I smiled him on his way, watching Donna, who’d insisted on coming in just for a couple of hours, arrange an appointment for him. Don’t think I wasn’t shaking inside: raised male voices with raised male fists take me straight back to Simon’s time. If I saw a child like this, I’d kneel and gather them up for a hug. For a crazy moment I wished I could be scooped up in a comforting embrace.
Not Rufus Petrie’s, however. Not that he showed any signs of wanting to touch me, once we’d shaken hands. Sitting down at my request, he was extremely polite, as icy as I’d been to Florence’s father – but surely to disguise the fact that he was near to tears.
I responded with warmth. ‘You’re worried about Lulabelle being in school today, Mr Petrie? I am myself, to be honest. Could you use a coffee? I know I could.’
He smiled. ‘Actually, yes. Yes please.’
I buzzed through to Donna.
‘How do you keep your cool with a yob like that?’ he continued. ‘Yes, we could hear everything back there. Another minute and I’d have come through and decked him.’
‘It’s a good job you didn’t – it’s against school rules, or I might have tried myself.’ We shared a cautious laugh. ‘Thanks, Donna. Now, the first sign of a headache and you go straight home: right? Promise? I don’t want your gran on my back, do I?’ I waited till she’d closed the door behind her before I said, ‘Donna had a fall in the woods – those woods – last week. I didn’t think she would come in, didn’t think she should, as it happens, but stoicism seems part of her job.’
‘Just as it’s part of yours. Ms Cowan, I don’t approve of your positively encouraging Lules to ride – that’s what she says, anyway, but you may tell me different. And then yesterday you tell me she needs her bloody horse. Needs! I could have wrung your interfering neck. But actually, you may have a point. Do you know where she slept last night? Not in a hospital bed. Well, no one would want that, I suppose. But not in her own bed either. I found her curled up in the loose box. With the horse. Is it normal? That’s what I want to know.’
‘Let’s just say I think it’s something that her therapist should be aware of – you know she’ll be offered specialist support?’
‘Oh, I shan’t bother with the police people. I shall get her someone from Harley Street. Now what have I said wrong?’
‘Nothing. Your daughter. Your money. All I know is that for the immediate care after an event like that the people who the police use are excellent. Long term, if she still needs support, they’ll be able to advise on the best person for her to talk to.’ I felt I was justified in stressing the personal pronouns a little.
He raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘What about you? Will you be going to the same one?’
I could feel another argument coming on. Being hectored on a totally private matter was not my favourite thing. But I managed to say, ‘She would be seeing an expert in children’s therapy. And although there are times I don’t feel very grown-up, I’ll be allocated adult support.’
He looked at me narrowly. ‘They say you’re seeing a shrink just to cope with this job.’
I was even more furious than I had been with Crouch, and my voice started to slip from my control. ‘I don’t think we should discuss rumours, do you? But if anyone suggests that to your face, you might respond that people have all sorts of reasons to need support.’ I took a deep but not entirely calming breath. ‘Now, Mr Petrie, do you have any particular concerns that need immediate attention?’ I half rose, but sat as he pulled a comic face, and raised a pacifying hand.
‘We’ve not finished our coffee, yet! Jesus, Ms Cowan – what should I do? That’s what I came to ask. Not to be a bastard.’ He spread his hands in a mixture of despair and frustration.
‘Let her hug the horse. You could hug them both at the same time, maybe.’ I smiled. ‘She really wants to please you, you know: I wanted her to stand for the school council, but she’s afraid you’d be cross if she didn’t get in.’
He went white. ‘In other words, you’re saying she’s afraid of me?’ At first he sounded angry, even outraged – but then disbelief segued into something like horror.
‘Do you think she might be?’ I asked gently. Suddenly I wanted to be anywhere else. The effort of saying the things my training had taught me suddenly seemed enormous. Maybe the sleeping pill had left me hungover; maybe I was being unrealistic about my efforts to overcome yesterday’s shock. I’d always prided myself on my ability to bury my problems in work: now I wanted to disappear under a duvet with Lavender and Nosey.
‘We’ve not had an easy time since my wife died. You’d have thought it would have made us closer, but—’ He drew himself up short. ‘Your secretary said she could only allocate me a ten-minute appointment, because someone else wanted to see you. And I’ve an idea this conversation should take a lot longer. I’ve never done this bleeding-heart stuff, Jane.’
I didn’t pull him up over the use of my first name. ‘It’s not an easy option. Yes, I do know from experience, as rumour told you. My ex-husband is currently doing time in Durham Jail for what he did to me. Hence my therapy. But after yesterday, Rufus, I’m not strong enough to talk about it, to be honest.’
‘Of course – you saw what Lules saw. My God, I’m so … How on earth did you manage to carry her?’
This conversation was getting weirder by the minute.
‘My head told me she was injured and what I was doing broke the first-aid rules. My heart told me no one should have to see … that … for a second longer than they had to. So—’
I couldn’t manage this.
Donna buzzed.
‘That means your next appointment is here, I gather. OK.’ He got up. ‘Thank you. And thank you for everything you did yesterday. I tell you – I’d rather she loved a cat, not that bloody horse. You probably heard about my wife.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry. How does Lulabelle get on with your new … companion?’
‘Irana? She’s not a companion, Jane, or anything like that. She works for me, but not in the bedroom. But I bet the villagers have her down as my whore, don’t they?’
‘The same people who say I need a shrink. Let’s say they wonder if she’s a possible stepmother for Lulabelle.’
‘And there I didn’t have you down as a tactful woman …’
On what I think was a compliment, we shook hands, and I did my ushering out routine. Elaine was indeed waiting, with ill-disguised impatience. I did the obvious thing: I made the introductions, giving Elaine her full title.
‘I’m not in charge of the investigation. But I am working on one aspect of it,’ Elaine said, as they shook hands. ‘How is your daughter, Mr Petrie?’ I suspected she refused to use her absurd name. Perhaps she’d find ‘Lules’ easier.
‘In school. She insisted. Same as Ms Cowan insisted. But I gather …’ He gestured from her to me.
‘Yes. Rather urgent business.’ As if I’d prompted her, she added, ‘Our officers are very good at supporting people in situations like this, Mr Petrie. They’ll both be in safe hands.’ She nodded his dismissal. What a professional.
The moment he was out of the door, she turned to Donna, asking, without preamble, ‘Up in the woods the other day – did you fall or were you pushed? Or were you, indeed, whacked on the head?’
As if by reflex, Donna rubbed the spot. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t even know I’d got a lump till Jane had a look at it. I believe PCSO Ian Cooper made enquiries at A & E and found it was logged.’ Her face was on fire as she used his name.
Elaine’s laugh was startlingly loud. ‘Jane was right! And there I was trying to get her to take young Ian along on a hot date.’
‘I don’t class drinkies with a shoal of pensioners as a hot date,’ I protested. ‘And however lovely it would have been to have him as arm candy, even assuming he’d agreed to your plan, he’d have stuck out like a sore thumb. As it was, I managed to have a woman-to-woman conversation I meant to tell you about – only stuff happened,’ I added.
�
��Maybe you could tell me about it now. Donna, if I tell you I’m sorry I tried to mess with your shiny new relationship, could you make me a coffee?’
‘Of course.’ Donna looked both embarrassed and irritated. ‘Another for you, Jane? Or had you better move on to green tea?’
School secretaries!
Elaine sank back in my visitor’s chair but soon realised this wasn’t a chair for slumping. ‘So, this Joy of yours is worried about something? Would it involve us?’
‘I don’t know. I’d rather it involved me first. A nice chat over coffee. But when the hell do I have time for a nice chat over coffee? With her or with Izzie?’
‘She doesn’t have time to scratch her head,’ Donna said, coming in without knocking and not quite plonking the coffee in front of Elaine. She was much gentler with my mug of green tea. ‘My nan made a cherry cake for me: I don’t suppose either of you would like a slice?’
‘Your nan? If she finds out you’re sharing it with incomers, she’ll kill you or me – I don’t know which!’
‘I’m not an incomer!’ Elaine squeaked. ‘I was born in Lyminge!’
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Donna said, returning with two slices, one decidedly larger than the other. She closed the door behind her with a slight emphasis.
‘Made an enemy there, didn’t I?’ Elaine observed. ‘It’s a good job you didn’t take Ian or you’d never have got any work out of her again.’
We ended up sharing the larger slice, Elaine guiltily patting her stomach.
‘Have you any news for me?’ I asked.
‘Some news but none I can share with you. Well, I can tell you the vicarage is almost ready to be handed over to professional cleaners: I absolutely don’t think the new incumbent – is that the word? – should have to deal with it. We’ve taken some stuff, actually, but not everything. Skip time, I’d say. Actually, funny as this may sound, I just wanted to see how you were. And to tell you that for whatever reason, you’ll have to find another place to have your car cleaned. The place you told me about is empty. Everyone’s gone. Vamoosed. All their kit’s gone too. What hasn’t been taken has been cleaned to within an inch of its life. Well, all those power hoses … How long are you going to stay with Jo and Lloyd?’
‘They’ve got lives of their own.’
‘In other words, you plan to return to Little Orchard Close. I wonder what happened to the big orchard,’ she mused.
‘I’m an incomer, so don’t ask me! You’ve no idea how much I want my own place, to settle in, to put down roots,’ I said, surprising myself.
‘Here? You want to stay here? Bloody hell, in your position I’d be scouring the Internet for new jobs.’
‘Too early, career-wise. I need to prove I can make a go of these schools before taking on something bigger.’
‘Who said anything about bigger? Except I see you in a bigger village – a town, or a city, that’s more you. And I’d like you to know I’m not happy about your being in that house alone.’
‘Despite all Toby’s gizmos?’
‘It’s just your being on your own – nothing to divert you. You could do with another dog. A huge Alsatian maybe. Better than Geoffrey.’ She laughed at my grimace. ‘You’d win a village fete gurning competition with that. What about just pulling a sickie and doing a bunk to a nice quiet spa for a few days. That would be good, wouldn’t it? No? Anyway, I’d best be on my way. If I could just use your loo first …’
CHAPTER TWENTY
I hadn’t exactly forgotten about the after-school fundraising meeting at Wrayford School, but it certainly hadn’t been at the forefront of my mind. Printing off the paperwork I’d need was very much a last-minute flurry, not helped by the photocopier’s insistence on jamming. I was actually on my knees sorting it out when my deputy, Tom, discovered me.
‘Sorry, Jane, I’ve been meaning to get that fixed all day.’
‘That’s not your bag, Tom: it’s Melanie’s. Decidedly admin and secretarial.’
‘Ah – you’ve not heard. Her dad’s had a stroke. She’s had to take a couple of days’ compassionate leave. At least a couple, I’d say. Is that OK?’
‘Of course: she works far more hours than she’s paid for, doesn’t she, and does far more tasks, too. Always the first with the first-aid box or the sick-bucket. Are you able to come to the meeting tonight? I know you don’t have to, but if you weep and fall on your knees you might get a governor volunteering to help while Melanie’s away.’
He held out a hand to help me to my feet. Heavens, I was only a couple of years older than he was. But it would have been ungracious to wave it away. ‘Actually, I assumed I’d have to deputise for you – I never dreamt you’d be here. Are you sure you should be? Even if the rumours are only half-correct, no one would blame you for going to earth.’
‘Is that a kind way of saying I look like death warmed up? I’d better put some fresh lippie on.’
To my further shame, I’d forgotten that as the new vicar, Graham West would automatically be a governor, and I hadn’t done enough copies of the paperwork. While, somewhat to our surprise, Graham opened the proceedings with a prayer, Tom came to my rescue, slipping out, crossing his fingers as he went, and returning triumphantly before Brian Dawes, as Chair, began his opening remarks. The meeting was primarily concerned with the suggestions the subcommittee had put together – and in one or two cases acted on. The village cricket team would sponsor all the kids’ sports kit, whatever game they were playing. A Canterbury sports shop had promised to provide at cost all our balls whatever the size or shape. A couple of stifled sniggers suggested that it could have been expressed more felicitously.
At this point a parent governor interrupted. If we were prepared to mount an exhibition of his work in the Wrayford School hall, larger than the one at Wray Episcopi, a local artist would take over responsibility for the scenery for our school plays and nativity, and even do some regular volunteer teaching. Since he’d already had the required background checks, this was enthusiastically welcomed until someone suggested it might be worth seeing some of his paintings first. If they turned out to be erotic nudes, then we might risk a lot of unwelcome publicity. Did I notice a hurried glance being exchanged between some of the members?
And so it went on. For each really promising proposal, there were two or three duds, which were nonetheless hard to turn down as we wanted the donors’ goodwill.
At this point, Brian narrowed his eyes: ‘I was under the impression that our subcommittee was authorised to make suggestions, nothing more. Am I right in thinking you’ve actually approached the donors – even closed the deal with them?’
‘Only a couple. The balls and the kit. Though the artist’s pretty committed. He’s even come up with some designs. It might be hard to unpick.’
I let the bickering roll on around me. In any case, they were merely scratching the surface. I could see redundancies ahead. Or even a shorter school week …
Eventually Hazel Roberts, the Wray Episcopi chair, raised her hand and her voice. ‘All this is generating more heat than light. Clearly, we have to ask Mr Turner – is that really his name? I wonder what his initials are! – if he thinks his work is suitable for family viewing. We may, tactfully, have to ask to see it. Brian and I will have to take on that responsibility, though it will be hard to do it without appearing to be censoring his one-man show. I’d like to confirm what Brian said: that the subcommittee members do not have authority to make firm commitments. They must consult us even if only by email – and the rest of us must undertake to check our in-boxes daily and respond to any suggestions within twenty-four hours. Now, let’s quickly review their remaining suggestions and vote. Three minutes maximum per suggestion.’
Graham West gave a cough that was clearly meaningful: ‘For something as important as this, it’s surely wrong to impose a time constraint. The future of two schools and two communities is in our hands. I know how keen Jane is on meticulous preparation.’ It did not sound like a compliment
.
What was going on?
Hazel and Brian exchanged glances. An incomer having the temerity to sound critical of a more established inhabitant! Hazel said quietly, ‘We all know by now that Jane has had a most appalling experience; that she insisted on coming into work and now to this meeting is immensely to her credit. Jane, we want you home and in bed by eight-thirty. Very well? First suggestion, please.’
Probably astonished by this takeover bid, Brian rattled through them.
I actually might have been following Hazel’s kind orders about bedtime but for an unexpected visitor. Joy Penkridge appeared on my drive even as I was closing the garage door. I froze it in mid roll. She ducked in and sidled past the car.
‘Such a good idea, this, being able to get straight into the house … Now, Marie and Tess phoned. Tess, actually. She told me all about … that business in the woods. And so I’ve come to take you back to mine. No, don’t argue. The spare bed’s aired. There’s a meal in the oven. I’ve booked a taxi to get you back here tomorrow so you won’t be late to school.’ As I opened my mouth – possibly to say I was fine, she continued, ‘Tony’s persuaded Ken that he’s well enough to go on one of their model boat trips, so you’ll be doing me a favour, look at it this way, saving me from rattling round that great apartment like a pea in a colander. Just pack an overnight bag and we’ll be on our way. No arguments, I said. You looked after me; I’m going to look after you. Oh, you poor girl – let’s get you home.’
Her kindness had done what nothing else had done: reduced me to tears. I sat helplessly by while she packed a bag, including Nosey and Lavender without a word.
She had a glass of gin in my hand and a bath running the moment I was in her apartment, telling me it would take a good half-hour to organise food and I wasn’t to hurry with my pampering, which included organic scented candles and a lot of bubbles.
Head Wound Page 15
