Chapter 16
Katrina stood in her dark, silent, sour-smelling kitchen, frantically scrolling. Usually, by this hour, a stream of messages was pouring in on the various Colville chat groups, but today her phone was even quieter than her house.
The terrible hush was broken only by the hum of the fridge. There wasn’t a sound from upstairs, where Hamish was asleep after coming in late. As for Justin, he’d locked himself in his room.
Since their interview with Dr Mayhew yesterday, Justin had been monosyllabic. Katrina had told herself he was simply processing his two-day suspension, but everything would be all right because he was still talking to her. When she’d asked him what he wanted for dinner, he’d said mac and cheese.
But things had been different this morning, after all those terrible stories on the news sites.
Justin had stormed downstairs in a cold rage and rammed around the kitchen making toast while Katrina fluttered in his wake, desperately trying to explain how the whole story was just a big misunderstanding.
In response, he’d told her to fuck off. He’d never sworn at her before; she still flinched to remember it.
She’d stumbled into the games room, hugging herself, trying to calm down, until Justin had finished eating – at which point she’d followed him upstairs, pleading and making excuses. He’d slammed his door in her face.
Even on the night Craig left, she hadn’t been this shaken.
Again she flicked onto her eerily silent Colville chat. She really needed her friends. For the second time she typed, Hi?, then waited. One tick, two . . . her message had been read, same as the first, but there was still no response.
Katrina refused to believe that the anonymous Colville mothers in that Daily Post article could have been Pauline, Gabby or Nicola.
She’d known those women for decades. They were her friends.
Sure, they had their quirks, but they wouldn’t betray her like that.
Besides, there were almost a thousand students at Colville and Katrina might have offended any number of their mothers at the uniform shop.
It was an easy thing to do, when the returns policy was so strict.
A chilling little notification popped up on her phone: Gabby has left the group, swiftly followed by Nicola has left the group, Pauline has left the group, Sarah has left the group, Vanessa has left the group.
In a minute, as if by consensus, everyone had left the friendship chat group that Katrina had created. Everyone apart from her.
With mounting horror, she flicked to the uniform-shop chat she’d set up, and it was the same. A mass exodus. Then she swiped to Justin’s Year 9 group chat, which had almost 300 members because most of the parents were on there – surely all of them couldn’t leave?
They hadn’t; instead, a little pop-up message read: Katrina Webb has been removed from the group.
Katrina found herself gasping for air. She was a pariah – rejected, despised, the lowest of the low. Gabby. Nicola. Pauline. They had betrayed her. They’d spilled their guts to the media.
But hope sparked again when she spotted the miniature envelope at the top of the screen, notifying her of an email. Someone cared and was reaching out privately. Nicola? Gabby, perhaps? Eagerly, she tapped to find out who it was.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Uniform shop manager position
Dear Katrina,
I’m writing to inform you that Colville Grammar has decided to immediately suspend your volunteer role as uniform shop manager until the end of the year.
Unfortunately, the school is attracting the notice of media organisations and we believe that allowing you to continue in your prominent position at Colville would be detrimental to the climate of wellbeing that we work so hard to foster in the community.
We also request that you abstain from your role with the swim team until further notice.
Please note that, as a Colville parent, you have a right to visit the campus, but for the sake of all students and staff, we feel it would be better for you to avoid such a visit at the present time.
I trust I have your understanding on this matter.
Sincerely,
Dr Cameron Mayhew
With a small cry, Katrina set her elbows on the kitchen island and hunched over, to stop herself collapsing.
She’d thought of Colville as her second family, yet it was wiping its hands of her.
Closing ranks, without even taking the trouble to find out if the news stories were true.
All at once, the ground seemed shaky under her feet, and her faith in human nature started to crumble.
This can’t be happening. Oh, my God, I need help!
Her phone rang just as the doorbell chimed.
Seeing her mother’s name on the screen, she dumped the phone on her way to the vestibule, where she peered around the closed living-room blind.
Every journalist had vanished and Michelle was standing on the doorstep, while an elderly man with a walking frame lumbered up the path behind her. He must be Michelle’s dad.
Michelle wore leggings and a hoodie, and looked as if she’d just got out of bed. But Katrina knew she herself looked worse. Embarrassed, she opened the door and ushered her guests inside.
‘I’m Katrina.’ Offering her hand to Michelle’s dad, she caught a whiff of her own breath. It was hideous. ‘Lovely to meet you.’
To her surprise, he took her hand and graced it with a smacking kiss. As his moustache tickled her fingers, she saw Michelle wince.
‘A delight to meet you, Katrina. I’m Rolf,’ he said, ignoring his daughter’s muttered reproof. ‘It’s not often that Michelle introduces me to her friends.’
Pulling her fingers from his grasp, Katrina dredged up a smile. ‘Can I get you coffee or a cup of tea? It will have to be black, I’m afraid, since we’re out of milk. And sugar.’ And probably teabags too, she realised.
‘Thank you, but I’ll have to deal with the old waterworks first,’ Rolf said jovially. ‘Where’s the ablutions block, may I ask?”
Katrina didn’t understand until Michelle’s mortified expression made it clear: Rolf wanted the toilet. Katrina indicated the door to the kitchen, told Rolf to turn right when he reached the games room, and watched him shuffle away.
Just as he disappeared, Michelle’s phone rang. When Ilse’s name appeared on its screen, Michelle tapped a button that put the call on speakerphone. A roar rose up from the tiny speaker, followed by a primal hooting made either by a horn or by a very large animal in distress.
‘Hi, Michelle,’ a brisk voice crackled. ‘Unfortunately, reception’s poor . . . island . . . whale welcome.’
What was a whale welcome? Katrina looked at Michelle, who shrugged.
‘Katrina’s here, too,’ Michelle said.
‘Oh, hello, Katrina, I’m sorry to meet you . . . dreadful circumstances.’
‘Nice to meet you, Ilse.’ Wow – Michelle had been right, Ilse really was plugged in. But was she ringing with a solution?
‘Right – well, I won’t beat . . . the bush.’ Ilse’s tone was crisp, decisive and slightly intimidating. ‘Dreamwives is probably already down the toilet, but if you have any chance of surviving, you need to face this head on.’
‘What about the NDA?’ Michelle asked.
‘You can go with a public announcement as long as you don’t mention Kirk Keane or identify him in any way,’ Ilse said, over background chanting.
‘My advice is to tell everyone exactly what Dreamwives is. You’re both clever and capable and your business was flourishing before this, so why not stand up for yourselves?
Speak to the media about who you are and what you do.
It must come from Katrina, though, since she’s . . . centred on.’
‘Me? No!’ Katrina recoiled. ‘I’ve lost my marriage, my life savings, my reputation, my house and possibly my sons, and you want me to humiliate myself in public? In front of the whole country? I can’t!’
A pause, underpinned by more chanting. Finally, Ilse said, ‘Then what else do you have to lose?’
A buzzing sound followed and the call cut out.
Katrina covered her eyes. Of course, Ilse was only trying to help, but who did she think Katrina was? A lawyer like Ilse? An executive like Michelle? Katrina wasn’t a serious person, she was Chatty Katty – a failed wife, a bad mother.
Michelle had just opened her mouth to speak when, from the other end of the house, Justin called, ‘Mum, there’s an old guy in here messing with my chess game!’
Katrina and Michelle hurried into the kitchen. From there, they could see Rolf sitting on the games room sofa, with Justin’s iPad in his hand and his walking frame parked beside him.
Justin stood at the bottom of the stairs, a bulging duffel bag at his feet, an outraged expression on his face.
‘I’m not messing, young fella,’ Rolf said waspishly. ‘You’ve left your queen unguarded.’
Justin kicked the bag aside and swooped on Rolf.
‘See?’ Rolf pointed to the screen and Justin swore under his breath.
Katrina didn’t give a damn about Justin’s queen. Her eyes were locked on the duffel bag, which filled her with terror. Why had Justin packed it? Surely he wasn’t leaving? No – her boy couldn’t leave. This was his home!
She was about to confront him when she stopped herself. At least he was calm and fully supervised for the first time in hours. Better if he was down here, puzzling over the iPad with Rolf, than upstairs scrolling through tabloid trash.
A tap on her shoulder made her jump; she turned and saw Michelle jerking her head at the glass doors that opened onto the back patio.
Time for a talk. Katrina reluctantly followed Michelle, edging her way past the two chess players until she reached the outdoor setting.
It was the perfect spot – she and Michelle could talk in private while she watched Justin through the glass.