Chapter Sixteen #2
‘I often look at that hill these days,’ said Annie almost to herself.
‘It’s been there millions of years and will be there for millions of years more, long after me, my school – even Ofsted – have gone.
I find that an increasing comfort. Nothing lasts.
’ She turned back to face them. ‘It makes me smile; all these ridiculous hoops teachers have to jump through nowadays – targets, data profiles, rolling programmes …’ She shook her head.
‘I taught in Mombasa for a while – there were none of these straitjackets. It was all about connecting with the children.’ She sighed a deep sigh and glanced at the clock.
‘You know today is the last day of term? As of thirty minutes ago, Pity Me Infants school is no more.’
‘I am very sorry,’ said Thelma. ‘It must be hard to hear your school has closed.’
Annie smiled. ‘That’s just it,’ she said.
‘It isn’t my school; hasn’t been since that day I came home ill.
And’ – a faint but wicked grin stole across her face – ‘and truth be told, the egoist in me doesn’t want to think of the place going on without me.
In all of this, there’s only one thing that really preys on my mind.
’ She reached, with noticeable awkwardness, across to a nearby small table and picked up a framed photo, which she regarded sadly.
‘Davey Fletcher,’ she said softly. ‘He’s the one who comes to me when I can’t sleep at nights. ’
She handed the picture to Thelma, who found herself looking back into a happier, simpler past, a time that positively radiated hope and life and energy. Annie, a fuller, more vibrant Annie, and Davey Fletcher, alight with a smile and a gloriously yellow shirt with rich purple braces.
‘Yellow.’ Annie smiled sadly. ‘Davey Fletcher’s signature colour.
’ She deliberately and carefully took that picture, as if treasuring a thing of fragility, and replaced it on the table.
‘When he was interviewed for the deputy headship,’ she said, ‘I honestly thought he was going to pass out, he was so nervous. But then when he was in front of a class …’ She smiled at the photo.
‘He had such connection with the children. Something I’ve only seen very rarely. ’
Thelma nodded, thinking of Sam Bowker at St Barney’s: gangly, awkward and yet able to hold a whole class mesmerised.
‘Of course, he was totally unsuited to management,’ said Annie.
‘I could see that from day one, not that that mattered to me; I could do all the managing necessary!’ She smiled, then the smile faded.
‘So, when I was off sick – I know how he must have struggled. And when Ofsted came, I can only imagine how he panicked when Mr Hilton started working his way down his tick sheet.’ She shook her head.
‘Despite what everyone said, including me, he blamed himself for that Ofsted report.’ She sighed.
‘That’s what I feel so terrible about. There were things I knowingly overlooked, which came back to bite us. ’
Thelma frowned slightly. What was she referring to?
Annie looked at Thelma. ‘So, going back to what you were saying,’ she said, ‘You really believe one of my staff came round to Neville Hilton’s house the night he died?’
Again, as a question, it was expertly pitched; again Thelma found herself nodding. ‘It does seem likely,’ she said.
‘And what night was this exactly?’ asked Annie.
‘Friday June 13th,’ said Thelma.
Annie frowned. ‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘Are you one hundred per cent sure of that?’
Thelma nodded. Annie reached for her phone and peered at it for a moment. ‘Friday June 13th,’ she said, ‘was when we had the memorial service in school for Davey Fletcher.’
Thelma frowned. ‘About what time was this?’ she said.
‘About an hour or so after school finished.’ Annie’s voice dropped.
‘That was the last time I set foot in the building.’ She looked at Thelma.
‘I daresay you’re thinking that one or more of my staff were fired up by the service into an emotional frenzy and drove over to Neville Hilton’s house, pitchforks in hand.
But I can reassure you, Thelma Cooper, it wasn’t like that at all.
That gathering was about celebrating all that Davey was and all that he meant to us. Not about denouncing Neville Hilton.’
She slumped back and all at once it wasn’t difficult to see how ill Annie Golightly really was.
‘We’ll leave you in peace now,’ said Thelma gently.
Annie nodded. ‘Remember,’ she said insistently, ‘it wasn’t any of my staff went over there.’
As Teddy stood up, she raised a hand in his direction.
‘As you might have gathered,’ she said, ‘I’m not a particularly religious woman.
I’m afraid to me the Almighty has been largely confined to Nativity plays and Easter baskets …
But sitting here … looking out at that remarkable view …
’ She gave the faintest twitch of her head in the direction of Roseberry Topping.
‘One thinks … and I wonder, if at some point you would mind saying a prayer for me?’
* * *
Annie insisted on showing the two of them out, even though Thelma was sure she’d have been better off staying where she was. In the hallway Annie paused by the yellow flowers, as if getting her energy up.
‘I was thinking before,’ said Thelma. ‘What gorgeous flowers.’
Annie nodded. ‘For Davey,’ she said. ‘I know I keep saying it, but I feel so very bad for him. I can somehow bear whatever comes my way. It’s other people’s pain I find so very distressing.
’ Was that a tear or two brimming in the clear grey eyes?
She gently fingered the petals. ‘The nights I can’t sleep …
I keep thinking of how it must have been for him – tearing off in a total “Davey Fletcher” state—’
‘Where was he going?’ said Thelma suddenly.
Annie frowned. ‘He was going—’ She stopped herself. ‘Somewhere. Where, I have absolutely no idea,’ she said airily.
There was a curious note in her voice that Thelma couldn’t fail to pick up on. That was the thing about totally straightforward people like Annie Golightly, she thought, walking down the path.
When they lied, it was so glaringly apparent.
She was standing by the five-bar gate, hand on the latch, bunch of yellow carnations tucked under one arm, a slight figure with white-gold hair. In one swift transformation, her face turned from recognition to surprise to anger.
‘What the fuck d’you think you’re doing here?’ demanded Chloe Lord.