by Alex Gray
‘Julie, you need to get down or you’ll miss the bus!’ Mary scolded through the door to her stepdaughter’s room. She waited just a moment before turning the doorhandle and peering into the darkened room. Blinking against the darkness, Mary could see the curled shape on the bed and in two strides she had crossed the room, flinging open the curtains, her only reward a muffled moan deep within the duvet.
‘It’s nearly eight o’clock. You’ll be late for school!’ Mary protested, tugging a corner of the bedding so that Julie would have to face the light.
A mumbled response came as Julie turned away from the window, hands over her eyes.
‘What? What are you saying?’ Mary demanded. ‘Come on, get up right now!’
‘M’not goin to school,’ Julie’s voice intoned.
‘Oh.’ Mary stood back, temporarily at a loss, her fingers letting go of the duvet. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’ she faltered, unsure now, the usual guilt kicking in. What if she’d missed something obvious? Should she have shouted at Julie like that if the girl wasn’t well?
Then to Mary’s astonishment her stepdaughter sat up and looked at her with a plea in her blood-shot eyes. ‘Mary, if I tell you, promise you won’t tell Daddy?’
It was well after nine o’clock and two pots of tea later that Mary Donaldson finally let Julie go back to bed. Frank had gone long since, his job down at the docks demanding an early start every day. Lucky it was her own day off, Mary thought, though lucky wasn’t exactly how she felt right now. She’d have to tell him, promise or no promise. If what Julie was saying was the truth, then her father had every right to know and to do something about it. Mary Donaldson’s hand faltered as she reached for her mobile phone. Frank hated being disturbed. But a call would have to be made just the same. This wasn’t something she could easily keep to herself.
Mary bit her lip anxiously as the tone rang out, fearing what he’d say, worried that he would be angry about a call at work.
When she finally heard his voice, a sob broke from her throat. ‘Oh, Frank,’ she cried. ‘Can you come home? Something’s happened to Julie!’
As head teacher of Muirpark Secondary School, Keith Manson had to perform many unpleasant tasks. The buck, as he was fond of saying, stopped right here in his room. However, there was one of his deputies whose remit was dealing with staff issues and that deputy, Jack Armour, was sitting across from him, arms folded, a look of suppressed fury on his face.
‘I cannot and I will not allow such idiotic accusations to be levelled at someone whose integrity is so impeccable!’ Manson thundered.
‘It’s happened and nothing you or I can say will make it unhappen,’ the man opposite declared wearily. ‘Once the parents have made their complaint then it’s official. You know that as well as I do. Whether Julie Donaldson is a lying little bitch is neither here nor there. An official investigation has to take place.’
‘Eric Chalmers doesn’t deserve this,’ Manson rumbled.
‘Neither did half of the martyrs of the early Church if we’re to believe all that’s been said down the centuries,’ Armour replied drily.
‘He’s just become a father, for goodness’ sake!’
‘Maybe Ruth will appreciate him being at home for a while, then,’ Armour continued. ‘Look, Keith, we have to do our job. Have to be seen to do our job. We can’t take sides in this. Eric’ll have to be suspended. On full pay, of course. Let me talk to him, explain that we have no option. Give him time to sort out his response to the official inquiry team.’
‘What about the parents?’
‘Well, we can hardly tell them that we think their darling daughter is a scheming, conniving wee madam, can we? We have to play this fair for all concerned.’
‘How about suggesting the girl sees a doctor?’
‘To see if she’s virgo intacta? That’s taking a bit of a risk, surely? I’ll bet loads of them in that year group have had it off. Even the ones in Eric’s Scripture Union group,’ Armour added to himself, hoping Manson couldn’t hear him.
‘I still think we’re overreacting,’ Manson replied, thumping the desk in front of him.
‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. The Donaldsons have got till tomorrow to put their complaint in writing. Maybe a heart-to-heart with their precious daughter will uncover the truth before then.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Manson replied. ‘I bloody hope you’re right.’
‘But are you sure?’ Mary Donaldson asked for the umpteenth time, sitting side by side with her stepdaughter on the couch. Beside them a half-empty box of Kleenex gave testimony to the storm of weeping that had accompanied Julie’s story. Mary bit her lip. It was too late now, anyway. Frank had phoned the school, demanding to speak to the head teacher while Mary had watched Julie closely, looking for any sign that the girl was making the whole thing up. It was a classic case of attention seeking, she’d tried to tell Frank. An only child who was constantly vying for her father’s attention, Julie hadn’t been the easiest of stepdaughters over these last four years. Mary had tried hard, patiently giving her best and even succeeding at times, but Julie would never accept her as Mum. She would always be Mary. A nice person who had happened to marry her widowed father and make him happy and who didn’t cause too much friction between parent and child, that was all.
But something was gnawing away at Mary Donaldson even as she put an arm around Julie’s heaving shoulders, a doubt worming its insidious way into her thoughts. Had she been too lenient with this child, was that it? And if so, was she partly to blame for this ghastly situation? That Julie had had sex with a teacher was just too incredible to believe, yet Frank had swallowed it hook, line and sinker, raving on about filthy religious maniacs who preyed on innocent young girls. Her hand stroked Julie’s upper arm and she felt the girl’s sobs shuddering. But, try as she might, Mary couldn’t believe that the nice young man who had collected Julie in the school minibus had taken advantage of her stepdaughter in the graphic way she had described to them.
‘Eric, can I have a quick word?’
Eric looked up from the book-cupboard to see Jack Armour standing in the doorway of his classroom.
‘Sure, come on in.’ Eric waved a friendly hand and straightened up. A visit from the deputy head was nothing to excite his imagination but Jack had a sombre look on his face that made Eric wonder. ‘What’s up?’
Jack’s sigh and his pursed lips should have been signs that all was not well, but it was avoiding eye contact that made the first alarm bells begin to ring.
‘Jack, is there something wrong?’
‘Aye. I hate to spring this on you, but we’ve had a complaint about you from a parent.’
‘A complaint about me?’ Eric laughed, stepping back in surprise. ‘What on earth-?’
‘It’s Mr Donaldson,’ the deputy head began. ‘He says you, you. . Julie told him that you and she. . Oh, God, it’s a load of nonsense of course but we have to follow the correct procedures. .’
‘Jack, what are you trying to tell me?’ Eric stood up, suddenly aware of the other man’s discomfiture.
‘Eric, Julie Donaldson told her parents that you sexually assaulted her at SU camp this summer.’
‘What? But she can’t have!’ Eric’s jaw dropped and he stared, speechless, at the man who was obviously finding it difficult to meet his eyes.
‘I’m afraid she did. Look, we know it’s a load of bullshit, Eric, but that’s not the point. We have to be seen to be doing the correct thing, so. .’
‘So, what happens to me now?’ Eric’s voice came out in a whisper as he leaned against his desk, one hand gripping the edge.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to be suspended.’
It was odd, Eric thought, being in the car park and leaving school when inside the building his colleagues were working away. There was little noise at this time of the morning, even the playing fields were empty he saw, looking across at the expanse of grass and blaize, only the constant hum of traffic beyond the
rows of grey tenements. The man paused, his fingers holding the ignition key. What would Ruth be doing right now? He thought back to those few precious days before term had begun, remembering how he’d helped with everyday chores: hanging out washing, shopping for groceries, cleaning the kitchen, never for a moment grudging time spent being useful to her. Maybe if he’d taken the two weeks’ paternity leave? But they’d discussed it, knowing how important the beginning of term was for the pupils. Ruth hadn’t minded in the least and now Eric wondered if she’d welcomed the chance to have time alone with Ashleigh. How would she feel when he came home now burdened with this news?
Coming to a decision, Eric turned the key and released the handbrake. He wouldn’t go home, not just yet. There were things he had to think about first, not least how he was going to tell Ruth about Julie.
Eric eased his car over the speedbumps that lay between the school and Dumbarton Road. The whole area had been traffic-calmed and now drivers had to weave in and out as ‘No Entry’ signs appeared at the mouth of every second street, slowing them down to a perpetual second gear. At last he spotted a gap in the traffic and signalled left, heading towards town, passing the entrance to the Western Infirmary then the Art Galleries at Kelvingrove. On a sudden impulse, Eric took a left and drove along Kelvin Way, the University of Glasgow towering high above him on one side. He’d been so happy there, following his dream of studying theology and then, of course, meeting Ruth. They’d grown up together, he mused, slowing down at the junction where the old student union curved around the end of University Avenue. And he felt that few people in this world understood him quite as well as the woman who had become his wife.
The Church was always open, even on a weekday morning. Although the main building dated back to Victorian times, there had been numerous additions tacked on to it, providing services like a daily nursery and a drop-in coffee bar. And it was outside one of those extensions that Eric parked his car. Posters on the door told of the many weekly activities: the Jam Gang, Men’s Fellowship, Anchor Boys, and Mothers and Toddlers, all brightly illustrated in primary colours. Inside he was faced with a row of tables, leaflets stacked up neatly below more posters depicting Christian Aid and a Mission to Malawi. A group of young African kids with shining eyes grinned shyly out of one of them, a dust-coloured hut behind them. In the centre a white man in a bush hat hunkered down, his arms around the two nearest children. Eric swallowed hard. That could have been him, if he’d made a different decision. The mission field had always held a fascination for him. It would have been a challenge. And I wouldn’t be in this situation now, he told himself.
He pushed open the door, hearing the sound of a guitar and childish voices chanting a familiar song, I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow. .
‘Hello!’ Jim’s eyebrows raised as he caught sight of him with the unspoken question, What are you doing here at this time of day?
Eric tried to smile and waved a hand towards the crowd of small children and their parents surrounding the man with the guitar.
Perhaps something in his expression told Jim that here was a friend in need, for he stood up, put the instrument aside and clapped his hands.
‘Right, everyone, it’s time for juice and fruit. Linda’s in charge today. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.’ The group dispersed to the far side of the room where tables and small chairs had been set out, the older children whooping and running, their feet stamping noisily on the wooden floor.
Jim led Eric back out into the reception hall, one hand on his friend’s elbow.
‘Something’s up,’ he said quietly. ‘You look terrible.’
Now that he was here, the enormity of what was happening overwhelmed him and sudden tears sprang into his eyes. For a moment he couldn’t speak, terrified that he was going to weep, and simply shook his head.
‘It’s okay. Nothing’s so bad that it can’t be taken to the Lord,’ Jim told him.
‘I know,’ Eric whispered. ‘It’s just. . a shock, I suppose.’
‘And you want to talk to me about it, right?’
Eric nodded, took a deep breath and relayed all that had happened since the start of term.
‘But why would she tell such a lie? I mean, we were friends. She knew she could come and talk to me, confide things in me. And she did.’ He looked at Jim with puzzled eyes. ‘She was so happy at camp, always the first to be involved, singing her heart out whenever we had chorus times. What did I do to make her hate me?’
The Reverend Jim Bowyer looked into his friend’s eyes; he’d never seen the man like this before, hurt and bewildered. Eric Chalmers was the most upbeat person he knew.
‘You didn’t do anything, pal, that was the trouble.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ach, I’ve seen it before. Young love. A lassie has a crush on you and thinks you should behave as if you were her boyfriend — hold hands, give her a kiss when no one’s looking.’
‘But I’m a married man! How could she expect me to do things like that!’ Eric protested.
Jim smiled sadly. ‘Teenage girls don’t think straight. Surely you should know that by now. You’ve worked with them long enough. Raging hormones,’ he added, raising his hands in a hellfire-and-brimstone-preacher style.
Eric laughed, in spite of himself.
‘That’s better,’ Jim said, clapping him on the back. ‘I’m sorry you have to go through all this nonsense, but it’ll all blow over. This girl-’
‘Julie,’ Eric supplied.
‘Julie. She’ll come to her senses eventually. The school will probably give her a hard time when they find out she’s been making it all up.’
Eric shook his head, staring at a spot on the floor. ‘I can’t believe that her parents actually want to bring charges against me,’ he said. ‘That’s one of the things that hurts the most, to have lost their trust.’
‘And you’ll regain that trust,’ Jim assured him. ‘Any doubts they have now will be swept away once the girl tells the truth.’
‘Maybe, but mud sticks,’ muttered Eric.
‘Ach, man, can you not remember what the scriptures tell us?’ Jim admonished him gently. ‘“The world will make you suffer. But be brave! I have defeated the world!” Has God ever let you down?’
Eric’s shake of the head made his friend clap him on the shoulder once more. ‘Well, then, go home and see Ruth. She’ll stand by you, you know that.’
‘Thanks, Jim. I knew you’d say the right things. You always do.’
Outside the air seemed fresher and Eric took large gulps, steadying himself before he headed back across the city. He’d dipped into a Slough of Despond, Jim had told him, using the image from The Pilgrim’s Progress. But now he had been rescued and the way was ever upwards. Raising his eyes to the clouds scudding past the church spire, Eric wanted to put up a prayer, to thank God for Jim’s friendship. But his stomach was knotted with gnawing acid, making his mouth twist suddenly. Everything had been so perfect; why did she have to go and spoil it all for him now?
Raging hormones, Jim had said. Eric smiled ruefully. Were they so terribly sinful? And wasn’t Julie just a misunderstood teenager who needed a bit of comforting?
‘That’s right, Chalmers. C-H-A-L-M-E-R-S. Fine. No bother.’
The journalist put down her telephone, aware that the voice on the other end of the line had sounded almost cheerful. She sensed another story at Muirpark Secondary, some political friction between members of staff. Well, it would still be there if ever she wanted to dig a bit deeper. This fellow hated the RE teacher’s guts, that was for sure. Barbara Cassidy rubbed her hands gleefully. Another swipe at the religious establishment would go down well in the Gazette. The public’s mood was ripe for outrage against the Church. That recent coverage of a priest and several small boys had provoked a fair ding-dong of correspondence on the letters page, just what the editorial team demanded. A few more phone calls and maybe even an interview with this guy, Chalmers, and she would have a cracker of a s
tory.
CHAPTER 10
‘It’s not all right,’ Lorimer barked into the phone. ‘It’s not all right at all. A daily bulletin is simply going to cause more misery for the mother.’
As he listened to Davie Mearns, the Police Press Officer, the DCI tapped the edge of his desk with an impatient finger. Nancy Fraser was a missing person, not a tasty morsel to be fought over by the nation’s newshounds. Okay, they would be holding a press conference, but that was all he was willing to concede at the moment. In the wake of the Madeleine McCann case, every British police officer was at pains to show just how efficient their system was. No stone would be left unturned: Lorimer could trot out that familiar clichй with the best of them. Public confidence counted for a hell of a lot in this job, especially where small children were concerned. Davie had recently been promoted to Chief Police Press Officer and was a little over zealous at his job, in Lorimer’s opinion. Wanting a daily report on Nancy Fraser was just not on, at least at this early stage, he told himself. Yet the man had a point: What they don’t know they’ll simply make up, he’d told the SIO. Well, that was a chance Lorimer was willing to take. Once the mother had faced the newspaper people maybe that would satisfy them for a while, then they could let Lorimer’s team get on with the job of finding the child.
‘Did you hear about Eric Chalmers?’ The woman smirked over her coffee mug as Maggie rummaged in her pigeonhole for any notes that might have been left in the staffroom during the day.
‘Oh, yes, he’s got a wee girl now. Ashleigh, they’ve decided to call her,’ Maggie replied. Why on earth was Myra Claythorn taking an interest in Eric? As a self-promoting disbeliever in anything other than her own importance, Myra regularly disparaged anything that smacked of religion, particularly Christianity, and was always ready to rubbish any of Eric’s innovations at school, like his Scripture Union Club.
‘Not that,’ the other teacher told her, a gleam of triumph in her eyes as she realised Maggie was oblivious to this latest piece of news. ‘Your precious friend’s been having it off with one of his own pupils at that summer camp of his! Been suspended!’ Myra’s smile gloated over Maggie as the full horror of the woman’s words hit home.
