What does your first day at Roecliffe hold?’ I still can’t quite place the accent. He picks up his tea and hugs the mug.
I sigh, hoping a bell will ring, prompting a scramble for class. ‘I have to make sure the girls have unpacked everything in their trunks. Then there’s the beds, the dirty clothes, make-up, sweet wrappers, tissues, and general rubbish that can be found in teenage girls’ rooms. I have to do a drug search, sort out last term’s lost property, make sure they all eat lunch – I have a list of the anorexics – after which, I have a house staff meeting to discuss the laundry procedure and—’
‘Oh, OK,’ Adam laughs. ‘You’re obviously an expert on this. Where did you say you’d worked before?’ He waits for my reply.
It’s as if the breakfast bustle in the dining room suddenly stops; as if everyone wants to hear my answer.
‘Frankie, are you OK?’ Adam frowns.
I nod. The noise of the dining hall returns. ‘I just feel a little faint.’ It’s the truth. ‘But I’ll be fine.’ I don’t want to be rude. I just want him to go away, to get on with his lessons while I get on with my duties.
Adam scissors his legs free from the school bench and clatters his mug on to his plate. He appears to have taken the hint. ‘See you later, perhaps.’ He looks me up and down before leaving.
Seconds later, the bell rings. I sit perfectly still while dozens of feet hammer the wooden floor around me, shaking me to the core, punching it all home. The stampede of pupils and staff, the ordered panic as the day begins, the hundreds of lives that are being shaped within this building transport me back lifetimes. To a place I never thought I’d return to.
CHAPTER 5
Nina smudged a line of kohl under Josie’s eyes. Josie scowled. ‘That’s enough or I’ll be late.’
‘Let me just highlight your brow bone.’ Nina peered over the top of her glasses and stroked a shimmering powder above her daughter’s eyes. ‘So pretty,’ she said, stamping a kiss on Josie’s forehead.
‘No I’m not.’ Josie meant it. She hated it when anyone complimented her looks.
‘You go and have a wonderful time but no—’
‘No alcohol, drugs or sex, right?’
‘I was going to say no wiping off my hard work in the loos, but none of those things either, young lady. What time is Natalie’s mum dropping you back?’
‘Midnight?’
‘Try ten thirty. It’s what we already arranged. I just want to make sure you have it fixed in your mind so you don’t keep Laura waiting.’
‘Oh, Mum.’ Josie adjusted the belt on her hips and slung a bag over her shoulder. She kissed her mother.
‘Oh, Josie.’ Nina grinned. ‘Go on, or you’ll be late for the concert.’
Josie skipped out of her bedroom but was back in a second. She wiggled the mouse beside her computer. From the doorway, Nina caught a flash of something on the screen before Josie clicked on a button and exited the window.
‘What was that?’
‘Just a silly online game I was playing.’ Josie gave her mum a look that told her if she took it further, it would ruin the pleasant hour they’d just spent rummaging through clothes and make-up. Nina heeded the silent warning, glancing back at the computer as she left the room.
An impatient honk sounded through the front door. ‘Dad’s in the car already.’
Josie hesitated.
‘Go! He’s waiting.’ Nina guided her daughter out of the door. ‘Enjoy the concert.’ She touched a whisper of a kiss on Josie’s head and watched as the two most important people in her life drove away.
Mick had blown into Nina’s life on a storm. The unseasonal summer winds had closed shipping channels in the estuary, and high-sided vehicles were banned from tall bridges. Warm rain lashed against the side of the crew van, and the wind buffeted it so that it rocked on its wheels. They had to shout to be heard above the noise.
‘I’m nearly done.’ Inside the van, Nina dabbed at the reporter’s cheeks with a make-up sponge. She was nervous. She’d seen him on the telly before and now here she was, streaking foundation across his nose.
‘Don’t see the bloody point,’ he growled, sounding quite different to the slick reporter she was used to seeing on TV. ‘It’s going to get washed off as soon as I step out there. What fool would be out in this weather, let alone go out to sea?’
‘The fool that you’re about to interview,’ the research assistant said, clutching a clipboard. ‘Nina, we’ve only got one minute.’
Nina nodded. She worked quickly. It was her first proper job since leaving college. She’d done a few weeks’ work experience during her training and had subsequently applied for a permanent position at the news station when she’d qualified. The people were interesting, the pay was terrible, but she was doing what she loved, what she was good at. Changing people’s appearances.
‘All done,’ Nina said, snapping the cap back on the make-up bottle. ‘Oh, wait.’ She swiped a soft brush across the impatient reporter’s forehead. ‘There you go.
’
The door of the van slid open and a gust of wind stirred a mini tornado inside. The reporter was met by a film crew who were to shoot a short interview with a man who had saved a dog from the rough seas earlier that day. He in turn had needed rescuing, and the lifeboat had been called. Nina thought that this man could use some foundation as well. His cheeks were scarlet.
She followed the team across the car park to the harbour wall, staggering as the wind blew her sideways. Her waterproof jacket billowed out like a loose spinnaker and she held her make-up bag close. Any touch-ups would be pointless in these conditions. She watched as the team set to work, interviewing the foolhardy man about his antics.
‘News must be in short supply,’ she said but her words were blown away. The wind whipped against her neck and her lips tasted salty. The entire crew looked fed up as they battled the weather to get their story. ‘I’ll be over here,’ Nina yelled but no one heard. Desperate for cover, Nina approached a wooden shelter that faced out to sea. She couldn’t stand the wind any longer.
‘Oh,’ she exclaimed as dozens of sheets of paper suddenly tumbled out of the shelter and blew around her feet. One wet piece wrapped round her ankle like an army gaiter. ‘Oh no,’ she cried, looking down. Grey and blue paint had smeared all over her black work trousers.
‘That’s amazing,’ said a deep voice. ‘The colours are absolutely perfect.’
Nina looked up and squinted through the drizzle. Unlike hers, this voice didn’t seem to end up out at sea on the gale. A man had emerged from the shelter holding a paintbrush. She eyed him suspiciously.
‘The paint on your leg. It’s incredible.’
‘It is?’ Nina pulled the paper from her leg, but it started to tear. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said, but he didn’t hear. He was crouching, studying Nina’s trousers.
‘See how the ultramarine has combined with the viridian? The bleeding? The feathering?’ The man squinted at her hem. ‘It’s what I’ve been trying to achieve all day. And here you are, a casual stroller, and suddenly my vision appears on your leg.’ He stood up.
‘I’m not a casual stroller as such.’ Nina’s hair flapped around her face. The strands whipped at her eyes, making what she was seeing all the more surreal. ‘I was trying to find somewhere out of the wind to wait while the crew get their take. I have to be on hand.’ She pointed to the news station van and raised her make-up bag. In doing so, the painting tore in the wind and one half escaped her fingers, flapping towards the sea. ‘Oh no!’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not a patch on this.’ He bent down again and trailed a finger lightly over Nina’s leg. ‘Inspiration eternal.’ He was mesmerised.
‘It’s no problem, honestly. It’ll wash out.’ She stared down at the man’s head. His hair wasn’t grey, rather charcoal – an unusual colour – and Nina thought it matched the weather.
‘No, no, don’t wash it out. I tell you what,’ and he stood up, his face close to Nina’s. ‘Let me buy them from you. I want to buy your trousers.’
Nina laughed and, at the same time, a gust of wind toppled her sideways. Her white teeth flashed amusement in the storm. ‘You can’t buy my trousers,’ she said. ‘You’re mad.’ She started to walk off back to the crew, shaking her head.
‘Wait. I’ll give you a hundred pounds for them. Please.’ Nina turned. She noticed his eyes as they occluded to a thunderous slate colour to match his hair. He was serious.
‘Hey, forget the money.’ She held up her hands in defeat. ‘If they mean that much to you, jot down your address and I’ll post them. They’re old anyway.’ The wind tore at lips that couldn’t help grinning. ‘No one’s ever wanted me to take my trousers off for such an odd reason.’ The man grinned and daubed his name and address in paint on the remaining paper. He handed it over and Nina allowed it to flap in the wind to dry.
‘And before you say it,’ he said as she glanced at the address, ‘yes, I’m trailer trash.’
Nina tried to decipher the words. ‘Ingleston Park. I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Lucky you.’ He smiled again. ‘It’s a shitty dump of a place on the outskirts of town. Only those down and out on their luck in this life and all their previous incarnations get to live there.’ He was laughing as he spoke. ‘No, really. It’s OK. Just a cabin. In the woods.’
‘It sounds rather nice,’ Nina said, thinking of her own bedsit above the chip shop. ‘I bet you don’t wake to the smell of fat and battered sausages.’
‘Nina!’ the production assistant yelled.
‘Looks like I’m needed,’ she said. ‘Expect my trousers,’ she called as she turned and ran back to the crew. The casual wave she flicked over her shoulder kept the artist standing on the dock until the crew van was out of sight.
‘She’s out like a light.’ Nina folded on to the sofa.
‘They had a great time at the concert. I worry about her going out at night, though. Anything could happen to her.’ Mick sank on to the sofa next to his wife. ‘And if I’m honest, I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it when she brings a boy home. The thought of some grubby teenager laying a finger on my girl makes me . . .’ Mick pulled a face and shook his head.
‘Don’t fret about that. She’s sensible. She won’t throw herself at the first boy who comes along.’ Nina laughed.
‘That may be so, but you’ll still have to tie me up when it happens.’
They’d never thought that this time would ever come. Josie becoming a young adult, dating, going to parties, having relationships, had always seemed a million miles away. ‘I’m still not convinced that internet access in her bedroom is a wise idea, though. Did you update the parental settings?’ This was Nina’s main concern.
‘Of course. I already told you that. She can’t look at anything dangerous.’
‘It’s not that. I trust Josie. It’s other people that worry me. Chat rooms, all those social networking sites, photos and videos posted everywhere you look. She’s ripe fruit for picking.’
‘It’s all pretty harmless,’ Mick said. He stretched out on the sofa. ‘But it’s under control. As you say, she’s a sensible girl. I’ve already asked her about what she does on the internet. She plays some online game mostly. An alter world where you can pretend to be someone else. It’s what they all do. She’s just being normal.’
Nina arced her head slowly. ‘That must be what she was logging off earlier. I got the feeling she didn’t want me to see.’
‘Of course she didn’t want you to see. She’s fifteen. Now who’s being paranoid?’ Mick wiped his hands over a tired face. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it, Nina. It’s not even in the real world.’
Nina nodded pensively. ‘But it’s in her bedroom, inside her head.’ The most vulnerable part, she thought. ‘That doesn’t mean she can’t get hurt.’
‘Teenagers are programmed to be secretive. They don’t tell us anything.’
If Josie hadn’t been home late after the concert, he and Nina would have already turned in by now. Mick yawned. ‘Worrying about a little bit of internet use is nothing compared to her having a real boyfriend.’ Mick pulled Nina’s hand into his.
‘You’re right. I just need convincing sometimes. Bringing up a daughter is so scary. Every day you read about paedophiles and stabbings and—’
‘Shh.’ Mick silenced Nina first with his finger, then with his mouth. He led her upstairs and they made love quietly and slowly – familiar bodies fuelled by trust and need.
Afterwards, with only a cotton sheet draped over her legs, Nina listened to the silence. In the room next door, she heard Josie mumbling through sleep, before she, too, slept restlessly, dreaming about things she’d long forgotten.
The rain swept across the garden at forty-five degrees. Purple-grey clouds hung heavy to the west over the estuary. It had been a washout summer so far. Nina knew weather like this and predicted a full day of rain. ‘So much for the gardening,’ she muttered, climbing the stairs.
Mick had gone to his studio e
arly. He was under pressure to deliver several new pieces by the end of the week. A respected gallery in London had recently commissioned him to paint for them regularly. Mick had been cagey about the details, bashful almost, as if he would jinx his good fortune if he bragged about the contract. If he didn’t get them done, he said, there were plenty of starving artists waiting to take his place.
Nina knocked on Josie’s bedroom door. ‘Honey, do you fancy a bit of retail therapy? You could do with some new jeans.’ When there was no reply, Nina went in.
The curtains were still closed and the room smelled of a mix of sweet perfume and dirty laundry. Josie swung round on her desk chair, startled by her mother’s entrance. ‘Mum,’ she said, quickly shutting down the open window on the monitor. ‘I didn’t hear you.’ Her face was red and, for a moment, Nina thought she’d been crying.
‘You’re not even dressed, Jo. I thought we could go shopping.’ Nina grabbed a handful of her daughter’s messy hair and wound it into a knot. Josie swiped it down.
‘Don’t touch me, Mum.’ She shied away. ‘Do we have to go out?’
‘You have anything better to do?’ Nina pulled back the curtains and opened the window an inch. Rain settled on the inside sill.
‘I just want to be alone.’
‘Given the chance, you’d stay on the computer all day.’ Nina scooped her daughter under the arms and heaved her up. Josie relaxed and made herself go heavy, standing reluctantly. She shrugged away from her mother, scowling.
‘Get yourself into the shower, young lady, and then we’re going out shopping.’ Nina bundled up the dirty clothes in her arms.
Josie hugged herself tightly, still feeling where her mother’s arms had wrapped around her. ‘Why do I have to do what everyone tells me?’
Nina stopped in the doorway and turned. ‘Josie, don’t force me to lay down the law. You have it pretty easy. An attitude lift wouldn’t go amiss, OK?’
‘I’m just sick of . . .’ She stopped. Nina couldn’t be sure, but she thought tears briefly swelled in Josie’s eyes. Her daughter checked herself. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ She bowed her head.
