The Division Bell Trilogy

by Rachel McLean

  He raised his palms. “But don’t worry, I won’t ask. Not after what you told me about her. The job offer is still there, though.” He paused. “I liked working with you in government. I think we’d get on well in opposition too.”

  “Thanks,” she said, surprised by the compliment. “Likewise. But Catherine and I aren’t bosom buddies, you know.”

  She paused to consider. Did he want her for her experience, or her connection to Catherine? And did she want the job anyway? Was Catherine really her friend, or just another Tory clone, like John insisted? Knowing where her loyalties lay was one thing, but betraying her friend was another.

  “But I do have some respect for her,” she continued. “It wouldn’t feel right, using her to spy on Trask.”

  “You’re right. I respect you for it, honest I do. If there’s one thing we can rely on you for Jennifer, it’s integrity, eh?”

  She shrugged.

  “So, how about it? The job?”

  She sighed. She really would prefer to keep to the backbenches right now, to steer clear of any more attention.

  “I’m flattered. Of course I am.”

  “But?”

  “But I think I’d be a liability for you.”

  He waved his hand again. “Ah, don’t worry about that. Take it head-on, that’s what I say. You go off and brood on the back benches, you’ll just delay your rehabilitation.”

  Rehabilitation; so that’s what it was. “What about the others? I’m not exactly popular around here.”

  “The rest of the shadow cabinet, you mean? Well, I haven’t filled all the posts yet, and well, they’ll just have to put up with it.”

  She allowed herself a smile. Sometimes, John made her heart warm.

  “I’m still not sure,” she said. She needed to think. To talk to Yusuf.

  “Really?” He stood up, heading for the door. He pulled it open. She felt her chest sink; this was the biggest promotion she’d ever been offered, and she’d let it go.

  She stood to leave. As she passed him he put a hand on her arm. “I’ll give you five days,” he said. “I can delay things over the weekend, just about.”

  “Oh.” This was unexpected. He really did want her. “OK.”

  “If you want it, tell me on Monday morning. First thing. That’s your deadline.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  “Good. Monday morning. No later.”

  She went up to her office, throwing herself into the armchair. It was green and threadbare in places, and a spring jutted into her thigh. She scratched at her skin through her skirt, working through what John had just said.

  Had she been wrong to say no? Was she overthinking her unpopularity within the party? And was it time to forget about Catherine, and put herself first?

  She stared at the wall, the notices and memos she had pinned to it a blur. She was still a pariah, someone people stared at when she passed along the corridors. Even if she took John up on his offer, this was going to be a struggle.

  She ran through the encounters she’d had in the last few days, the colleagues she’d talked to. Not many had been friendly. Even Maggie was avoiding her; when it came to it, Jennifer wasn’t enough of a rebel. She’d already been causing trouble for John, challenging him in the newspapers and pulling together a group of MPs to put pressure on him, claiming he wasn’t providing a robust opposition to Trask.

  But for Jennifer, their little rebellion – their stupid little rebellion – had been a one-off. Something she already regretted every time she watched Trask and his cronies crowing over their new-found power.

  Could she redeem herself in the Shadow Cabinet?

  The phone rang. Sighing, she picked it up.

  “Jen?”

  Yusuf. She smiled, glad of a friendly voice.

  “Hi, love.” It wasn’t like him to ring at this time of day.

  “You OK? You sound odd.”

  Jennifer looked up at the eaves. “Not really, love. John’s just—”

  “Sorry. But we don’t have time to talk about John right now.”

  She hesitated.

  “Jennifer?”

  “I’m here. What is it?”

  “It’s Samir.”

  Jennifer closed her eyes. Another strop, she thought. Couldn’t this wait?

  “What’s happened?”

  “He got into a fight at school.”

  “A fight?” She frowned. That wasn’t like Samir. “An argument, you mean?”

  “No. A fight. He attacked someone. They sent him home early.”

  She sat up. “When was this?”

  “This morning. Normally I wouldn’t bother you at work but—”

  “Of course. It’s fine.” But it stung Jennifer that she wasn’t around when Samir was in trouble. She tried to picture him fighting but all she could imagine was him sitting apart from the other children, sulking. He’d never even been in trouble with his teachers. “Who with? Why?”

  There was muttering on the other end of the line.

  “Is he there with you?”

  “No. He’s upstairs. That was Penny.”

  “Penny? What’s she doing there?”

  “She’s just dropping off some leaflets.”

  “Oh.”

  Jennifer tried to imagine her house at that moment: Samir upstairs like a thundercloud, and Yusuf and Penny in the kitchen dealing with constituency business. It felt like a different continent.

  “How is he? Have you talked to him?”

  More muttering, then the sound of the front door closing. “He’s upset.”

  “Did he tell you what happened?”

  “It was a couple of boys in one of the other classes. No one we know. But it was about race, about the bomb attacks.”

  Jennifer’s grip on the armchair tightened. “Bomb attacks? What do you mean?”

  “He says the boys were saying something about the Spaghetti Junction bombers, calling them racist names. He snapped.”

  She exhaled, her voice quiet now. “Were they calling him racist names?”

  “No. He doesn’t say so. Just the bombers.”

  “OK. So how did the fight start? What did he do?”

  “He punched one of them and kneed the other one. They weren’t in a good way, according to the school. The deputy head rang me.”

  Jennifer knew the head and deputy; good people. She’d been a governor at the school, before her election.

  “What about Samir? Is he hurt?” She wasn’t sure which was worse: the thought of Samir starting a fight or of him being hit back.

  Yusuf sighed. “He’s fine. A teacher came along in time to stop it before they retaliated.”

  “Did anyone see it? Were any of his friends there?”

  There was a pause. “A teacher was there. She saw the whole thing.”

  She tried to picture Samir being violent but still couldn’t see it. “Are you sure? They definitely didn’t hit him first.”

  “Jennifer, he doesn’t deny it. I think he’d do it again. The school has spoken to the boys about the language they used. And to their parents. But their parents are more concerned about Samir attacking them, according to the deputy head. Not surprisingly, really.”

  Jennifer slumped in her chair, thinking of all the times she and Yusuf had talked to the boys about racist language and how to deal with it, how not to respond. The conversations they’d had about the bomb attacks and the racism afterwards, drumming into them the importance of not retaliating, not hitting out, no matter how horrible people were.

  Samir, it seemed, had snapped.

  30

  May 2021. Birmingham

  Jennifer rushed home the next evening, anxious to see Yusuf. And Samir. John’s comments – and his offer – were still nagging her, making her tongue-tied each time she encountered a colleague.

  She needed to talk it over with Yusuf, to get his take. But he’d be more worried about Samir. She was too, but couldn’t help wonder if the whole thing had been exaggerated. Maybe it was
a scuffle, a misunderstanding.

  One thought kept entering her head: It’s not like Samir. In the chamber as she listened to a debate on emergency services; in the canteen as she went through next week’s plan with her researcher; on the train as she tried to get through paperwork. Her son could be moody, and petulant. Bitter and sarcastic sometimes. But he had never been violent. Even when Hassan was a lively toddler and went through a stage of biting his brother, he hadn’t once retaliated. When Samir was annoyed, he retreated into himself. He hid. He didn’t lash out.

  She was relieved to find everyone home, TVs blaring in more rooms than there were people, and music coming from behind Samir’s door. Angry rap music. She resisted the urge to tell him to turn it down.

  Yusuf was in the living room, tidying up a pile of Hassan’s clothes. He gave her a peck on the cheek then beckoned for her to follow him. She paused to speak to Hassan, giving him a hug and listening to a tale about his teacher’s pet dog before promising him a bedtime story very soon. Then she joined Yusuf in the kitchen.

  Yusuf was clattering around, picking up crockery, as if trying to mask their voices.

  She cast her eyes upwards. “How is he?”

  Yusuf shrugged. “Fine. He had to stay home today. Tomorrow too. Two day exclusion.”

  “Seriously?”

  He raised a hand. “It’s the school rules. Get caught fighting, and you’re out for two days.”

  She let out a long breath. “Have you spoken to them?”

  He shook his head. “Tried to phone today. Couldn’t get hold of anyone.”

  “Who did you call?”

  “His year group head.”

  “We need to go higher than that. If there’s racist abuse—”

  Yusuf turned and put his hands on his hips. “Jennifer,” he said. He sounded exasperated. She ignored it.

  “Jennifer, nothing,” she replied. “We’ve had no chance to defend him, and they’ve already kicked him out—”

  “Not kicked him out, love. Two day exclusion.”

  “I still think they should investigate what prompted it. They know what he’s like. It would have to take something big to provoke him like this.”

  “I know. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he won’t tell me anything. All I’ve got to go on is what the school told me.”

  She felt her shoulders slump. Surely he didn’t think Samir had just done this, for no reason?

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?” The room felt blurred. She took a deep breath and the feeling subsided.

  “Of course not. I told you everything I knew, on the phone.”

  Yusuf approached her, reaching out a hand. She stiffened but let him place it on her arm.

  “But it wasn’t what they said,” he said. “It was more the way they said it.”

  “How d’you mean?”

  “You don’t get it, do you? He’s Muslim. The other kids were white. The school sympathises with them.”

  “Of course they don’t. The school’s got policies for this kind of—”

  He gripped her wrist. “We don’t live in that world anymore, love,” he muttered. “Policies mean nothing. Not with the government doing what it’s—”

  A dry heat rose in her chest. “Oh, so this is my fault too, is it?”

  “No. No, that’s not what I’m saying. But schools used to be under pressure to stamp out racism. Back when you were in government.”

  “Of course. They still are.”

  He tightened his grip. “They’re not.”

  She tugged her arm away and pushed past him, throwing herself into a chair.

  “That’s rubbish, Yusuf. You’re being paranoid.”

  “I’m not. I’m closer to this than you are. Education is a local government responsibility. I see what goes on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Things are changing, love. The mood. This is becoming a different country.”

  “Don’t say that. We’ll stop it. All of us. We’ll stop Trask.”

  He shook his head.

  “John offered me the Shadow Home Office brief,” she muttered.

  His head shot up. “What?”

  She nodded.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I need to talk it over with you first.”

  He smiled; at least she was still consulting him on some things.

  “But let’s get this mess sorted out with Samir first, shall we?” she said. “I’ll go and see Tina, in the morning.” Tina was the headteacher. Jennifer had worked with her as a school governor, before her election.

  “I don’t think we need to—”

  “Not we, me. I’ve known Tina for years. It’ll just be an informal chat. I want to know more about what happened. I’m not denying that what he did is wrong, Yusuf. But he had to have been provoked.”

  He shrugged; they both knew what Samir was like.

  “I’ll ask her if she can investigate further.”

  “Maybe we just leave it, love. Maybe we should be talking to Samir instead.”

  “I won’t go in all guns blazing,” she said. “I just want to know more. Trust me.”

  “I’m very sorry, Ms Sinclair.”

  “Call me Jennifer, please.”

  The headteacher gave her a look. “I’m sorry, but I have to apply the rules evenly. Samir attacked the other students, and I can’t be more lenient because of— because of your history with the school.”

  This wasn’t going how Jennifer had expected. Tina had been terse when she welcomed her to her office, not the gregarious, welcoming woman she remembered from her time as a school governor.

  “You know I’m not asking you to treat Samir differently. I’d never ask you to do that.”

  Tina sat back in her chair, checking her watch. Jennifer shifted in her place.

  “So why are you here?” the headteacher asked. “I gather Mr Rush was already dealing with this.”

  Jennifer swallowed. Mr Rush was a new deputy head, and not someone she’d dealt with before. “I’m not trying to get round the system or anything like that. But I think it’s important to investigate what it was that provoked Samir. You know him; he’s not like that, not violent.”

  Tina raised an eyebrow. “He has got a good record up to this point, yes. How much did your husband tell you?”

  Jennifer clenched her fists. Don’t try to play us off against each other, she thought. Then she paused. Was there something Yusuf hadn’t told her?

  “He told me that Samir was accused of assault in response to racist taunts.”

  Tina leaned across the table. “Now hang on there. That’s quite strong language to be using.”

  Jennifer frowned. “Yusuf told me that the other student had been using racist language.”

  “Directed towards Samir?”

  She felt her toes curl inside her shoes. “Well, yes.”

  “So they called Samir racist names, is what you’re saying? Because that’s not what your son told us.”

  Jennifer wished she’d been able to talk to Samir. But when she’d gone up to his room he’d been unresponsive. This morning she’d tried again, but he’d told her to leave it alone. He didn’t know she was here. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  Tina leaned back again, and gave her a smile that was a mix of patronising and wary. “Alright, then. I’ve spoken to Mr Rush and he’s told me what happened. Another student said something that upset Samir and Samir retaliated. No one is alleging that any racist abuse was involved.”

  Semantics, thought Jennifer. “No,” she said, her voice dragging. “But they were using racist language.”

  “As far as I’ve been informed, they were talking about the Spaghetti Junction bombers. Terrorists. Surely your son wouldn’t believe they should be defended.”

  Jennifer pursed her lips. Outside in the corridor she heard shouting.

  “It’s not the fact that they were terrorists that was pertinent to this conversation,” she breathed. �
�It was the fact that they were Muslim.”

  Tina leaned back further. “There’s the rub.”

  “The rub?”

  “Ms Sinclair, I know this is an uncomfortable question, but do you think Samir would have been defending the terrorists if they hadn’t been Muslim?”

  Jennifer reddened. “He wasn’t defending them. What are you talking about?”

  Tina let out a long sigh then looked at her watch again. “We’re going to have to draw this conversation to a close I’m afraid, I’ve got an assembly to take.”

  “We’re not finished.”

  “I think we are. Your husband Mr Hussain told you that a staff member witnessed the whole thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that Samir isn’t denying what he did?”

  She hesitated. “No.”

  “So I’m afraid the only option I had at my disposal was a two day suspension. I did speak to the Chair of Governors.”

  Jennifer tried to remember what she’d picked up of disciplinary procedure when she’d been a governor.

  “I’ll be taking it to appeal,” she said finally. “All I want is a more thorough investigation. I’m sure you agree with me that there’s no place for racist language in the school.”

  Tina stood up, pulling on a deep red jacket. It swamped the woman’s slight frame. “That’s your prerogative. I’ll need something in writing.” She ignored Jennifer’s second comment.

  Jennifer nodded. “You’ll be getting it.”

  She stood as the headteacher rounded her desk and approached with her hand extended. Jennifer shook it.

  “I shall keep an eye out for it. But you might want to consider moving Samir.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, I think a boy of Samir’s – shall we say sensitivities – might be better off in a different kind of environment.”

  Jennifer frowned; where was this coming from? “What kind of environment are you talking about?”

  Tina looked at her steadily. “You’ll know about the new Muslim school that’s opened in Perry Barr.”

  “Of course I do.” Jennifer could hear her voice hardening.

  Tina ushered her towards the door. “Well, he might feel more – more at home there.”