by Jules Wake
‘I had parts as well.’
‘And in between jobs?’ She watched his mouth, avoiding looking into his eyes. ‘You had six months between Blood Brothers and Hedda Gabbler. Four months between the Pinter play and another five between seasons at the National.’
God, he’d remembered each play.
‘There was always a reason not to come. You were the one that held out on me.’
‘So, what? I should have upped and come and hung around your big wonderful career?’
‘I could have helped you.’
‘I didn’t want your help.’
‘I know you didn’t. You made that quite clear.’
‘It would never have worked.’ Why couldn’t he see and accept that?
‘You wouldn’t let it. What were you so scared of? That I would be more successful than you?’
Emotion exploded and the temper she’d been hanging onto in case she said the wrong thing suddenly took hold and the words tumbled out. ‘I didn’t want to hold you back! We were crazy in love. It couldn’t last. It was too fast, furious and bloody terrifying. What if I’d come? And it didn’t work for you? I couldn’t bear it, if I ruined it for you. I had my family. It didn’t matter if I didn’t make it, but it mattered to you.’
With one hand, he covered his eyes and Carrie regretted all the times she’d accused him of playing a role, she’d rather that now than see him stripped bare, the sadness etched into the lines around his mouth. When he lifted his head, his eyes flashed furious sparks. ‘And you made that decision. I loved you. That was what I wanted. Your love. More than my career.’
‘No you didn’t,’ she said, with a touch of desperation, horrified that she’d let too much spill out.
‘So you made the decision.’
‘There were other reasons,’ she said, her voice rising, but she couldn’t think of a single one.
‘Like what?’ His voice gentled as if he wanted, no needed, an answer to the question.
She swallowed and shrugged, unable to give him one.
As the helicopter lifted from the lawn, taking a silent and uncommunicative Richard with it, a dense atmosphere descended on the house. Jade, sobbing incoherently, ran from the room, followed by her mother, leaving Carrie in the lounge with a terrible headache and a horrible emptiness.
When Angela returned, Carrie had taken refuge in the kitchen, brooding into a cold cup of coffee.
‘Is she okay?’
‘She’s asleep.’
‘I’m sorry about that.’
‘She was in the wrong, even if she thought she was doing it for the right reasons.’
‘I meant, I was sorry about Richard shouting at her like that.’
‘You can’t blame him. He had every right. It’s you I’m cross with.’
‘Me?’ Carrie squeaked. What had she done? ‘Why?’ She threw her hands up in the air at Angela’s accusing glare.
‘You used me and Jade as your excuse not to go and join Richard?’
‘It wasn’t an excuse,’ Carrie winced, as her voice pitched into a whine, ‘it was hard for you.’
‘It’s hard for any parent, but I coped. When Jade was a baby, I managed. She’s my daughter. She doesn’t need another mother. I don’t need a mother. We don’t need a babysitter.’ Angela levelled a stern look at her, reminiscent of the one she’d given Carrie once before when they’d rescued Jade from the nightclub.
Carrie stilled and glared back. ‘I … I …’ Like a dam breached, all her defences collapsed as the truth poured in, sweeping away all the misconceptions she’d been hiding behind. With a sob, she sank onto the sofa, tears flowing freely. Angela came over and put her arm around her.
‘I’m sorry honey.’
‘No, you’re right.’ She covered her face, wiping in vain at the tear tracks flooding down her cheeks. ‘I did use you as an excuse. I lost my bottle. When Richard went, it left such a massive hole. I m-missed him … so much.’ She sucked in a painful breath. ‘I could barely function. Saying goodbye to him at the airport.’ She swallowed hard, her stomach cramping. ‘I sat on a bench in the departures hall for two hours. When I got home, I couldn’t set foot out of the flat for two weeks. The sole reason I managed to get out of bed was for Jade’s eighth birthday party. Remember. And only because Richard had bought her a teddy bear from Hamleys. I-I promised I’d deliver it.’
She jabbed at the table with her fingers, tapping out a tattoo to force herself to go on. ‘And then … when I was at the house with you and Jade, it made it bearable. I could be busy. Not on my own. Except I couldn’t admit that, to me or to you. Told myself that you needed me. A big fat lie, but it was the only way to survive. I didn’t want Richard to know how much I missed him, how much it was killing me without him.’
‘Then I got a part … immersed myself in it. I was scared I’d have nothing if I didn’t have my work and you guys. It gave me the perfect excuse not to go out and see Richard.’
‘And you haven’t got that excuse any more,’ pointed out Angela, firm but gentle. ‘Jade was wrong. Even she knows that. You just defended the indefensible to Richard. You pushed him away. Again.’
Carrie closed her eyes, a band of tension squeezing her chest, so tight and unforgiving it made it hard to suck in her next breath. ‘Yes. And it’s for the best. When he’s finished filming here, he’s heading to LA. I remind him of a time before he was famous. It’s been a convenient summer fantasy. An escape for both of us. There was never a future.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Swimming, Carrie decided, should be patented as the best therapy in the world. In the final few days of the holiday she must have swum several hundred lengths. Except it hadn’t really worked.
Sitting in the head’s office now, the rehearsed conversations she’d practised as she pulled herself through the water with her favourite back crawl, came back to her. She crossed her legs and pulled her blazer tighter. After the Riviera, the spartan office felt chilly, even though the temperature outside was up in the sixties. The insipid pale-grey walls contrasted sharply with the vibrant colours her eyes had become used to, the jewel-blue of the sea and the cloudless, endless sky, the warm peach of terracotta and the exotic splash of fuchsia pink Bougainvillea. Her mind’s eye conjured up the explosion of brilliant reds, oranges and yellows in the massive bouquet that Richard had sent Jade in a surprise apology. Jade hadn’t shared the message and despite almost dying of curiosity, Carrie had refused to ask what it said.
She checked her watch again. Nigel’s PA had shown her in five minutes ago. It was plain rude to keep her hanging around. She’d been on time. They didn’t need to know it was because she hadn’t slept much last night.
The summons, a formal letter full of legalese and HR bullshit, had been waiting on the doormat when they staggered in punch drunk with the type of weariness that comes from endless hanging around in an airport for most of the day. It had given her a few days’ grace, of which every minute had been filled with whirlwind activity and detailed planning.
She’d read the Code of Conduct. Skinny-dipping wasn’t illegal, she’d been with her husband, she was prepared to fight everything they chose to throw at her and had checked out the situation regarding union representation, which would be her next step.
At last the Head came in, closely followed by the bustling figure of Olive Martin, the Chair of Governors. She had that kind of busy walk that suggested she was always on a mission of utmost importance and carried a capricious handbag as official and important as the PM’s red box.
Olive’s down-the-nose, double-take gave Carrie a snicker of satisfaction. It had been years since she’d worn these white palazzo pants and the black and white blazer, which she’d dug out from the loft. Today she rocked the Katharine Hepburn look with great pride.
‘Miss Hayes. Thank you for coming in,’ Nigel smiled, shifting in his chair, with all the ease of a man with a loaded gun pointing his way. Olive straightened and leaned forward.
Carrie didn’t fill the obvious sil
ence. She’d read a couple of those books about difficult conversations too.
‘I … er, invited you in to … erm … well—’
‘Miss Hayes, as you must be aware your behaviour has brought the school into disrepute.’
Carrie met Olive’s censorious stare with an unconcerned gaze and waited. Olive glanced at Nigel and inside Carrie smiled, rather enjoying their discomfort.
‘We are under pressure to suspend you pending further investigation. Your behaviour has breached the school’s Code of Conduct.’
‘Has it?’ Carrie sat back in her chair and crossed her legs.
‘Of course it has,’ spluttered Olive, looking at Nigel again. ‘The Code of Conduct policy quite explicitly states that members of staff should not bring the school into disrepute, doesn’t it Mr Lyndon?’
‘I see,’ said Carrie. She brought her index fingers together to a point under her chin, considered, calm and in control. Body language made up fifty-five per cent of non-verbal communication and she knew how to use it.
Nigel tugged at his tie. ‘The media coverage has been quite extensive, particularly in the local media.’
Carrie raised an eyebrow in silent rebuke. He had been a regular commentator and had rather perfected the art of the sound bite.
‘Miss Hayes, you don’t appear to be perturbed. You do realise the seriousness of the situation. The governing body wishes to suspend you. This is your opportunity to put your case forward.’
Carrie left a lengthy pause before addressing Nigel rather than Olive. ‘Perhaps you could be more specific about what it is I’ve done that is causing concern.’
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
‘Well … you see … impressionable minds. You were in the national press showing yourself in a compromising position. It doesn’t reflect well on the school. The parents … you know.’
‘Have parents complained?’ asked Carrie.
‘Yes,’ snapped Olive.
‘Er, no, not really,’ mumbled Nigel.
‘So, parents haven’t complained,’ said Carrie, intrigued by the red rash spreading up his neck from the rather tight collar of his shirt.
‘Not …’
‘They’re not happy.’ Olive rapped her hand on the table. ‘It’s not what we expect from our teachers.’
‘Can you be specific about what it is they are complaining about?’ asked Carrie, giving in to an inner imp of mischief.
‘That one of the teachers from this school has been pictured naked in the national press,’ answered Olive, with a distinct tart touch of spite.
‘How many parents are ‘not’ happy?’ Carrie did the little speech mark quotes with her fingers.
‘A few,’ said Olive, her eyes sliding away.
‘A few? Perhaps you can be specific.’
‘I’m not at liberty to divulge that information. The fact remains, you have breached our Code of Conduct.’
‘How? I was a perfectly innocent holidaymaker on holiday with ‘my husband’,’ she emphasised the words, ‘on a private beach. Those pictures were a complete invasion of privacy and, as such, I deserve your sympathy and empathy, being the victim in all this. Being called in like this has caused me considerable stress and is having a detrimental effect on my wellbeing.’ She’d worked long enough in teaching to know that these words were enough to strike terror into the heart of the governing body.
‘I appreciate that this unfortunate incident was outside your control, however you displayed poor judgement in … in,’ Nigel blushed.
‘Exactly,’ Olive jumped in, ‘so pending further investigation, it has been agreed that you will be suspended on full pay.’
A flood of panic-driven adrenaline coursed through her system and then came to an abrupt halt, like a train running out of track. What was so bad about losing a job? The shame? The loss of security? Not doing something she loved? Insecurity in the theatre had been part and parcel of life, holding no terrors. She’d sailed with the current, taking the troughs and peaks as they came.
What the hell was wrong with her? This wasn’t even a job she cared that much about losing. Like the final firework of a display, exploding across the sky in glorious crescendo, enlightenment burst upon her. She didn’t want to be here. Not coming into work on Monday wasn’t a problem. This wasn’t her. Teaching wasn’t what she wanted to do. It was time she took control. That pile of manuscripts in her room had been sitting around doing nothing for long enough.
‘That won’t be necessary.’ She rose in one fluid move. ‘I resign.’
‘Now, now, let’s not be hasty.’ Nigel’s hands telegraphed alarm. ‘I’m sure we could conduct an investigation very quickly and you could be reinstated by the beginning of term.’
‘No.’ Carrie scanned the room, the shelves bowed with the weight of row upon row of lever arch files and one wall was taken up with large noticeboards crammed with timetables and notices, filling every last bit of space. A metaphor for her life, the burden of constant planning, assessment, marking, rules, regulations and the lack of time, never enough spare to explore her own creativity. She didn’t want any of it any more.
‘You can’t leave,’ wailed Olive, shooting horrified glances at Nigel.
‘You wanted to suspend me a minute ago, surely this makes things easier.’
‘But …’
‘It’s by far the easiest solution all around.’ She stood up and stepped away from the desk. The subtle shift in power immediately shoring up her conviction.
‘Miss Hayes, don’t you think you’re being a little bit precipitate?’ Nigel clicked his pen off and on, the speed increasing. ‘Perhaps you should take some time to think about it.’
Carrie smiled. ‘No. I don’t need to. My mind’s made up.’ With bone-deep certainty the decision locked into place. Her brain had finally woken up and made her do some straight thinking. For the first time in a very long time, the prospect of losing her job didn’t hold any fears. As an actor, every job had been precarious and she’d loved that sense of danger and excitement. The thrill of the chase for a new role, another audition or another break. Life had been full of hope and opportunity. Chances, gambles, risks. She’d relished that. When had that changed? When had she lost her sense of self.
When she came out of Nigel’s office, to her surprise, Alan sat waiting for her.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to try and help. Offer a character reference. Have they suspended you?’
‘No.’
‘Thank God for that.’ Alan beamed and came towards her, about to give her hug, and then stopped in his tracks, looking awkward. ‘That’s brilliant news. I’d heard the governors were having a meltdown.’
‘I quit.’
‘You did what?’ The panicked note in his voice hit one of the higher registers. His face reflected his deepest fear, the worst thing that could happen to him — losing his job.
The worst thing that could happen to her already had. With a leaden pang, she clutched her stomach, trying to hold back the horrible black hole of hollowness that threatened to suck her in. Richard had gone with no word bar the briefest kick-in-the-guts text, telling her that if she needed anything, to contact Arla.
‘What will you do? Supply teaching?’
She eased the grip around her middle and focused on her breathing. ‘I can still act. I can write. I’m too young to settle and give up all those dreams I had.’ Complete bullshit. She didn’t have a bloody clue, but jumping off the cliff would force her to do something.
With a smile, she realised that the antsy fizz in the bottom of her stomach might be excitement. If not it was sheer terror.
‘Don’t be silly. Teaching’s a good, solid profession. You’d be mad to give it up.’
‘I can do supply teaching to make ends meet, but I’ve been burying my ambition.’ She almost giggled. On the outside she sounded grown up and measured, as if she’d given this a lot of considered thought, not jumped out of the plane without checkin
g she’d packed her parachute.
‘Is it because of him? You think he can help you?’ Alan frowned. ‘Of course, that’s what this is. He’s going to give you your big break.’ His voice dropped, almost cracking on a half-breath of a sob. ‘Oh Carrie, don’t do this. Please don’t jack in a perfectly good job on the promise of some film star. You’re going to regret it when nothing comes of it. Have you heard from him since came back?’
Carrie shook her head, swallowing back the hideous lump lurking in her throat. She would survive losing Richard again, even though some days it hurt to even breathe.
‘No and I’m not expecting to. This isn’t about Richard. I’ll regret it if I don’t. I’m sorry Alan, but you don’t know the real me. I’ve been masquerading as someone else for the last few years.’
‘You’re being dramatic now. Of course, you’re you.’
‘No. The real me takes her clothes off on beaches, she takes speed boats out, she kidnaps people, she hops on a scooter and rides off into the sunset, revels in the thrill of a Ferrari tearing up the roads. Acts on the spur of the moment. Doesn’t worry about the future. I’d forgotten how to live, or to go after what it is I want.’
‘And us? You’re sure?’ He bit his lip, still hopeful as he pushed his hands into his pockets, standing his ground.
‘I’m sure.’
‘This blessed cat will not leave me alone.’ Her sister picked up Coco, stroking her. ‘Honestly, you’d think we’d been away for a year rather than a month.’
‘I guess it’s a long time in cat years,’ said Carrie, setting her bag down on the kitchen table, almost laughing out loud. When she pulled up outside the house, having no recollection of the journey home, her head buzzing with ideas, she wondered what Angela would say.
‘So, how did it go?’ asked Angela, putting the cat down, her back to Carrie as she put the kettle on. Carrie put an arm around her sister, grateful for her complete lack of drama.
‘It went,’ she said.
Her sister raised her brows in question, but being Angela didn’t ask any more.
‘I resigned.’
‘I see.’ Angela busied herself with mugs, tea, pouring water, before turning and handing Carrie a mug. In tandem they sat down at the kitchen table, the cat immediately leaping onto Angela’s lap.
