Chapter Seven #2
‘I remember how stressful it all was,’ said Liz. ‘Waiting for the Ofsted call to come.’
Becky nodded. ‘It’s like waiting for an exam,’ she said, pouring herself a glass of water from the jug on the table. ‘Only you’ve no idea when it will be or what the questions are.’ She held the glass against her forehead. ‘There’s literally thousands of things they could ask you about.’
‘And you’re expected to have a full and detailed answer for each and every one,’ finished Liz.
Becky nodded wearily; she seemed to be wilting in the heat.
‘Everyone’s been hoping and hoping they won’t come until September.
Every Monday morning we’ve all been like cats on hot bricks in case the call comes, but if I’m being honest I’m wishing it was all over and done, so we can all enjoy our summer. ’
‘I completely understand. It’s very good of you to find the time to see me,’ said Liz. ‘I know what the end of term is like even without Ofsted hanging over you.’
Becky smiled and took a thirsty gulp. ‘I always, always have time for you and your friends after what you did for the school – and for me.’
Liz nodded, remembering that whole nasty business of the poison pen letters – that horrible, creeping tension in school. Surely waiting for Ofsted couldn’t be as bad?
‘Anyway.’ Becky’s voice broke into her train of thought. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Neville Hilton,’ said Liz simply.
Becky took another gulp of water and eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I’d heard he’d died of course,’ she said. ‘And I had half a mind to go to the funeral but we were full on here.’ She gestured absently round the War Room.
‘You worked with him, didn’t you? In Northallerton?’
Becky nodded. ‘He was my head teacher at Bullamoor Park.’ She looked at Liz. ‘So d’you think there’s maybe something odd about his death?’
Liz flinched somewhat at Becky’s characteristic directness. It was a very sudden conclusion she’d jumped to – and one that was very close to the truth. How much should she say?
‘Why d’you ask that?’ she said, stalling for time.
Becky shrugged. ‘I don’t know, it just seemed a bit sudden, him dying like that,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t that old and’ – her face broke into a smile – ‘I know you and your friends!’
Liz decided to ignore that. ‘I’m interested to know what he was like to work for,’ she said.
Becky nodded thoughtfully, considering. ‘He could be fine,’ she said. ‘Or he could be an absolute nightmare.’
Chris Canne looked earnestly at Pat. ‘What I’m going to tell you is totally confidential.
HR would roast my you-know-whats if they knew I’d spoken about this.
’ He leaned back in his chair, plaiting his fingers as he remembered.
‘It was back in February, when we were appointing for the job, and Nev was on our short list,’ he said.
‘He was a strong candidate – excellent application, good references – a few years of being an Ofsted inspector under his belt. And then three days before the interview I got a call from Ken, the CEO at Quays Academy Trust. He said he’d heard there were some disturbing things about Nev that maybe I should look into.
And then later that day Chantelle from Finefare Academy rang me, saying much the same thing: disturbing rumours I might want to find out more about. ’
‘What disturbing rumours?’ asked Pat. Chris shook his head unhappily.
‘That’s just it,’ he said. ‘No one seemed to know. Just … something we might want to check out. Naturally we got HR onto it, but they couldn’t find a thing.
A couple of complaints about a couple of the Ofsteds he’d led, but that’s par for the course with an inspector. ’
‘Did you not find out who was starting these rumours?’ asked Pat.
‘No one seemed to know,’ said Chris. ‘Everyone we spoke to had heard them from someone who’d heard them from someone else—’
Pat nodded. For all its flatscreens and state-of-the-art media, this world of corporate trusts wasn’t so very different from the world of the primary school staffroom.
‘Believe you me,’ said Chris, ‘HR were all over it like a rash,’ he said.
‘IT, safeguarding, the lot. But there was nothing we could find, so in the end there didn’t seem any reason we couldn’t go ahead with the appointment – especially after the other candidate dropped out … But …’ He tailed off, frowning.
‘But you always wondered?’
Chris nodded. ‘Especially after I got to know Nev. I mean the guy was a hard worker, no two ways about it …’ Again his voice tailed off.
‘But?’ prompted Pat.
‘Well, I did hear some of his inspections got a bit fraught – one in Ossett, one in Fulford – a place in the North East called Pity Me of all things. Some of the names of these places – we’ve currently got a Gallows Lane on our books!’
‘These inspections,’ prompted Pat, bringing him back on course.
‘Yes, a bit problematic.’ Chris nodded. ‘Blood on the walls—’ He realised what he’d said and stopped short.
‘But surely you get that with inspections?’ said Pat.
Chris nodded. ‘Oh yes, all the time. But then, when he came to work with the team here—’ Again he stopped.
‘He didn’t get on with others?’ hazarded Pat.
Chris spoke slowly. ‘Nev Hilton was not a people person. He rubbed more than one person up the wrong way.’
Pat remembered that long-ago night at the Busby Stoop. She looked at Chris who was gazing worriedly at the ceiling.
‘I always wondered if this might come back to bite us,’ he said, almost to himself.
‘But it hasn’t, has it?’ said Pat. ‘Not that I can see.’
Chris nodded. ‘Do you think something happened to Nev – I mean that night – when you said someone was shouting at him?’
Pat shrugged. ‘The police seem satisfied it was a heart attack.’
Chris nodded again, shoulders relaxing. At that moment the door opened and a young man Pat had met once before, Jared Keen, came bouncing in, eyes wide.
‘The call has come!’ he announced dramatically, completely ignoring Pat.
‘Not Ofsted?’ Chris half rose, eyes also wide. ‘I thought we were in the clear? It’s well after one!’
‘Wagon Lane,’ said Jared. ‘They’ve only just let us know.’
Chris groaned, briefly closed his eyes. ‘Wagon Lane,’ he said to himself. ‘That’s all we need at the end of term!’
‘I’m getting the inspection team over there now,’ said Jared, retreating to the door. ‘Jacky Southwart’s down in Barnsley. She’s going to hotfoot it over there post haste.’
‘Pat, I have to go,’ said Chris.
Pat, who in this moment was very grateful to be retired, merely nodded.
After Liz finished her account of what had happened at Hollinby Quernhow, Becky took a thoughtful sip of water. ‘When I think of Nev I always remember that old saying: intelligence is knowing tomato is a fruit … wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad,’ she said.
Liz frowned. ‘Neville was intelligent but not wise?’ she said.
‘He had no sense of how other people might be feeling,’ said Becky. ‘Or if he did, that wasn’t important as long as what he wanted to happen was happening. It was either his way or the highway, if you get my meaning.’
‘But surely,’ said Liz. ‘Surely you need that as a head teacher?’
Becky nodded. ‘I’m not saying you don’t need to be decisive,’ she said.
‘It comes back to what I was saying about wisdom – it’s what you’re decisive about.
’ She gazed at the slab of glaring blue sky visible from the window.
‘There was this one time at Bullamoor Park. Our improvement officer had said school needed to improve its attendance scores, so we introduced this rewards system and the kids took it really seriously – I mean really seriously. And there was this one child – she had the day off to attend her grandmother’s funeral, but Nev refused point-blank to be flexible about it.
The child wasn’t in school, so the child could not have her attendance point.
There was no end of argy-bargy. It even made the Northern Echo. ’
Liz nodded. ‘So, he was someone who annoyed people.’
Becky nodded. ‘Having said that,’ she said, ‘I mean I don’t think he ever meant any actual harm. I honestly don’t think the man had a mean bone in his body.’
Maybe not a mean bone, Liz thought, but plenty of obstinate ones. ‘So, you couldn’t think of anyone who’d wish to attack him?’ she said.
‘If someone had landed him one in the pub, I could see that,’ said Becky.
‘But for someone to actually turn up at his house and scream in his face …’ She shrugged.
‘Mind you’ – she glanced at the shelves and shelves of ring binders – ‘I could imagine him being a bit of a nightmare as an Ofsted inspector.’
‘Oh?’ said Liz.
Becky frowned at the assembled files on the shelves.
‘He wasn’t very experienced. He was only a head for what – barely three years?
– before he did the inspector training. You see, because of being short-staffed they’ve been taking on more and more people who haven’t got so much experience to be inspectors.
You should see some of the comments on my head teacher WhatsApp groups.
I’m just praying we don’t get one like that. ’
The door was abruptly flung open to reveal Linda Barley looking at her watch. ‘Five, four, three, two, one, and it’s one fifteen!’ She gave a little cheer and punched the air. ‘Summer starts here!’
Becky stood up, relief palpable on her face in spite of what she’d said earlier, and turned to her office manager, suddenly brisk and business-like.
‘Can you tell all the staff please, Linda? Perhaps nip down to the bakery, get some buns? And order the skip for tomorrow. Tell the staff they can start stripping displays and clearing out. Oh, and remind them there’s the final Goal Enabling with Bun Widdup Zoom at three fifteen.’
Linda nodded and was gone, leaving Liz briefly wondering what a Bun Widdup Zoom entailed. She stood up. ‘I’m going to let you get on,’ she said.
‘I can’t see I’ve been much help,’ said Becky. ‘About Nev. The thing is – and I know this sounds horrible – but I just can’t see anyone caring enough about him in the first place to do him any actual harm.’
* * *
The afternoon traffic coming out of Leeds was heavy, and even with the air-conditioning on, the air inside the Yeti still felt thick and stuffy.
Outside the car everything felt thick and soupy with exhaust fumes.
Crawling up Scott Hall Road, Pat felt too tired and heavy to put her tangled thoughts into any semblance of order.
What had she actually learned? Those rumours.
But what had Nev really done to provoke them in the first place?
Something that would give anyone any sort of motive for harming him. But what?
The person walking down Scott Hall Road, deep in thought, gave Pat a jolt of recognition but it was that strange thing of seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar context and as such she didn’t immediately recognise Tiffany-Jane.
A very subdued Tiffany-Jane …
What on earth was she doing in Leeds? Why was the energetic, motivated Ms T.J. Rox looking so tired and grim? And – and somehow this was the most shocking thing of all – why was she without make-up?