Chapter 13
Jake sat at the table in the hall. ‘Now what?’ He knew Faye was heading back to school. He’d heard a car engine start after she’d stalked out of the house. He’d rushed down the stairs, taking them two at a time, hoping to catch her, but he’d heard the car moving off before he reached the front door. He looked at his hands. He couldn’t really drive until they stopped throbbing so much. He’d have to call a taxi.
He spent thirty minutes staring forlornly at the clock in the hall and listening intently to each passing car in the hope that Faye had changed her mind and come back. Then he began to debate whether or not to return to school, but he didn’t want to explain to the head why his hands were in bandages. He hoped Faye would explain away why he hadn’t returned to work.
Jake resigned himself to the fact that he would not be going to work that day. He went upstairs to get his bloodstained clothes and put them in the wash.
He’d just stepped into his bedroom when his mobile phone rang. He’d left it on the bedside table when he’d changed his clothes.
Jake dived onto the bed, landing on his stomach, and gingerly picked up his phone, careful not to drop it. Racking his brain for a suitable apology, Jake said, ‘Yes?’ down the phone, expecting to hear Faye’s voice. It wasn’t Faye. Instead, it was the head, calling about his absence. Faye had told the head that he’d had an emergency at home. The head didn’t elaborate, making Jake wonder whether Faye had given any details – Jake hoped not. He didn’t want to ask. However, the head was understanding – Jake had proved an exemplary student teacher.
Jake rolled over onto his back. She’d covered for him. Did this mean all was forgiven? Somehow, he doubted it.
‘So I heard how it went with your bike.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘The bike theft?’
Jake looked at his hands, and thought of Marcus. That had been the least of his concerns after he’d got that call from Lydia.
The head added, ‘Faye told me she reported it, and the police will be in touch.’
Jake breathed a sigh of relief. So, she was covering for him. ‘Thanks.’
‘Sorry to hear that someone broke into your home.’
Jake raised his eyebrows.
‘Faye told me that she’d taken you home to get your car, and that was when you’d discovered you’d had a break-in.’
‘Uh, yeah.’ Jake winced. So that was what Faye had told him. He hoped she hadn’t mentioned Marcus.
‘What bad luck to have your bike stolen and your house broken into, both on the same day.’
Jake agreed.
‘Bad luck slipping on the glass like that; how’re those hands?’
‘They’re not bad at all – fine, really.’ Jake sat up and was having trouble keeping the phone held to his ear.
‘Is that a fact? Faye says they’re in pretty bad shape.’
He knew what was coming; the head was going to tell him to take some time off. ‘I’m sure in a day or so …’
‘It sounds to me as though it’s going to take time to heal.’
Jake felt relieved they were in agreement. ‘Yeah, but in a day or so I’ll be …’
‘I think it best that you take the week. The summer term is winding down. There’s only a week to go, so you’re not missing much. Then there’s the summer break for your hands to heal properly, and you can recharge your batteries too. Then we will all look forward to seeing you in the autumn term.’
‘Pardon?’ Jake nearly dropped his phone. He didn’t want to be off all week. He’d miss the school, seeing the kids, his colleagues – Faye most especially. And as for the summer – he already had plans, which didn’t involve recharging his batteries.
‘You’re going to be no use in school with an injury.’
Jake sighed. He had a point. ‘But what about the summer clubs?’
‘I’m aware that you were looking forward to running some of the summer clubs, but unfortunately I think that is out of the question now.’
‘What?’
‘I know you were keen, and I really appreciate your dedication in volunteering to spend time over the summer break in school, but I think under the circumstances you should just take the time off.’
Jake shook his head furiously. ‘I’m sure in a week or so my hands will be fine.’
‘That’s as may be, Jake. The thing is, it’s easy to get burnt out in this job. I appreciate your dedication to the kids, the job, I really do. The school will still be here in September – I can guarantee that. But the question is – will you , if those injuries are not taken care of and you don’t take a proper break? You can put your name down for the following summer, but my advice to you is to have a holiday.’
Jake was silent. He didn’t want a holiday. He knew the long school summer break was looming in a week’s time, and he wasn’t interested. Work took his mind off everything – and the huge bonus was that he saw Faye every day. He might not see her at school during the summer, but that hadn’t stopped him putting his name down for just about every single summer club.
‘Look, you’ve got nothing to prove, Jake.’ There was a pause. ‘Granted, there were some who were sceptical in the beginning. After all, it’s a huge career change from being a corporate lawyer to teaching in an inner-city school, but you’ve proved you are cut out for the job. Now, go take a holiday, for goodness’ sake.’
Do I have a choice? Jake sighed heavily. ‘Can I speak to Faye?’
‘No, I’m afraid she’s in a meeting.’
Jake wondered aloud if Faye would still be his mentor when he returned in September.
The head didn’t hesitate. ‘I’ve allocated you a new timetable with a different year group and mentor. It’s already been arranged.’
Jake got off the phone feeling like he’d just been kicked in the guts. He’d been away for two hours, and they’d already organised who he would be teaching in the autumn term and had replaced his mentor. Was that Faye’s doing? Or was he just being paranoid? The thought of life without Faye, without Natty, was …
The phone rang downstairs. Jake looked at his mobile, perplexed. Nobody rang his home number.
Jake rushed down the stairs. Could it be Faye?
He picked up the phone in the hall, trying to remember the last time he’d used a landline. ‘Faye?’
‘Is … Mr Campbell-Ross?’ The line crackled with heavy interference, dissolving some of the words in static.
‘Hello, say again?’
‘Is that Mr Campbell-Ross?’ The voice came clearer this time, but only just; it was an older guy, possibly late fifties, sixties perhaps. Jake didn’t recognise the voice.
‘Yes, it is. Who am I speaking to?’
‘My name … Arnold Wright.’ The line was still bad.
‘Where are you calling from?’ Jake spoke slowly, enunciating each word, even though when he spoke the line was completely free of any other noise save for his own voice.
‘From … Scotland …’ A particularly loud crackle followed, forcing Jake to move the phone out of earshot for a couple of seconds.
‘You’re kidding.’ Jake had made many international calls across the pond in the course of business, and some personal ones, and the lines were always crystal clear, as if he was speaking to a neighbour in the next street. ‘What’s wrong with your connection?’
‘Heaven knows, we’re always on to them t … ge … fixed.’
Jake empathised; it was the same the world over, trying to get a public utility company to come out and fix something.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Wright?’ And why, he wondered, was a guy he was positive he didn’t know phoning him from Scotland?
‘It’s Martha … bless her.’
Jake sighed. He’d heard about these old folks making random calls. His wife, bless her, had probably passed away, and with nobody to speak to, the sad old guy had randomly phoned someone up, in the hope of finding a sympathetic ear. How , thought Jake, did he get hold of my name and number? As soon as Jake moved in, he’d organised his landline to block calls from unknown numbers and list his number as private. He’d also changed his mobile phone number. Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped Marcus finding out where he lived. He’d given Lydia his new mobile phone number in case of emergencies. He’d regretted that.
‘Are you still there?’ Jake asked, listening to the rise and fall of the static, imagining he could hear voices out there in the ether. He didn’t want to put the phone down on a sad old man. ‘Where did you get my number?’ Jake frowned. He wasn’t living in the Ross Corporation’s apartment building with its added layers of security, and private unlisted phone numbers.
‘… Martha, bless her … not very well.’
Jake looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘She has … old letters. I’m try … get hold … people bef …’
Jake understood. Mr Wright’s wife was dying, and he was trying to contact old friends and acquaintances who might like to see her before she died. ‘Look, I’m so sorry, but you have the wrong number. I don’t know you or your—.’
‘Martha – her name … Martha.’
‘No, sorry, still doesn’t ring any bells. Well, I hope you find who you’re looking for,’ said Jake, trying to wind down the conversation and bow out gracefully before he lost his temper and told the old man to sod off. The sound of the static was really getting on his nerves.
‘… name in … letter ... William Ross …’
‘William?’ Now he had Jake’s attention. And now it explained why Mr Wright had made this call, because trying to speak to William in person would be virtually impossible. Even if he did succeed in negotiating the Ross Corporation’s labyrinth of a phone system, he’d only get as far as William’s PA, who would not direct just any mere mortal to his office – William’s direct business line was for corporate calls only. Although William was spending far more time at home these days, Jake wasn’t about to give out his home number. That was strictly off-limits too – even though he couldn’t see the harm in a lonely old guy trying to trace friends of his nearly-departed wife.
‘I’m really sorry, Mr Wright, but I can’t give you that number.’
‘That’s alright ... already spoken ... Mr Ross says sorry to hear … bout Martha. Can’t come see ...’
That surprised Jake. Where had he got William’s home phone number from? There was one explanation. If they had been friends who went back many years, then that would explain how he had that number.’
‘Still … try … get hold … Ralph.’
‘Ralph? Who’s Ralph?’
‘I … don’t know.’
‘What’s in the letters?’ Jake’s interest was aroused.
‘No … not … phone … diff … cult … talk.’
Jake understood – the line wasn’t improving. And besides, these letters were obviously of a personal nature, nothing to do with Jake.
‘Will you come … see … letters?’
‘You want me to see the letter?’ He hadn’t planned to return to Scotland, but then he hadn’t exactly planned on being on holiday for the next week – he was at a complete loose end. Maybe this was just what he needed; perhaps Martha had something she wanted to pass on to William and this person called Ralph, and if they couldn’t make it in person, then he was the next best bet. Why not help an old guy carry out a last wish for his wife? Jake was definitely warming to the idea.
Over the phone, Mr Wright was trying desperately to persuade Jake through the static that he’d enjoy a trip to Scotland.
‘Never mind that,’ Jake said. ‘I’ll come.’
‘You will?’ This was followed by a particularly loud burst of static. ‘That’s … fantas … thank you … Martha … really app … ciate it.’
‘Just let me get a pen to write down your address. I’ll try and catch the first flight out, and I’ll phone you as soon as I arrive, Mr Wright.’
‘Call … Arnold.’
Jake wrote down the address that Arnold gave him and was still holding the receiver to his ear after he heard Arnold click off and the line go dead. He sat like that for a full minute before slowly replacing the receiver. He stared at the address. If he had known just where exactly in Scotland Arnold was calling from, he wouldn’t have been that eager to agree to the trip; this was most definitely not what he’d had in mind for a holiday.
Jake picked up the phone to ring Arnold back and tell him he’d changed his mind before realising Arnold had not given a return number. He was about to dial directory enquiries. Then he thought about how he hadn’t been back to Scotland for months; not since the accident. He knew it was about time he made the trip. Perhaps it was fortuitous that he should get this phone call now.
He put the phone down. He had a bag to pack and a flight to book. His conscience was telling him he had to go.
Jake booked his flights online and then sat staring at the laptop, at a loss to explain how a trip home that morning to collect his car had led to enforced time off work and a flight booked for Scotland.
Jake retreated upstairs and found his mobile phone. He knew Faye was at work, but he wanted to speak to her before he left; to let her know he was taking the head’s advice and going away for a short break. Failing that, he’d have to leave a message.
It went straight to voicemail. As he left his message, he hoped her failure to answer was because she was teaching and not because she was avoiding his call.