‘I’ll talk to him on the way home. Always assuming I’ve got some voice to talk with.’
‘Thanks. But you have to look after yourself, Pam – get that cousin of yours to take over here for a day or so if needs be. She’s not you but she’s OK. Zunaid needs his Pam to be well, you know.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She waved a face mask at me. ‘And I’ll be using this at the servery. Don’t want every last kid to get this.’
Actually, I wasn’t keen on getting it myself, but when I backed away it was with enough exaggeration to make her laugh.
There might be a pile of admin waiting for me in my office, but one of my jobs was to keep an eye on everything happening in the school – and also the playground, where today it was Karenza’s turn to supervise the daily run round the circumference. Everyone else was running, staff and children alike. I joined in with the last little group; gratifyingly they speeded up. I didn’t like what I’d heard, so I ensured they were too breathless to continue talking in a pretty fair imitation of Jess’s Yorkshire vowels, and not in a kind way, either. On impulse I accelerated, catching up with her – not hard, since she was quite new to this daily exercise.
‘Just a quick question, Jess – do you have a Twitter account?’
‘No. Never felt the need. Why?’
‘I’m always worried about online bullying.’
‘Oh – the three princesses. Them and their blonde hair and blue eyes. Silly cows. They’ve tried it on in class. Or as they would say, claaass.’ She had just enough breath to produce an exaggerated southern vowel sound. ‘Don’t worry. I’m on to it. No, they’ve said nothing racist yet. Too fly to risk anything quite so flagrant, I guess.’
‘Let them just try!’ I patted her arm.
‘Actually,’ she gasped, ‘I know it’s a truism, but bullies are often just responding to bullying in their own lives. Is there anything I should know?’
‘Not yet. But you’ll be the first to know if I do find anything. Meanwhile, your happiness is at least as important as theirs: I’m not having my deputy in any way taunted or undermined.’
‘Except by this damned running! It’s killing me, gaffer.’
I pointed at Karenza. ‘Don’t give up. She’s signalling it’s the last circuit.’
Parents worrying about their children getting wet; a long meeting in Canterbury about music initiatives needing money we hadn’t got; a child with an asthma attack whose inhaler had run out. Average day, really. I was ready to go home and slob around for half an hour before addressing myself to all the work I missed during the day. Except Joy’s presence precluded slobbing.
We didn’t have room for a car park, so everyone had to park on the road. My car, splattered with passing mud, reproached me as I walked towards it. Since the local garage had closed, I’d not had it valeted. It had been cleaned just once – there’d been a village hall fundraiser in early January, when it had had a quick hose down. Now it was a disgrace, especially compared to Joy’s car. Maybe, I told it, the Merc would no longer be there to put it to shame. Maybe Ken would have arrived and swept her off to a luxurious hotel until their insurance company found them a temporary home. Maybe.
The abandoned garage had become a pop-up car wash. I’d priggishly avoided it because it was part of the black economy and probably wasn’t green in the way it disposed of all the detergent and water involved. But today almost of its own accord the car headed that way: yes, a team of men was waiting. They crowded round with desperate eagerness. For some reason I’d been expecting a crowd of disaffected kids: I got middle-aged men. Despite the cold that had me huddled into my fur-hooded puffer jacket, none wore more than a tatty fleece. Perhaps the energy put into cleaning and polishing kept them warm? Unlikely: there were more hanging round dispiritedly than working on the car. On impulse, I dug in my purse for coins, enough for them all to have a couple of pounds or so, plus the change from my twenty-pound note. My head told me off for helping people avoid tax; my heart said it knew hunger when it saw it.
Were they embarrassed by the pitifully small tips? None of them made any eye contact. No one spoke at all, except me, in what rapidly became overbright and overloud tones. Perhaps – surely, I was mistaken – they were more alarmed than embarrassed by my attempts at largesse. Next time, I’d take food. Yes, I knew there’d be a next time.
Meanwhile, I had a more immediate problem – though I assured Joy it wasn’t a problem at all, I cursed to see the parking place on my drive occupied by an even bigger vehicle than Joy’s, which I’d had to box in. Ken’s. Not a Merc, but one of my least favourite vehicles, a 4X4 with a huge boot tacked on, in black with lots of chrome. Maybe if you needed to transport cows or sheep there was an excuse for it, but as far as I knew Ken’s boats were no more than a metre long or high. Perhaps he’d upgraded and needed all the space. At least it was filthy dirty compared with my now gleaming vehicle.
Joy was on her own when I let myself in, to find her pressing a G & T into my hand. ‘We should be looking for a hotel,’ she began.
‘Too late for that. You’re both staying here,’ I said, cursing the prospect of an evening’s social chat when I really had a lot of stats to deal with. ‘It’ll be absolutely fine.’
‘Even though Ken’s got a really bad tummy bug?’
That almost stopped me in my tracks. ‘Of course. Though actually, Joy – oh, dear, this is so embarrassing! – I must try not to catch it. You’re not allowed in school until forty-eight hours after diarrhoea and vomiting have stopped. And that applies to me as much as to the tiniest reception child. So I’ll have to ask him to stay in your bedroom and just use the en suite for the duration. I’m really sorry.’
She touched her nose. ‘Between ourselves, I don’t think he’s as bad as he says he is. I think a water-only diet will soon effect a cure! Especially if we keep him in isolation. It’s a pity there’s a TV in there because he’ll think being ill’s a good idea … Meanwhile, I’ve got a moussaka ready to go in the oven: if we can’t finish it, then we can pop the rest in your freezer …’
What’s the etiquette when at two in the morning your overnight guest is being treated by paramedics, whose blue-flashing ambulance has been parked outside your front door for an hour or more? And then they go away and leave him? Let’s say I got a lot of work done, and produced tea and coffee when I felt it was appropriate. Joy couldn’t work out why they hadn’t taken him straight to hospital, because he was clearly ill, occasionally groaning in pain. Clutching mugs of hot chocolate, we talked in whispers, although the kitchen was the furthest point from the guest room.
‘They think it’s a virus, but they said to phone again if there’s no improvement,’ she said, clearly torn between anxiety and exasperation. ‘And here’s you, one of the hardest-working people I’ve ever met, losing the sleep you need. Off you go – back to bed. This is my problem, isn’t it? It would have been if we were in our own house, after all. Oh, that damned fox! We should call David Attenborough. Here, have a biscuit. No point in going to bed while you’re still shaking like a leaf.’
I couldn’t argue. But I did have some relaxation exercises on my iPod, even if I doubted I would actually drop off. I was deeply asleep, however, when the paramedics turned up again at six-thirty, their arrival coinciding nicely with my alarm. Poor Joy was trying to pack an emergency bag for him, picking a few clean clothes from the case he’d brought back from Wales and rooting through the stuff we’d managed to retrieve from her house. I made her drink tea and eat toast while she did it.
‘Stop talking about finding a hotel, Joy! If they keep him in hospital, this house is your base. Don’t even think about moving out. Understand? It’s one thing you simply don’t have to worry about. I insist. And I shall go into fierce head teacher mode if I hear a word of argument.’ I raised an eyebrow and a threatening finger, extracting a tearful laugh.
Having heard nothing from her all day, I contacted her at about half past six, just as I was about to leave school. She cal
led back immediately, happier to talk than to text.
Her distress oozed out of the phone. Ken had been admitted and would be staying in overnight. But he was frightened as well as in pain, and she was going to stay with him till later in the evening.
‘Are you staying with him?’
‘Oh, I’ll get a taxi home. No problem.’
‘Remind me, which hospital is he in?’
‘William Harvey.’
I thought quickly, though I didn’t tell the whole truth: I hadn’t planned a visit to Will, but one wouldn’t come amiss. ‘In that case I’ll be able to give you a lift. I’m visiting my sick friend tonight and it’d be nice to have some company on the way home.’ That was absolutely true. There were some nights when I couldn’t hold back the tears. ‘I could text you ten minutes before I head for the car park so we can meet up.’
I suspected that I wasn’t the only one of Will’s friends to have given up regular visits. Most of us had persisted as long as there was any hope for him. But as I took my place beside the figure now propped up in a specialised chair, splints on hands and feet, his head lolling as far as the padding round his neck permitted, I saw one sign of activity. Alongside the Pooh Bear I’d given him – we’d once planned expositions together – was an Eeyore looking so inexpressibly depressed I wanted to wrap my arms round him and cry into his blue-grey plush coat. Someone had put something round his neck – not a gaudy bow matching a cerise one on his tail that might have perked him up a bit, but something metallic. I investigated. On the end of a fine chain was a small gilt medal, with a head engraved on it. St Jude, according to the legend on the back. The patron saint of lost causes, according to the scrap of information my memory suddenly and unexpectedly threw up.
Perhaps it wasn’t something I should tell Will, as I sat beside him. But there was a lot I could. The idea was that the speech might stimulate his brain and that one day he might – just conceivably might – regain consciousness. No one ever spelt out what quality of consciousness it might or might not be. All this because vile associates of the picture-hunting Lady Preston had decided one evening to stop a concerned police officer from doing his job.
If I couldn’t hold his hand as I talked, at least I could keep my hand on his arm, occasionally squeezing it lightly for emphasis. I gave him all the good news about Zunaid’s school progress, adding that I wished I could magic his dad and auntie to the UK. Perhaps I touched the St Jude medal as I did. Then I regaled him with news of my new guest – how long she’d be with me I’d no idea, but presumably as long as it took to get a diagnosis and treatment for Ken. ‘She’s unexpectedly kind,’ I continued. ‘She cooks wonderfully. She’s made the house a home. She even keeps her car clean. Which inspired me to take mine to a hand car wash – yes, mine, the one you said I could try growing carrots on.’ So I told him about the activities on the estate that I’d seen on my walk with Joy, just as if he could hear and understand and bring his detective’s brain to bear on the issues. Just as if he’d cock his head and tell me to get together some more evidence.
Almost as if.
But not quite. I couldn’t feel the tension of the man who’d wanted to kiss me but couldn’t because of my involvement with a case. Or the tension that had driven me almost crazy the night I’d almost called him back to my bed.
Martin, his regular nurse popped his head into the room. It was time I left, his kind smile said – not for Will’s sake but for mine.
CHAPTER SIX
I can deal with kids on sugar rushes, but how should I treat an adult, a guest in my home, who’d rejected with dismay the very idea of a takeaway or fish and chips only to find she’d forgotten to make the pasta sauce she’d promised? And was now well down her second extremely stiff G & T and weepy with stress over her husband, who was struck down with diverticulitis, which I’d assumed was a chronic disease, not an acute one. Now she was staring with horror at the bowl of crisps I’d put in front of her as I silently replaced the gin glass with one full of water. Good crisps, too, the sort I rely on when I’ve not eaten all day and am too tired even to look in the freezer except to reach for some cheese to go with them.
Actually, getting food inside her must be the best option, and, yes, I had a lovely selection of frozen M & S and Waitrose meals. All I had to do was get her to make a choice.
What I had noticed, but she hadn’t, was that even in the short space of time it took her to get out of the car and into the house, and me to pop the car into the garage, which was blessed with an automatic door I could operate with a zapper, three or four cars had hurtled over the estate rumble strips. They were probably going too fast to register the door rolling gently down a few inches from my bumper before I let myself in via the internal door opening straight into the kitchen. Even the most impatient late commuter tended to be more circumspect. So when we’d eaten I suggested a repeat of our constitutional.
‘I’d no idea those meals could be so tasty – and have all those nutritional details on the packets, too,’ she said, looking hopefully at the wine bottle, which I was putting back in the fridge.
‘Absolutely. They’re my lifeline. I don’t think it’s raining, and after all that time at the hospital we both need some fresh air. Just one circuit,’ I urged her, as I passed her her jacket and her mobile. ‘You know that Ken’s safe and sound, and you’ll need to be strong when he comes out,’ I said, locking the door carefully behind us.
‘He should never have had a flare-up like this!’ Was that anguish or fury? ‘Actually, he’s never ever had one as bad as this. When I’m in charge of his food he’s fine. But when he’s with his old friends he thinks he can just be one of the lads and ignore his diet,’ she said, ready, by the sound of it, to weep again. ‘And now he’ll be in hospital for the best part of a week while they rehydrate him and give him intravenous antibiotics. Just when I need him to be fit and well, too, to look for a house and everything.’
A week! ‘You’re fine here, as I told you,’ I said, hoping I sounded neither grudging nor too jolly. I’d needed refuge often enough, hadn’t I, and been dependent on the institutional kindness of strangers – the least I could do was pay back a little of that. ‘You said that Ken has a telescope: have you ever used it? It must be wonderful to be able to look up and identify what you’re seeing on a night like this.’
‘It’s much better out by our house – and yours, of course. No lights to pollute the sky. Just us and space. All these wretched security lights!’ she tutted, as our stroll lit them up in a chain reaction.
There was no sign of any foxes, or of the speeding vehicles. It was as if the latter had been swallowed in a sinkhole – or more likely, accommodated in one of the many double garages with swiftly moving up-and-over doors. From one of the little side roads, a white van emerged, properly lit and doing a sensible speed. It had no distinguishing marks at all.
‘Are you going to join the village Speed Watch group? Wrayford and Wray Episcopi combined?’ Joy asked. ‘Oh, it’ll all be official with police training and proper equipment. They’re having a preliminary meeting about it tomorrow evening at the Cricketers. I meant to go but it all depends on Ken, of course. And Jane, I really could do with your advice. You’ve been in this position before. How do I make a decision about where to stay in the long term?’
‘I had a lot of support from both the insurance company and the letting agency. I suppose it helped that I work pretty closely with Brian Dawes, who seems to own pretty much everything round here.’
‘You couldn’t ask him?’
‘I think you should try official channels first,’ I said firmly, thinking of his possible health problems, not to mention my chronic reluctance to be beholden to him. ‘Your insurers probably have an approved list.’ I pointed to the house with the brightly lit room, which was still being used, though the cracks round the blackout blind were slightly smaller. ‘Now, let’s just check that house number before we go home …’
Friday. And though Zunaid meant very
well indeed, and was right to be proud of his attainment, what he said made me feel sick. He’d bustled up to me in break.
‘When I spoke about Georgy’s mum the other day, I said she shouted. And I was going to tell you that she shouted again last night. But now I know the word is not shout, but what girls do when they’re being silly. The word is scream. Ms Jane, why should Georgy’s mum scream?’
Had he heard a fox too? ‘I don’t know, Zunaid. Was it a short silly scream?’
He shook his head solemnly. ‘Not a playground scream. The sort of scream I hear in my country – heard in my country – when something bad had happened. Do you think they have bombs in Kent?’
‘No, I don’t. I know they don’t. There are no bombs here. You’re safe, Zunaid. But tell me where you heard this scream?’
‘Last night at half past six. Oh, where, not when. Where we were before, walking back from Pam’s to go back to my foster parents’ house on the bus. I like Mary and David very much, Ms Jane, but I love Pam most in the world. Except my dad and Auntie Noor.’
This time I took his head between my hands and kissed his hair. ‘I know, Zunaid.’ But I mustn’t make any promises, they said, lest someone else had to break them. ‘Did Pam hear the scream?’
‘She says her ears are all bunged up.’ He put his fingers in his ears and looked round comically. ‘And she talks as if she’s holding her nose.’ He gave a huge grin. ‘Like I do. Only my ears aren’t bunged up.’
‘So they can hear the lesson bell?’
He put his fingers back. ‘Nothing, Ms Jane. Nothing at all.’
Head Wound Page 5
