‘Thank goodness.’ I sit down, legs unwilling to support me any longer.
‘We need to fill out a report form stating what happened. Sarah needs to sign it and then we can send copies to Ofsted and the local child protection agency.’
I can hardly bear to look her in the eye. ‘And then what?’
‘It will be investigated. If Ofsted find us at fault, they’ll publish the incident on their website along with any action they had to take, or action we need to take to meet the legal requirements for registration.’
‘I’m so sorry, Lyn. I should have gone straight out to supervise instead of changing Lily.’
‘It was an accident, Grace. It could still have happened if you were outside. I know how good you are with the children.’
‘Ofsted won’t.’
‘Emily’s going to be all right, that’s the main thing. Hopefully no fault will be found. We’ve never had an incident at Little Acorns before, although I can imagine parents will pull their children out in droves if Ofsted publicly blame us.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ The words are stuck on a loop.
Lyn checks her watch. ‘Why don’t you go home? We need to speak to the children and the other staff before we can do the report. We’ve fourteen days to file it, anyway.’
‘You go, Lyn. You look exhausted. I’ll finish off tidying and lock up.’ I’m often the last to leave.
‘No. I’ll do it.’ Lyn’s tone is firm.
I want to ask if she still trusts me but I’m too scared to hear the answer. I collect my bag and coat and slip out the front door. The tracks of the ambulance tyres are still entrenched on the small lawn outside, the turf torn apart. In time the grass will heal, there will be no outward signs of the trauma suffered today. Can the same be said of Emily? I wonder. My scars are no longer visible but I carry them all the same.
I drive home on autopilot, startled to find myself outside the cottage with no conscious recollection of my journey. It takes three attempts to stop my hand shaking enough to insert my key into the lock. I thunk my bag to the floor, kick my shoes off on the mat, pad into the kitchen and pour a large glass of Chardonnay. I keep one hand on the bottle as I stand by the sink, sipping my wine and watching the birds on the feeder. I envy them. Free to fly away and start again somewhere new. However can I face Lyn again? I’ve let Emily down. Let myself down.
I drain my glass and pour another. My mobile rings again and again with an unknown number. I ignore it. I’m sick of answering to find there’s no one there. The front door slams, and as Dan walks into the lounge, I allow my tears to torrent.
‘Grace. What’s wrong?’
I can’t find the words. He looks stricken as he guides me into the lounge, settles me on the sofa and kneels before me.
‘Grace?’ Colour has drained from his face.
‘It’s work.’
He puffs out air. ‘Is that all?’
‘All?’ I wipe my face with my sleeve.
‘I didn’t mean that. I’m just glad it isn’t anything more serious, that your grandparents are OK. What’s happened?’
A shadow falls as Anna stands over me. I hadn’t heard her come in. ‘Grace.’ She sits next to me and places an arm around my shoulders. My muscles are so tense they feel tender and I shrug her away.
I recount my horrific day.
‘It’s not your fault.’ Dan squeezes my knee.
‘Well, it kind of is,’ says Anna. ‘I know you’d never hurt anyone on purpose, but if you should have been outside supervising…’
‘Anna.’ Dan’s voice is sharp. ‘Accidents happen. Sometimes no one is accountable.’
‘She’s right. I should have been outside.’ I wipe my eyes.
‘Even if you’d been outside, Emily would still have climbed, probably still have fallen.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Almost definitely.’
‘I don’t know how I can face everyone tomorrow.’
‘With your head held high. Honestly, Grace, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Ofsted will be the judge of that.’ I pick pieces of the wet tissue I’m holding and watch them flutter to the floor. Confetti when there’s nothing to celebrate.
‘Will they shut you down?’ Anna asks.
‘Unless we’re found at fault it won’t be made public, thankfully. I couldn’t live with myself if I affected Lyn’s business.’
‘But the parents will be informed?’
‘The children have probably told them by now that an ambulance came, so if they ask we’ll say there was an accident, but otherwise, I’m not sure. It’s up to Lyn how she handles it. I hope they don’t find out. They trust me.’
‘They still will,’ says Dan. ‘You’re great with the kids. They adore you.’
‘Thanks.’ I lean forward; our foreheads touch. ‘I love you, Dan.’
‘I love you, too. Why don’t you go and have a bath. I’ll sort out dinner?’
‘You?’
‘Yes, me. I’m quite capable you know, I’ve done it before. Cod and chips for three?’
The alarm trills a brand new day, jolting me from a disturbed sleep. I peep out beneath heavy lids. My mouth is dry and sour; I regret last night’s greasy fish and chip supper and wine. I stagger into the bathroom and grab my toothbrush, retching as I brush my back teeth. I can barely face myself in the mirror, my eyes streaked red, my face morbidly pale. I momentarily consider calling in sick, but instead shower, dress and kiss Dan goodbye. Anna’s door is closed and I’m glad she’s not up yet. I was hurt by her reaction last night, even if she was voicing what I was thinking, even if I really am to blame.
Downstairs, I pull open the curtains in the lounge, wincing as light streams through the window. Mittens is curled asleep on the sofa amongst the fish and chip wrappers. Two empty bottles of wine stand on the floor. Did I drink them both? Dan’s empty lager bottles lie on their sides. Our glass recycling tub will be overflowing again. I hope the refuse collectors don’t judge us the way I sometimes judge myself.
The drive to work is over too quickly. I am pensive as I arrive, half expecting to see a row of angry parents lined up outside with placards – ‘Justice for Emily’ – but of course, it’s just another day. The car park is empty, save for Lyn’s car. I let myself in the front door, relieved that my key still works. I haven’t been banished.
‘Come here.’ Lyn opens her arms. ‘You look terrible. Please don’t worry. It was an accident. Today’s a new day.’ Her smile splinters my fears; they fall to the ground. I step over them, atoned, and am enfolded in a bear hug.
The morning is much like any other, apart from Emily’s absence. The children don’t mention the accident or the ambulance. It’s an ordinary day. At lunchtime, Lyn and I read through the report as we share Lyn’s egg sandwiches. I’d felt too rough this morning to even think about preparing food.
‘I think it’s pretty straightforward. Our staff-to-children ratio is good, and all our previous reports are excellent. The equipment isn’t faulty. It’s unfortunate, but I don’t think they’ll take it further.’
‘I hope not.’
‘Emily’s fine, that’s the main thing. And if they don’t take it further and it’s not made public, it won’t affect our reputation at all. It’s business as usual. Now go and make me some coffee.’
I make Lyn a coffee and wash two paracetamol tablets down with a large glass of water. Much of the afternoon session is spent making cardboard hearts that we decorate with glitter, tissue paper and paint. I peg them on the line to dry. My arms ache. I’ve been extra-vigilant all day and am utterly exhausted. It’s a relief to lock the doors and tidy up.
‘I’m off now.’ I stick my head around the office door. Lyn’s face is white and pinched.
‘Is everything OK?’
‘You’d better sit down.’ Lyn nods at the chair, not quite meeting my gaze.
I sit down. My watch strap is fraying. My nervous
fingers pick at the pieces of cotton, pulling them off. I watch them drift to the floor.
‘You need to see this.’ Lyn hands me her iPad, her twitter app is open.
Negligent nursery worker breaks girls arm. @littleacorns #getgraceout
‘Is this…’
‘Scroll down. There’s more.’
Don’t send your children here it’s not safe. @littleacorns #getgraceout
Why haven’t you fired Grace? @littleacorns #getgraceout
Grace belongs in jail. @littleacorns #getgraceout
There is tweet after tweet, all baying for blood. My blood. The local newspaper has retweeted and there have been some really nasty comments by people I’ve never even heard of. I feel sick. The iPad swims in and out of focus.
‘Who’s done this?’
‘I don’t know. They’re from new accounts. There’s no personal information or photos.’
‘Could they be from the same person?’
‘I don’t know.’ Lyn beats a rhythm on the side of the desk with her pen. ‘I wonder if it’s Greg.’
‘Maybe. He said he’d make me sorry. He’s got a temper, we know that, and he is Emily’s dad. What should we do?’
‘We can’t keep it quiet. There have been phone calls this afternoon. Word has spread amongst the parents. They’re concerned.’
I wait for her to continue.
Lyn leans back on her chair and sighs. ‘The local press rang. They’re going to run a story tomorrow. They wanted a comment.’
‘What did you say?’ My voice is barely audible, even to my ears.
‘I said no one had been found at fault, the investigation is ongoing but until Ofsted reach a conclusion, you’re suspended.’
My eyes flood with tears.
‘I’m so sorry, Grace, but I can’t risk parents pulling their children out. I have to act in the best interests of the nursery.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ That word again, but I can’t think of anything else to say.
‘As soon as Ofsted make a decision we’ll get back to normal. This will blow over.’
I rummage in my bag and pull out my key. ‘Here.’ I offer it to Lyn.
‘You hang onto it. You’ll need it when you come back. You will be back, Grace.’
I heave my body out of the chair. It feels heavy. Weighed down with guilt. I walk through the playroom, looking at the row of paper hearts, and feel like mine is breaking.
26
Then
Nestled amongst the Christmas cards that plopped onto the mat that morning had been another letter. I’d stuffed it into my schoolbag to show Esmée and Charlie at lunchtime. I was the first into the hall. Why did it always smell like boiled cabbage? We never had vegetables. Despite all the talk of healthy lunches, hot dog and chips were one of the only recognisable things served by grumpy women in pink overalls and hairnets, who looked as though they’d rather be anywhere but here. I pulled a poor excuse for a salad out of the chiller. Iceberg, tomatoes and cucumber with a smidgen of tuna sprinkled on top. It wouldn’t fill me up but I wanted to lose half a stone before Christmas, when I knew I’d scoff my body weight in Quality Street and mince pies.
As I queued to pay for my food, I couldn’t resist adding a cup of hot chocolate. I deserved it for all the calories I’d saved with the salad. By the time I got to our usual table, Esmée and Charlie were already there.
‘Have you heard about Siobhan?’ Charlie jigged up and down in her seat.
‘No.’
‘She’s been expelled.’
‘What? Why?’ Siobhan was the cleverest of all of us.
‘Stealing one of the laptops.’
‘That’s ridiculous. She wouldn’t. She has a laptop.’
‘She was caught on CCTV. There was a police car here earlier.’
‘What about uni?’
‘She won’t be able to go. She can’t sit her A Levels.’
‘God.’ I was stunned.
‘I can’t believe it.’ Esmée chewed her lip. ‘I feel like I never really knew her.’
‘We didn’t,’ said Charlie. ‘Look at what she did to Grace.’
‘Still doing. I got another letter today.’
‘Bitch,’ said Charlie.
‘She is,’ I agreed, but as I looked over at Abby, sobbing in the corner, flanked by concerned ‘friends’ digging for information about her wayward big sister, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.
It was a relief not to see Siobhan every day. Rumours were rife. She was part of an organised crime ring. Her dad was one of the Mafia. Stephen Brown in my class said she’d offered to sell him a laptop for £100. He couldn’t afford a new one but had no idea she’d steal one. That, I believed. Siobhan didn’t have a job like the rest of us. I worked in the coffee shop on Saturdays, Charlie baby-sat and Esmée helped her mum deliver Avon books. Siobhan’s parents didn’t want her distracted from her studies. What did she need money for so badly?
Stationery, most likely. Letters were arriving almost daily and I was snappy and tired. Charlie wanted to start the search for her dad but I was struggling to keep up with my coursework, my concentration marred. We’d tried dropping hints to Lexie, pretending we’d seen a Jeremy Kyle show where a girl demanded her mum tell her who her biological father was, and concocting a story about a girl at school who had just traced her dad, but Lexie lit another fag, poured another drink and ignored us.
We cut across the park on Friday on the way home from school. A lone figure sat on a swing, blonde corkscrew curls tumbling out of her bright yellow bobble hat. Siobhan.
‘Let’s go the other way.’ I tugged Charlie’s arm.
‘I’m not leaving because of her.’ Charlie crunched across the frosty grass, breath billowing out in front of her. ‘Oi. Thief.’
I tensed, waiting for Siobhan to erupt, but when she turned around I inhaled sharply and the icy air made me cough. Siobhan’s eyes were streaked with blood vessels, her face pale and spotty.
‘I didn’t steal anything.’
Charlie stared hard at Siobhan. ‘I believe you.’
‘Thanks.’ Siobhan reached out a hand and Charlie swatted it away.
‘I believe you like I believe you’re not sending letters to Grace.’
‘I’m…’
‘Save it. You were seen on CCTV. Needed the money for stamps did you? You’re pathetic. Dan loves Grace. He wouldn’t look at a skank like you.’
Siobhan sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her glove. ‘Please. We were friends once.’
‘More fool us.’ Charlie grabbed my wrist. ‘C’mon, Grace. Let’s go and meet the others.’
‘Let me come.’ Siobhan clasped her fingers together as if she were praying. ‘My parents hate me. Even Abby won’t talk to me.’
‘Drop dead, Siobhan.’ Charlie’s voice was hard, but as we walked away I could see the tears in her eyes.
27
Now
I can’t believe I have to go home and tell Dan that I have more than likely lost my job. My Fiesta is in the ‘Staff Parking Only’ space and I scuttle to the driver’s door, head down, key in hand. I throw my bag onto the passenger seat, swing my legs into the car and lock the doors. I feel uneasy; there’s someone out there who clearly hates me. Is it Greg? Is he the person who’s following me?
It’s not the first time I’ve had an enemy. My mind flashes back to the time I was eighteen. I think how that ended and I want to cry. I call Mum. Perhaps when I’ve said the words out loud, things won’t seem quite so bad, and it will be easier to say them again, to Dan. The phone rings and rings and I’m waiting for the voicemail to kick in when Mum answers.
‘Hi, Grace.’ Her breath rasps down the crackly line. ‘You OK?’
‘Are you? You sound like you’ve been running?’
‘Oliver’s daughter is here with her kids. We’re playing hide-and-seek. Did you want me?’
Jealousy rips through me. She
never played with me growing up, yet now she’s playing with Oliver’s grandchildren. Although I understand why, it hurts all the same.
‘Nothing important.’ I swallow hard to keep my voice from cracking. ‘Get back to the kids. I’ll call you next week.’
I grit my teeth and start the engine, jumping as noise floods the car. I’d turned the volume up high this morning as the local radio station played a plethora of 80s hits. ELO’s ‘Mr. Blue Sky’ fills the car and I jab the stereo off and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. I can almost hear Dad’s warbling voice, It’s a beautiful new day. Hey, hey. If only he were here to talk to. There’s a stillness fractured only by the sound of my ragged breath, and I wish I could remain cocooned in my car forever.
Lyn taps on my window and I raise my head, smile and nod – I’m OK – and reverse out of my spot. If there are any other cars on the road, I’m not aware of them as I drive. The wheels spin round and round, propelling me forward, and all too soon I am home.
The sound of raised voices hits me before I’m properly through the front door. I clatter my keys into the bits and bobs bowl on the telephone table and call out, ‘Hello!’ in a loud voice.
The TV is on in the lounge; engines roar as Formula One cars race around the screen.
Dan is perched on the edge of the sofa, head bowed, PlayStation controller in hand. Anna towers over him, hands balled at her sides.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Dan’s a sore loser. He doesn’t like playing games do you, Dan?’
‘Not yours, no.’ His eyes are dark. His voice low.
‘That’s because…’
‘Shut up, the pair of you. This is the last thing I need today.’ I aim the remote, mute the set. ‘I’ve been suspended.’ I sit next to Dan, rest my head on his shoulder. Mittens jumps onto my lap and I scratch her neck, glad of the distraction.
‘What? Why?’
I recount my day. ‘But Lyn’s being lovely. She told me to keep my key as I’ll be going back to work. It’s just a matter of when. But I don’t know, it depends what Ofsted think.’
The Sister: A psychological thriller with a brilliant twist you won't see coming Page 16
