Head Wound

by Judith Cutler

  ‘Better out than in,’ Hazel said firmly, mopping my forehead and setting us in motion. ‘Whoops – that doesn’t look safe at all.’ She pointed to the cast iron coal-hole covers. Coke chute, to be more precise. If I could get the term right maybe my teeth would stop chattering. I followed the line of her finger. Yes, there was a crack running across one of what were effectively a pair of iron doors in the ground, like those you see outside old pubs relying on deliveries of barrels. I’d walked in perfect safety across thousands in my life. I’d probably walked across this. But I wouldn’t now. Though the crack only ran about a third of the width of the right-hand one, and the split was only a millimetre wide at one end, it widened to about a centimetre. To my shame my first thought was that repairing it would be another drain on our exhausted budget.

  Hazel was far more on the ball. ‘I don’t suppose they could have slipped something through that crack?’

  I squatted, though she didn’t. ‘You could only slide coins through, or maybe at a pinch a squashed pea!’

  ‘Or SATs test or one side of a sandwich!’ she responded.

  The more we tried to be sensible, the harder we found it. But eventually, still giggling intermittently, we reported it to Ben, who eyed me warily. ‘Are you OK, Jane? We—none of us realised just how bad … No wonder you’re having counselling.’ He touched my arm in awkward sympathy.

  ‘Thanks.’ If I wasn’t careful I’d find myself in very public tears, so I pulled myself up, straightening my shoulders as if Melanie was watching. ‘The chute goes right down into the stokehole, where, in the days of caretakers, you’d find the boiler.’

  He pulled a face. ‘Can you get access any other way?’

  ‘Actually, there is a route. You have to go into our current boiler room, then through a narrow door and down a steep set of steps that would have Elf and Safety in hysterics. But one of the first things I did when I arrived here was to have both doors equipped with touch pad locks. And the main door is behind one of the bookshelves you had to move.’

  ‘So it’s unlikely the girls could have got in that way?’

  ‘One way to find out,’ I said, determinedly gung-ho and positive. ‘You move the bookshelves and I’ll tap in the codes.’

  They were wearing paper suits and paid to do dirty work; Hazel and I chose to stand and watch. We did succumb to more giggles when a blue-gloved hand flourished their only find, half a crust of bread. But nothing else.

  ‘So, I can get a builder in to make the chute safe?’ I said, as they emerged. ‘There are times when I take Elf seriously,’ I added.

  ‘No problem. Now, before we sign off is there any other conceivable hidey-hole?’ Ben asked.

  I pointed solemnly upward. ‘The loft. With its own touch pad.’

  ‘We’d better find a paper suit for you.’ Ben said.

  So there I was, sitting on the tongue-and-groove floorboards that covered the majority but not all of the loft floor, marvelling that someone should have gone to so much trouble when these days some sheets of contiboard would have been considered adequate. With the torch on my phone I pointed to the repair that we’d needed after the big storm but had only been completed a few days ago because all the local workmen had been working on bigger repair jobs: the slate was a slightly different colour from the old ones.

  ‘Pity that the flooring doesn’t cover the whole space. They knew how to do things properly in those days, didn’t they? I bet they thought the place would stand till Domesday, and never dreamt it would be pulled to accommodate an estate full of ticky-tacky houses,’ said Ben.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s the rumour, anyway. And God knows we need the houses. My son’ll never get his own place, what with raising a deposit and paying off his student loan. Whoever thought they were a good idea?’

  ‘No one in education that I know, anyway. Tell me about this housing development. Who’s behind it?’ How on earth had I missed that? Or was it something to do with that secretive activity of Brian’s?

  ‘Someone with more than enough money anyway, I dare say – and what’s the betting they’ve got an offshore trust so they won’t have to pay tax on their profits? OK, let’s see what we can find … No, to move all this insulation we’ll need proper kit. And we could do with better lighting.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Tomorrow is another day, as they say. Not that we’ll be here tomorrow. This isn’t high priority enough for us to apply to work paid overtime.’

  ‘Not high priority enough – a hundred kids’ education? I really can’t shift an entire school out for another day.’

  It seemed I would have to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I hurtled across to Wrayford village hall at the end of school to thank the parents for their cooperation and understanding and to explain that we’d have to use the same building on Monday. Not all had been pleased, of course, to have had to add a couple of miles each way to their journey, but only one got really vociferous. When no one supported her, she piped down and joined the other mothers in the traffic chaos resulting from having two schools finish at the same time.

  The staff looked understandably tired: improvising is more stressful than having plans you’ve prepared in advance, but also ultimately far more fun. I thanked them all, including Donna, of course, and the cooks.

  ‘Pam’s dinner tasted even nicer cooked on the stove here,’ Zunaid declared, which prompted a round of applause for her and her colleague.

  I waved them all off, including Jo, who said she’d have invited me round for supper only they were off to a dance to practise their ballroom skills. She’d text me about what we could all do over the weekend – ‘You can’t work all the time,’ she said.

  There was too much adrenalin (and perhaps caffeine) coursing through my system for me to settle for dear old boring admin at either school. After the day’s activities, I needed a shower, but the central heating had yet to come on, and it was a short, businesslike affair, still too cold in the bathroom for me to relish giving myself a much needed pedicure. I was also low on fresh food, so although I knew I’d tangle with early rush-hour traffic, I set out for Ashford Waitrose, where I knew from experience I was likely to meet fewer of my pupils and their parents.

  The person I did meet was Joy, sleek in appearance as ever, but with a weary droop to her mouth. We adjourned swiftly to the cafe area for our free drinks – yes, in my case, a virtuous green tea – a cake and a natter. Ken was planning yet another trip with Tony: ‘Already! And at the weekend too, just when I’d hoped for a bit of company. I’m getting a bit sick of Tony, to be honest. I know I should be grateful to him for providing a roof over our heads, and a very nice one it is too – but he seems to be expecting payment in time, Ken’s at least. But he’ll never tell me what they get up to – just that it’s to do with his damned toy boats. A grown man – I ask you. Him and Tony both.’

  Did I dare float the notion that Tony wasn’t universally admired and liked? Kent’s Croesus? Well, she’d know about the money, and know from experience that he didn’t care to throw it in the direction of people he employed or, more accurately, got his friends to employ.

  ‘Anyway, he needed me to pick up some dry-cleaning for him for the do in the evening – and of course, he’s too busy tweaking the damned boats to come himself. Oh, Jane – are you free this weekend? Let’s do a mini spa break, shall we? Oh, come on – a massage, a facial and a manicure, with a champagne lunch thrown in? Do let’s! My treat – no, Ken’s actually, because he gave me his credit card by way of an apology.’

  ‘You know what,’ I said, casually wiping out a whole day’s planned work, not to mention a ball-skills session with the women’s cricket team, ‘I’d love to. But it’s pretty short notice to get in anywhere.’ Not much time to find me a substitute for tomorrow, either.

  She flourished her phone. ‘I’ll call the Mondiale down in Hythe right now.’

  I flourished mine, too: yes, if necessary, the captain of the cricket team would take my
place.

  I had some pride. So did my car, and it was damned if it was going to sit in its present state in some upmarket hotel car park next to Joy’s gleaming Merc. So when I saw another abandoned petrol station offering hand car washes I pulled in. And wished I hadn’t. The thin, hangdog men were the ones who’d cleaned it before. If anything the night air was colder. If it was possible, they looked even more emaciated. And when I produced the top-end biscuits and crisps I’d bought, not to mention packs of oranges and apples, they fell on them, one guy older than the others insisting on sharing them into pitiful heaps while the younger ones toiled. By chance I’d got a few pound coins too. As I drove away, I think the old guy blessed me, but I wasn’t sure in what language.

  ‘Language, schmanguage!’ Elaine declared, two minutes later when I pulled into the first lay-by I found and yelled into my phone. ‘We’re on our way.’ I could actually hear her breath change as she started to run, throwing comments to people I couldn’t see. ‘You can stay where you are, Jane, if you insist, but I’d much rather you hopped it straight home.’

  Those were her words. What I heard in my mind’s ear continued: And locked you and your car in – especially your car. Because the villains will have CCTV at that garage as sure as God made little apples, and probably illegal access to a number plate recognition app.

  ‘I’ll keep you briefed, don’t worry. For Christ’s sake get moving!’ she yelled, probably not to me – but it might as well have been. I got moving.

  As I pulled rather too hastily on to my drive I came uncomfortably close to Enid and Dolly, the former obviously prepared to be outraged. But when I steamed into the garage, erupted from the car and yelled to her to follow me, she obeyed, her expression as alert as Dolly’s, who led the way as if scenting an adventure – or possibly a few messages Geoffrey might have left.

  The door rolled calmly down.

  ‘I’ll just put the kettle on and you can tell me all about it,’ she said, as I fumbled the house door open.

  I dragged in great gulps of air. ‘The tea bags are still in the car,’ I managed as she peered into the empty caddy. ‘Give me two minutes. And I’m afraid I gave the biscuits away,’ I added, dumping the first two bags on the floor. I mustn’t explain, must I? Elaine had told me nothing lest I blab. ‘A homeless guy.’ That sounded quixotic enough to convince her.

  It did. She gave me a tolerant smile and a kindly shrug. ‘It’s the wrong time of day for bikkies. And for tea, come to think of it. Let’s get this lot put away and then we’ll nip back to mine. I always treat myself to a glass or two of wine on a Friday night, and a nice movie too. Have you eaten?’

  The little stack of ready-meals rather gave the game away. ‘Have you? If not we could share a couple of these.’

  ‘How lovely. I do love these Charlie Bigham lasagnes, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ve got some salad too. And some wicked garlic bread.’

  ‘Bring that too! What’s the matter, dear?’ She pushed me gently on to a kitchen stool. ‘Put your head down if you feel faint.’

  It took me a couple of minutes to work out what to say. I ventured, still censoring as I went, ‘I annoyed someone on the road back there. Long story. That’s why I drove like a bat out of hell. And I’d hate it if he did follow me and – you know how dangerous that bend can be when you’re crossing the road … Maybe we should stay here to eat. If you don’t mind.’ I closed my eyes again, trying to shut out a spurious image of Dolly being thrown into the air or even mown down and a less spurious image of a dead woman. I found I was shaking as well as sobbing. All the time I was dimly aware I was being stupid, but I couldn’t find a sign of my common sense.

  ‘What I mind is someone frightening you like this. Let me go and draw your curtains before we switch any more lights on. Dolly, you stay here – I don’t want you under my feet.’

  ‘But—’

  She fished in her pocket and came up with a house key sharing a ring with a tiny torch. Touching her nose meaningfully, she set off through the house.

  Dolly whined a bit, but when I stooped down and petted her she responded with her usual wet affection. I gathered her on to my lap.

  ‘Oh, you naughty girl – you know Jane doesn’t like having her face washed, don’t you? Jane, I really think you’re worrying unnecessarily about crossing our quiet little road.’ She pushed my hair out of my eyes, then took my hand, which clutched hers convulsively. ‘In fact, I’d go further: I’d say you’re having a panic attack of some sort. So I’m going to put our supper into this shopping bag, and I’m going to carry it across the road, and then – when I can see perfectly well in both directions – I’m going to call you across. Then when you’ve fought your demons, we can have a nice drink and watch a bit of something silly.’

  ‘I can’t – I really daren’t.’ I was sobbing helplessly.

  ‘You can and you will. And you can sleep at mine like I said the other night. Come upstairs with me and we’ll shove your things in this, for all it’s just a carrier. Hasn’t it improved things, this charge on plastic bags …?’

  At one level I was sensible: despite her gentle objection, I would take my own duvet, pillow and towel. But I doubt if I’d have got across that road if Elaine hadn’t phoned just as I was stowing Nosey and Lavender in the carrier.

  ‘Well done, you, saving those poor bastards!’ Elaine said, her voice almost as loud as if I had the phone on conference. ‘We’ve picked up the lot and stowed them in safe accommodation while we mop up the scrotes who were – well, their slave-masters, not to mince matters. We got two straight off. Now we’re off to Stelling Minnis to find the rest. You did the sensible thing and went home, I gather? Well done.’

  To my amazement, quiet gentle Enid took the phone. ‘Elaine, you don’t know me but I’m a friend of Jane’s. She’s not too well – she’s having a bit of a nervous turn. I’m trying to get her back to my house just across the road.’

  ‘Excellent. Hang on, what do you mean, trying? And nervous turn – what’s that?’

  ‘I think she’s afraid of someone attempting to take revenge. Someone might drive at her, that sort of thing. She got very upset.’

  Enid held the phone where I could hear it but there was a long silence. ‘Put her on, will you? Maybe I can reassure her. Jane? You’re safe. I promise.’

  ‘What if someone tailed me?’

  ‘Did you see anyone? Of course you didn’t. And we didn’t either. Listen, you’re safe. Now go over to your neighbour’s like a sensible woman. Get pissed. Watch a movie. Try Mamma Mia. You’ll enjoy that!’

  Funnily enough, I did.

  And apart from a brief and hair-raising serenade from a vixen, I slept – slept, to my acute embarrassment, till the smell of bacon woke me next morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Enid was full of apologies for waking me so early – not that I considered seven-thirty early! – and explained that Dolly was going to have her nails clipped at half past nine, a procedure that apparently she never enjoyed, but she did like a general grooming. Enid seemed tickled that I was to have the same procedure. ‘That’s just what you need. Not that you ever look other than well turned out, but pampering always does a woman good, doesn’t it, Dolly? Sets you up for the week, I always think. Now, are you sure you’re all right going back to yours? Do you want us to come too?’

  I would have loved them to, but it was time to take control of myself again. ‘I’ll be fine. You’ve been more than kind, Enid—’

  ‘Nonsense: I really enjoyed myself last night, far more than sitting on my own – not that I would have been on my own with Dolly, would I, precious? Look, you can’t carry all that yourself. In fact, you could keep your duvet here, until all this business has been sorted out and you feel safe. Oh, very well.’

  We set off in stately procession, the three of us, Dolly on her lead. As I put my key in the lock, Joy said, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I shan’t be in tonight – bridge club supper – but I can give you a key if yo
u think you’d feel safer at mine.’

  In mid-reassurance – the house was exactly as we’d left it, thank God – I stopped. ‘What will Dolly do while you’re out?’

  ‘What she always does. She lies in front of the TV and is uppity with me when I get back.’

  ‘Maybe she and I could have a girlie evening over here in front of my TV.’

  ‘Lovely! But she may need a comfort break …’

  ‘She shall have a walk, she and I – Girl Power!’

  My phone prevented any argument. Another determined woman. ‘Lunch?’ Elaine asked, without preamble. ‘I need to talk to you about something – very unofficially.’

  ‘Just hang on a second, Elaine. Bring her round whenever you want, Enid – right?’ I blew Dolly a kiss as Enid led her out. ‘Sorry about that, Elaine. And I’m sorry I can’t do lunch. I’m booked for a day-spa session at the Mondiale. In fact, I’ve got to dash or I shall be late.’ I ran upstairs, still holding the phone. Where on earth were my swimmies? ‘But tomorrow?’

  ‘You couldn’t postpone?’

  ‘I’m going with someone – Joy Penkridge as it happens.’

  ‘Are you indeed! How did you manage that?’

  ‘No time to explain!’

  ‘All right – call me when you’ve finished. Listen a lot and say very little – OK?’

  So much for my plans for a day of unalloyed indulgence.

  But it’s hard to think when the woman massaging you seems to be using a rolling pin to attack the knots in your back and shoulders. Even harder, you’d have thought, to fall asleep while she was doing it. But I did. Then came a facial, and with it more sleep.

  The champagne with our lunch (taken in bathrobes and slippers) might not have been the best idea, but Joy implied it was de rigueur, so I didn’t argue. I don’t recall talking about anything in particular, and she was too busy spotting celebs (some of whom I’d never heard of) to engage in a proper conversation.