Chapter 34
I tried to speak to Holly, to explain, but she wouldn’t even let me inside her bedroom. I was desperate to tell her, ‘She’s not your friend. She’s your dad’s lover. She’s blackmailing me. She wants me to leave, but I’m not going anywhere.’
But I never got the chance. I brought up a sandwich and hot chocolate. It was still there this morning when I woke up.
Meanwhile, I kept expecting Teri to bang on the door, demanding to be paid her ten thousand pounds, so every little sound, every creak made me jump.
At the same time, a part of me wished that she would turn up, so I could scream into her face that she had no right to tell Diana Ashford-Wells.
In my fantasy, her guilty expression gives her away so Holly could see it for herself.
I would shout at Teri that she’s a sick, horrid human being and if she ever came near us, I would…
I don’t know. That’s the part where my fantasy falters.
I don’t know how it ends, because she still holds all the cards.
But anyway, Teri didn’t show up demanding her cash – probably because she wouldn’t want to reveal herself for the evil con artist that she is in front of Holly.
At ten past eight, I walk into Mike’s office, my stomach twisted into a pretzel.
‘Come in, Kate,’ he says, and indicates the chair. But, as with Mel yesterday, Mike is a little on the cool side.
‘Mel called me last night. I want to assure you that I am appalled by what Mrs Ashford-Wells posted.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Mel says you deny sending the email Mrs Ashford-Wells refers to.’
Deny. He makes it sound so formal. ‘That’s right.’
‘So…is there any truth to what she’s claiming?’
‘Not exactly.’
He nods, his eyes narrowed. ‘Are you leaving, Kate? Because—’
I open my mouth to speak, but he stops me with a raised hand.
‘Because this is your first teaching position, I believe.’
I nod.
‘We gave you a chance. You had no references and no experience, but we liked you, we liked your attitude and your enthusiasm, and we gave you a chance. I understand life happens, but to leave now would be extremely inconvenient. Also, you’re in the middle of your qualifying period.
It wouldn’t be wise to resign at this time. For your career, I mean.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you not happy in our school?’
‘It’s not that. Not at all. I love it here. I love this job.’
‘Then I don’t understand. Have you been looking for other jobs?’
I swallow. ‘My husband spoke about leaving, at the beginning,’ I say.
God, I hate lying. But what choice do I have?
I can’t tell Mike that, actually, yes, I am leaving.
I’m moving to Hull. The sooner the better.
I’ve got a freezer to get rid of first. Does he know anyone who wants a freezer?
They can’t ever open it, though. ‘Max wasn’t happy here, and he suggested we move.
I made some vague enquiries. I don’t know how Mrs Ashford-Wells found out, but it doesn’t matter.
I don’t think Max wants to leave anymore anyway. ’
He doesn’t look very relieved by my answer. ‘So…you might still leave?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I see.’
‘But Mrs Ashford-Wells had no right to discuss my private life. And she should never have brought up Holly.’
‘Believe me, I agree. I’ll talk to Mrs Ashford-Wells. I’m waiting for her to call me—’
‘I want a letter of apology from her to Holly,’ I blurt.
He raises an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know that Mrs Ashford-Wells—’
‘I don’t care what Mrs Ashford-Wells wants or thinks. She had no right to bring up my family in the school Facebook group. She needs to apologise, and I want assurances, and I mean iron-clad assurances, that it will never happen again.’
He blinks at me, eyes wide. ‘I see.’
‘Could you organise a meeting with her? Today? Now?’
‘I don’t know…’
‘Can you try?’
‘I suppose so… I mean, of course I was going to discuss the situation with Mrs Ashford-Wells. It’s unacceptable that she should bring up teachers’ personal affairs—’
‘Exactly. We need to discuss it, and I need to be there.’
From the look he throws me, I think he’s starting to wonder if I’m planning to strangle her or hit her over the head with that nice shiny glass paperweight on his desk.
‘You should go to your pupils.’ He checks his watch. ‘All we can do for the moment is wait until she gets back to me. I’ll keep you posted.’
I pick up my bag. ‘I really, really want to put this to bed, Mike. If she wants to enrol Gregory in an advanced class, I won’t stop her.
If she wants to enrol him in a special programme outside school, I will gladly write lyrical statements to the effect that her son is a genius.
But she cannot, ever, bring up my family in any way, and she cannot, ever, talk about Holly.
You understand? That is what we’re going to discuss at our meeting.
Not Gregory. And if she doesn’t sign a letter of apology and a promise never to do it again, I will get a lawyer.
In fact, I’m talking to a lawyer later, at lunchtime,’ I say primly.
Which is true. I called Penny Malik last night and told her that I needed to speak to her urgently, and she agreed to see me because I was Mel’s colleague.
Obviously, I won’t be discussing Diana with Penny Malik, but I wouldn’t be upset if Diana were to hear about this meeting. I hope she does; I hope it brings her anxiety.
‘Unless Mrs Ashford-Wells can meet with us at lunchtime, in which case, I am prepared to cancel my appointment with the lawyer.’ Another lie.
But it doesn’t matter. Mike doesn’t hear anything back from Diana.
Penny Malik works for Hudson Page, not that far from the school. I introduce myself to the receptionist, and then Penny – as she asks to be called – comes to get me. She’s a petite woman in her early forties with dark hair and an air of relaxed confidence.
‘What can I do for you, Kate?’ she asks, hands clasped in front of her.
I take a breath. I’ve been rehearsing my little speech all day. I put my hands on my knees.
‘I have a personal matter to discuss. It’s a little sensitive.’
‘I understand.’
‘Hypothetically, let’s say that a sixteen-year-old girl was involved in a car accident.’
She makes notes on a big yellow pad. I consider asking her not to write anything down, but she’s already told me that everything I tell her is confidential and privileged.
‘Keep going,’ she says.
‘Let’s call her Alice,’ I continue, then proceed to explain the situation as best I can, calling Scarlett ‘Betty’.
Penny takes copious notes, stopping me now and then to clarify a point. The whole time I study her face. Is it serious? Does she look serious? Shocked? Or unfazed? Did I part with ten thousand pounds for nothing?
‘And her friend Betty was the owner of the car? Not her parents?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘But the pedestrian wasn’t seriously injured, you said. What was the injury? Twisted ankle?’
I bet if Teri were here, she’d be insisting that absolutely she was seriously injured. Why, she almost died!
‘That’s right. A twisted ankle.’
She takes more notes, then says, ‘And you want to know, if you went to the police with this matter, what would be the consequences for Alice and Betty. Do I understand correctly?’
‘Yes.’
She stands and pulls out a book from her shelf. ‘It’s not my area of specialisation. You’d need to talk to my colleague Shakira…’
I don’t have time to talk to Shakira. I need to know right now. Before Teri goes to the police, which for all I know she has already done.
‘What is your area of specialisation?’ I ask.
‘Family law. But that’s all right. Since you’re here…’ She flicks through pages in her book. ‘I can probably give you the general idea – broad strokes.’
‘Broad strokes, yes, thank you. That would be really good.’
‘Then if you want to take it further, I will organise for you to meet with Shakira.’
‘Thank you.’
She plops the book on her desk and sits back down. ‘Alice—’
For a moment I scramble to remember which one I said was Alice. Holly. Right.
‘—is not legally allowed to drive on a public road under any circumstances, even under supervision. So Alice committed a criminal offence.’
I swallow.
‘Driving without a licence is a serious offence. It would likely incur a fine, and probably some penalty points, which would apply once she gets a licence.’
I nod. ‘I understand.’
God, please. A fine? Points? Is that it?
‘Then there’s driving without insurance – that’s another fine. However, the injury to the pedestrian is a serious consideration.’
I nod.
‘The police would investigate. They’d interview Alice under caution. The car would be impounded. Then it would be up to the police to decide whether or not to prosecute Alice—’
‘Prosecute?’ I swallow again.
‘Possibly. They would submit a file of evidence to an internal police department for a decision on whether to take further action. The girls may end up being issued with a summons to attend court, but they will certainly both be referred to the local youth offending team who will decide what to do next.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘Alice would most certainly cop a driving disqualification – even as a learner – until she turns eighteen. Now, in Betty’s case…
definitely a fine, probably a number of fines.
We’re talking aiding and abetting… The parents would get involved, I imagine…
Driving unsupervised on a provisional licence…
’ She looks up. ‘Would the pedestrian make a criminal complaint? Because that’s an important question. ’
‘She can do that?’
‘Don’t get me wrong, the victim can’t bring charges, but depending on the level of complaint, their injury, they can certainly influence the police whether or not to prosecute.’
‘What kind of complaint are we talking about?’ I ask, my throat tight.
‘Psychological impact, ongoing physical pain… In which case the police would be more likely to prosecute. At any rate, I can’t see a custodial sentence.’
I drop my head. That’s something, I guess.
‘Does that answer your question? Or is there any other aspect of the situation you want to discuss?’
‘No, thank you,’ I say, picking up my bag. I’m finding it hard to breathe.
‘I can write all this up for you, if you like? Then you can decide if you want to pursue your options with one of my colleagues who specialises in criminal law.’
‘No, thank you. I don’t need anything in writing.’ I stand. ‘Will you send me an invoice? Is that how it works?’
‘Yes,’ she says, walking around her desk to open the door for me. ‘Dominique at reception will organise that for you. Let me know if you want me to follow up on anything.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ I say, and walk out.