I drank far too much last night, stressed out by my conversation with Aura, worried sick about Sorrel and also full of guilt, both for being away and for not realizing that Aura had deliberately not got the boys’ jabs done and didn’t even feel she needed to discuss it with me. Why hadn’t I paid more attention when they were small? Why had I left it all to her?
I should have stuck to beer last night; once I moved on to whisky it made me maudlin, as it so often does. But when I followed Ella outside I had nothing on my mind other than checking she was OK – she and her entourage were among the most drunk last night. Obviously the kids aren’t meant to drink, but Christ knows how their parents and the authorities think we’re meant to police it. These kids – especially the girls – simply don’t look like children. If they want to buy a bottle of vodka at the supermarket or order a drink at almost any bar, then they will. God, if Ella actually looked like a child rather than a fully grown woman, then I wouldn’t be in this mess. That night in the club in London wouldn’t have happened. I had no idea she was so young. It’s not like I’m some kind of pervert.
And then, last night … if I hadn’t had the whisky, if I hadn’t been so stressed all day, if she hadn’t been so drunk, if she hadn’t come on to me like that, then it wouldn’t have happened. It was wrong, I know that. But it all came from her. When a girl, a woman, offers herself to you like that when everything at home is so shit then … argh. No. It was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But I think Ella understands that and I trust her not to tell anyone. All I need to concentrate on now is getting home to Sorrel and looking after him.
I text Aura, How is Sol today? but there’s no reply.
When we finally arrive in London, instead of hanging around saying my goodbyes I get busy hauling the cases off, grab mine and head straight for home. I find Aura sitting on the sofa with the two boys draped over her, watching CBeebies.
‘Hey,’ I say, picking Sorrel up and giving him a cuddle. He lays his head on my shoulder. He has a rash and his eyes look weird. Tears spring to my eyes when I feel his little body so hot and floppy in my arms. He is too little to be ill. ‘How’re you doing, little man?’
He puts his finger in his mouth and drifts back off to sleep without a word. Aura gives me a half-smile and strokes Bay’s head, which is in her lap.
‘He’s OK. I think Bay’s coming down with it too though, poor thing.’
I lie Sorrel on the sofa and touch Bay’s head, which is also hot.
‘Poor Bay. Have you been giving them their Calpol?’
Aura rolls her eyes. ‘Yes!’ she snaps, clearly annoyed at the question, but I don’t know whether to believe her. I decide I’m going to take charge of their meds from now on.
Sorrel wakes up and gives a little wail. I pick him up. ‘Hey, Bud, what’s up?’
‘Ear hurt,’ he says, tugging at it. I give it a kiss.
‘Oh dear. How about I give you and Bay a nice bath now I’m home and we can see if it makes it feel better?’
He nods solemnly and grips me tightly when I try to put him down. ‘Aura, can you bring Bay, please?’ I ask.
She gets up without a word and follows me up the stairs, carrying Bay. Sorrel lets me sit him down on the closed loo seat as I run the boys a bath.
‘I’m sorry I was away when this happened,’ I say to Aura, and I am, though not as sorry that she didn’t check they’d had all their proper medical procedures, I think to myself. But that conversation will have to wait.
‘Yep, well, never mind, you’re here now,’ she says, laying Bay down on the bathroom floor. ‘I’ll leave you to get on with the bath and I’ll phone for a takeaway, I think. I’m exhausted. Chinese, Indian or pizza?’
51
February, London
Ella
It’s a huge relief to finally be back in my room and alone again. It’s the first chance I’ve had to think about what happened without Molly being there, or Jack, or anyone else. And it’s kind of nice to be on my own. Being with other people absolutely all the time can be pretty exhausting.
I flop back on my bed and squeeze my eyes closed. I touch my lips, trying to remember how Mr Dorian’s kiss felt.
It’s a little hazy though. I wish I’d been stone-cold sober, so I could savour it fully. But if I had been, I’d never have dared kiss him.
Because however vague my memory, I’m sure I initiated the kiss. I remember that well.
And if I hadn’t, what would have happened? Would he have kissed me? Or would we have simply gone back inside, and carried on dancing, everything just the same?
And then the biggest question of all.
What happens now?
The next day, almost as soon as I walk through the school gate, I know that something is up. A Year 9 girl stage-whispers ‘That’s her!’ to her little group of friends, who instantly collapse into fits of giggles as I pass. A boy whose name I don’t know from the year above wolf-whistles and says: ‘Ella Dooley. Wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.’
I scuttle past, ignoring him but feeling my face burning. There are only two possible scenarios I can think of. Either Jack has been bragging about stuff we haven’t even done – which doesn’t seem like his style but then again, you never really know with boys; they don’t like to lose face in front of their mates. The, other, worse option, is that people have found out about Mr Dorian. I feel sick.
I walk into my classroom just as the bell rings for registration. Everyone seems to be huddled in little clusters on their phones, sitting on their desks. They look round at me almost in unison when I come in, before turning back to their screens.
Molly is sitting at her desk alone, staring at her phone. I slide into my seat next to hers. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask nervously.
She looks up at me with an expression which is verging on contempt. ‘You don’t know?’
She holds her phone out to me to look at. She’s got Instagram open.
I peer at the screen, at the picture which is filling it. It’s a shot of the entire group on the ski trip, taken by a waiter. I remember Miss Fielder getting us all together for it, the night I kissed Mr Dorian. I lean in closer to read the text below.
@Molly2003 Who definitely wasn’t left out in the cold by Ella Dooley on the 6th form ski trip? Find out tomorrow!
My hand flies to my mouth. ‘What does that mean?’ I shriek, trying to sound innocent. ‘Who sent you this?’
She shrugs. ‘Someone called skisneak. And not just to me – everyone who follows the school’s Instagram account has had it.’
‘Everyone?’
She shrugs. ‘Dunno, seems like it. Everyone at school, at least – don’t know about parents and teachers.’ She pauses. ‘Everyone except you, that is.’
I stare at the screen, my eyes filling with tears. ‘But why would they … what do they …’
‘Anything you want to tell me?’ she snaps.
‘No! I don’t know what this is about, what it means … do they mean Jack?’ I babble.
She snorts. ‘Hardly! You’re not exactly working your way through the Kama Sutra, you two, are you? I think I know exactly what it means.’
‘Do you?’ I say, more sarcastically than I meant to.
‘Yes.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘I think you lied to me. I think there is something going on with you and Mr Dorian.’
‘Well, you can think what you like. There isn’t,’ I say, trying and failing to keep my voice steady.
There is a pause. ‘So you’re not worried about anything this skisneak might post tomorrow then?’ she continues.
‘I … well I don’t want people posting any stuff about me to the whole school, so yes I’m worried about that, but not because I did anything …’ I tail off.
Oh God. This is such a disaster. I’m still holding Molly’s phone and click to look at skisneak’s profile. It simply says, ‘Truth teller’, and this has been their one and only post, made at 8.23 p.m. last night. Along with private messages to make sure everyone
sees it, it would seem.
‘Who would do this?’ I whisper. ‘Who is skisneak? Is there any way of finding out?’
‘Dunno. I guess if you’re really techy you might be able to find out where they were when they posted – but my guess would be a burner phone with the location turned off, if they’ve got any sense. All I know is that, whoever skisneak is, they know more about you than I do these days.’
‘Molly, that’s not true!’ I protest but just then Mr Dorian comes in. For a couple of seconds I actually think I might throw up as I realize that he must have seen the post. Mustn’t he? Did it get sent to teachers and parents? Even if it didn’t, he must have heard about it. I feel suddenly cold and shaky, and Molly rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah right. Nothing going on. Looks like it too.’
Molly snatches back her phone and turns away from me in disgust.
‘OK, guys, at your desks please, simmer down,’ Mr Dorian says, sitting down at his desk and preparing to take the register. He looks the same as he does any other day. Is it possible he doesn’t know? Or is he just putting on a cool front?
He doesn’t look up as he calls the register, not at me, not at any of the others either though.
‘Right – I have to rush off for a meeting now, but please gather up your books and make your way to your first class quietly. I’ll see you at afternoon registration.’
He swings his bag up and is gone. I stare after him and hear Molly tut. A wave of disappointment washes over me. I don’t really know why. I don’t know what I was expecting. That he’d make some excuse to keep me behind? Surely he must want to talk about the Instagram post?
Maybe skisneak doesn’t know what happened. Maybe it’s just someone playing a stupid joke on me. People do things like that all the time, don’t they? Maybe it’s total coincidence. Nothing to do with Mr Dorian. Just someone who wants to wind me up for some reason. God knows why though.
52
February, London
Ella
The rest of the day is a total nightmare. By mid-morning even those who haven’t seen the Insta post have heard about it and so everyone knows. Wherever I go, people are making stupid comments, or giggling and pointing. Molly ignores me the entire day and makes a point of not sitting next to me in class.
At lunchtime I am on my own, trying to plough through a barely edible shepherd’s pie when Jack arrives. He sits down at the table across from me, but he doesn’t have any food with him.
‘Hey,’ he says, giving me a brief, strained smile.
‘Hey,’ I reply, barely able even to smile back.
‘What’s this Insta thing about then?’ he asks tersely. ‘People haven’t shut up about it all day. It’s making me look like a right tool.’
‘Oh well I’m so sorry if it’s spoilt your day,’ I snap sarcastically and then instantly add: ‘I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean that. I don’t know what it’s about, but it’s stressing me out.’
I reach over the table to try to take his hand but he pulls it away. ‘Did you get with someone else on the ski trip?’ he asks bluntly.
My instinct is to say no, like I would to Molly, or to anyone else who asked that question, but I hesitate. This is all too much. I can’t deal with it. I should have already made it clear to him that we’re not an item. I stare at him dumbstruck for a few beats too long like a rabbit caught in headlights before I start to stutter: ‘I, um, there isn’t, I didn’t, I was …’ I tail off.
He nods. ‘Right. I think that tells me all I need to know. And I guess that explains why you never wanted to … whatever.’ He stands up. ‘I thought you were better than this, Ella,’ he says coldly. ‘I really liked you. You know that. I thought we could have something good. You could have at least been honest with me. Even that would have been something.’
I try to reach for his hand again but he snatches it back. Tears well in my eyes. ‘Jack, please! It’s not like that! I’m not seeing anyone!’ That much is true. ‘It’s probably someone’s idea of a stupid joke.’
He looks at me, unsure for a moment. ‘So why couldn’t you tell me straight away that there wasn’t anyone else just now when I asked? Why did you hesitate like that?’
‘Because I … I don’t know.’
‘I should have listened to Ethan. He said you were hiding something from me. I thought he was jealous. But he’s my best mate. I was stupid to trust you over him. I should have known better. I won’t make that mistake again.’
That stings. I thought Ethan was my friend. Why would he say something like that to Jack? ‘Jack, please, let’s talk about this …’ I say.
‘No. I’m done with talking. It’s all you ever seemed to want to do, and even then it turned out you weren’t telling the truth. I think we’re finished here – I only wish you’d had the decency to let me know you weren’t interested instead of stringing me along.’
‘Jack, I …’ I protest, but he flings up his hand and walks away.
53
February, London
Ella
I contemplate bunking off school the next day, but eventually decide not going in will make things worse. I’m on edge all day. At the end of every lesson I check Insta on my phone but nothing changes.
At lunchtime I leave school and walk around aimlessly – we’re not allowed out without good reason and I’d be in trouble if I got caught – but I can’t face being in the school grounds with Molly and Jack ignoring me and almost everyone else whispering about me. My stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten. I check Insta almost every fifteen minutes. Nothing.
My spirits start to lift a little. Maybe it’s all a bluff. Maybe it’s someone trying to get information out of me. Another thought hits me. Could skisneak be Molly? Doing that classic double bluff of pretending she knows about something she doesn’t to find out if anything actually was going on?
No. She might be annoyed with me now, but she’s still my friend. She wouldn’t do that. Would she? But perhaps it’s someone else winding me up. Could be anyone. Although if that’s the case, I don’t know why they picked me. There are plenty of other people with loads more dirt on them.
Just as I enter the school gates, I hear a shout.
‘Wooraggggh!!!! Lucky old Mr Dorian!!!!!’
Oh God.
I don’t look anywhere except at the ground as I run the rest of the way to the classroom. I ignore all the shouts, whoops and catcalls. I force myself not to turn and run away. I hold back the tears. I need to do this. I need to stay at school. I need to stay strong for Mr Dorian. Deny everything. Nothing happened. I will do it for him.
I walk with as much dignity as I can muster (not much) through the classroom to my desk. I pull out my phone and, holding it in my lap so no one can see, pull up Insta.
Skisneak has posted a story. It’s a picture of me and Mr Dorian. We are not actually kissing, but he’s touching my arm and we’re looking at each other. The picture is surrounded with animated pink heart stickers and little Cupids.
Tears come to my eyes and I bite my lip.
Molly flings herself down in the chair next to me, glancing at me contemptuously. ‘You still denying it, then?’ she asks.
I nod. ‘Nothing happened!’ I wail, looking straight at her even though there are tears running down my face now. I wipe them away but I know everyone will have already seen. ‘We didn’t do anything! He came outside to check if I was OK!’
Her expression flickers to almost sympathetic, but then almost instantly returns to a look of hard contempt.
‘Sorry, but I don’t believe you.’
The door opens and I look up, expecting to see Mr Dorian.
But it’s Mr Woods. I feel myself pale. A low murmur starts up around the room. ‘OK, quieten down class 12A, I’m doing your register today. And Ella Dooley,’ he looks towards me, but not quite at me, ‘the headmaster wants to see you in his office now.’
54
February, London
Nick
A hush falls over the staffroom as soo
n as I enter and immediately, I know. I’ve known this was coming since I got wind of what the kids were all smirking about and saw the pictures. But if I stick to my story, if Ella does too, I think it can be explained away.
But will they believe me? Is this it? Is this my career over? Quite possibly my marriage, too, or what’s left of it?
No one will meet my eye. Some of the younger staff are trying to hide smirks. A couple of the women glance at me in disgust and one, who has never liked me much anyway, audibly tuts.
‘Nick,’ Greg says. ‘There you are. Mike has asked if you will go and see him immediately, please.’
Has Ella said something? Why would she do that? I thought we had an understanding. Is this revenge for me saying it could never happen again? Might she have embellished what happened? Might she have said I forced her? Or that we had sex? How would I be able to prove that we hadn’t?
I swallow down my panic and try to compose myself, praying silently that Ella has kept to the story we agreed.
55
February, London
Ella
I try to ignore the giggles and smirks as I stand up. I don’t look at Molly. Suddenly, I wish I had told her what really happened. I need someone to help me through this. I wish I knew that someone would be rooting for me, supporting me. I haven’t told anyone the full story. I feel so alone. But it’s too late now.
I hold my head up high, walk to the front of the class and out of the door. I feel like I’m walking to the gallows. I walk as slowly as I can, getting my story straight in my head. I felt sick. I went outside. Mr Dorian came to check on me. I felt better. I went back in. Nothing happened.
That’s all.
The Chateau Page 17
