Chapter 31 Hammer
I stop by the hairdressers to make an appointment as my roots are already showing.
The receptionist with thick make-up and chewing gum manages to look up from her phone, which is commendable for such a young person.
We agree on a suitable date and she writes it down for me on an appointment card.
Not something I need, but I think all writing practice will help.
I take the card and look down to see that she’s avoided words altogether.
As I’m walking home, something in my mind connects. I sit on a bench, take Jason Mercer’s notebook out of my handbag and find the code:
MonkeyWarrior
Panchos
3121314
I rewrite the number underneath:
3/12, 13-14
If I’m right, and this is an appointment, it means Jason Mercer was due to meet MonkeyWarrior at Pancho’s on 3 December, from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m. That’s in six days’ time. And if they’ve met there before, I know a way to find out where that might be.
I head to the blue Toyota, press the key into the slot and the car wakes up.
I find my way into the information system.
It takes a bit of searching, but I soon find the tab for ‘recent destinations’.
There are forty-two addresses in the car’s memory, but if the car was stolen, it had to be in the three weeks before he died, while he was following me.
I scroll through slowly, reading the destinations one by one.
Pancho’s is the seventh entry.
I check my watch. I can’t be late for my appointment at Adams. It has taken the words serious safeguarding complaint simply to get to see the head. She behaves like an archbishop rather than an over-promoted religious studies teacher.
I sit outside the dark wooden door of her study, with its brass nameplate, and can’t help memories appearing like vampires from the graves of yesteryear. I find head teachers reliably triggering.
‘You asked to see me,’ says Mrs Pembury.
‘Yes, I want to discuss your offer,’ I say as I sit in the low chair opposite hers.
‘I understood that this was a safeguarding concern.’
‘It is. Nelly’s well-being has been seriously compromised by your offer.’
‘She didn’t get an offer,’ says Mrs Pembury. ‘We enjoyed meeting her but don’t think Adams is the right school for her.’
‘That’s what I want to discuss. You’ve made an opening offer, I’m here to counter,’ I say.
‘That’s not how admissions work, I’m afraid,’ she says, smiling benignly. ‘And as this isn’t a safeguarding matter, I think you should speak to admissions.’
‘I’d just like you to give this vulnerable child a chance to prove herself, and let her sit the entrance exam,’ I say.
The carefully coiffed headmistress looks at me for a time, then says, ‘It is in consideration of her vulnerability that we’re suggesting Nelly will be better served by another educational establishment.’
‘And what does that huge mouthful actually mean?’
‘We don’t think Nelly fits in here. She excludes herself from friendship groups, she doesn’t respond to non-verbal cues, and she has difficulty following instructions.’
‘She’s shy, that’s all.’
‘During the activity day, Nelly convinced another girl to act as a physical bridge between two chairs so that she could reach her seat without touching the floor.’
‘It’s a touch of OCD. No harm meant.’
‘We don’t think pupils should walk across each other.’
‘It sounds as if Nelly was being creative, innovative, and bold. Three of your golden skills.’
‘At the expense of understanding, kindness and empathy.’
‘Did you see her wonderful dolphin?’
‘No, I did not.’
‘She’s an extraordinarily talented and creative child.’
‘I’m concerned about her behaviour, Mrs Rook. My teachers are concerned. I’ve not yet had the report from her primary school, but she’s been flagged.’
‘Flagged?’
‘They haven’t been specific, but along with our observations, I have to be perfectly honest and tell you that Nelly is not the right sort of girl for Adams.’
‘She’s an Adams girl through and through,’ I say, knowing that Nelly is nothing of the sort but now feeling strongly that they deserve her.
‘Now, I have a meeting to attend.’
‘She’s a child. She has so much to learn. What if I made a significant donation?’ I say, opening my bag.
‘No, no, no . . . Mrs Rook, please.’
‘Happy to contribute. If Adams needs a new brass plaque to celebrate your commitment to child well-being, or perhaps I could pay the cleaning bill for the girl’s clothes – please let me do my part.’
‘Mrs Rook, it’s not in Nelly’s best interests to go through to the second-round assessment. Nelly would find the rules and approach here too challenging.’
‘Education’s all about being challenged. I want to know my daughter’s true capabilities,’ I say as earnestly as I can, but the woman is made of stone.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Rook.’
‘I need a tissue,’ I say and open my bag. I rummage and take out my compact mirror and place it on the desk, then my purse, a packet of Nurofen Express, mascara, hand sanitizer, and a 16-ounce claw hammer.
‘Aha,’ I say, pulling out a small packet of Kleenex from the bottom of my bag. ‘The tissues.’
I proceed to take out and unfold a tissue as the headmistress’s bright blue eyes focus on the hammer sitting on her desk, the steel claw shining in the late sunlight from her beautiful, mullioned windows.
‘You know what I think?’ I say, dabbing the corner of my eyes as I’ve seen people do whose eyes have become moistened with tears (mine are bone-dry). ‘I think that children like Nelly need the understanding of the best people.’
I take my things up from her desk and return them to my bag, one by one. The hammer is the last item. I pick it up and feel its weight in my hand.
‘I, too, had phases as a child,’ I say, pointing the hammer at the headmistress. ‘Phases when I acted a little outside of the norm, but my school provided me with the love and attention I needed and, because of that, I was able to succeed.’
She gives me that inscrutable look she’s so fond of bandying around. I’m not sure she believes my lies but she says nothing.
‘So I ask, do you have it in your heart to give this gifted child the benefit of the doubt?’ I say.
‘I don’t think so,’ she says softly, pushing her chair back from the desk.
I stand up before she has a chance to get to her feet and peer down at her, the hammer hanging loosely and swinging gently to and fro. Her eyes watch it, like a cat tracking a piece of wool. My grip tightens around the rubber handle and the hammer stops. I lift it to shoulder height.
It might look as though I’m about to strike, or simply using the hammer as a point of emphasis. The headmistress has a short time to discern which it is, and my unblinking gaze is probably not helping.
‘Mrs Rook,’ she says, but her voice croaks and she suddenly looks like a rather frail middle-aged lady, her pomposity and assumed superiority punctured and leaking out of her like air from a balloon.
‘A chance is all I’m asking for,’ I say. ‘Like Jean Valjean is given by that priest in Les Mis.’
To an observer, my response may seem exaggerated, but I can think of nothing worse at this moment than leaving the room with the thought of telling Nelly that her dream is irreparably broken before she’s even had a chance to want it.
I hit the hammer down firmly on her desk. It makes such a sound that she jumps backwards and her knee thumps the underside of the drawer.
‘I’ll get her some therapy. Would that help appease your concerns?’ I stare at the headmistress. She holds my gaze. I count eleven seconds.
‘Yes, I think that would help,’ she says finally, her voice quavering.
‘Have some water.’ I lean over and push her glass towards her. ‘And thank you for your understanding.’