A Dozen Second Chances

A woman stood in the doorway, looking me up and down in a swift appraisal that immediately raised my hackles. Not that they needed to be raised much further – even without the scowl I recognised the driver who had knocked me over at the weekend. What was she doing here?

‘Ms Roberts?’ She buzzed the ‘Ms’ in an unnecessarily emphatic way, and glanced at her watch – another unnecessary affectation, when there was a perfectly good clock on the wall between us. ‘Eve?’

‘Yes?’ I waited to see if she would remember me as her weekend victim, but there was no hint of recognition.

‘Jo Blair.’ She approached and stretched out her hand for me to shake, smiling in a way that seemed calculatedly hearty, putting me on edge rather than at ease. ‘I’ll be interim head for the next few months, until a permanent head is recruited. I’m glad you’re early. I’m told that you’re a wonder and will be my right hand. Come in and have a chat.’

Without waiting for my agreement – as my working hours hadn’t technically started yet – she turned and walked back into Mrs Armstrong’s office – or her office, as I supposed I would now have to think of it. I followed on behind, feeling uncomfortably like a naughty child about to learn my punishment. It was a pleasant room, with windows on two walls overlooking the playing fields, but as Jo took a seat behind the desk, I could sense that the atmosphere had changed already. Mrs Armstrong had made it warm and welcoming, so even the most wayward pupil or anxious parent had felt at ease. Now all that warmth seemed to have been sucked out through the open window. The room felt cold and impersonal; even the desk had been cleared, so all that remained on it were a computer and keyboard, telephone and a paper coffee cup from the petrol station on the Yorkshire side of town.

Jo waved at me to take a seat opposite her.

‘I didn’t think you were due to start until next week,’ I said.

‘I was due to go on holiday, but cancelled when this job came up. It was clear when I looked at the figures and statistics that I couldn’t start a moment too soon. The exam results aren’t impressive, are they? You must be aware of that.’

‘We’re low in the league tables, but …’

‘Exactly.’ Jo interrupted before I could point out that the school excelled in so many other areas – in sport, in music and, most importantly, in sending confident, well-rounded young adults out into the world. ‘That’s going to have to change. There’s been too much slack management. We need to see streamlining and efficiencies. I’m meeting the staff this morning to outline the vision for the way forward. Good teachers and good results will be at the heart of it.’

‘We have some excellent teachers here. They couldn’t be more dedicated …’

‘Some? That’s not enough. We need all the teachers to be excellent.’ Jo leant across the desk towards me. ‘The governors assure me I can rely on you. You’ve been here a long time. You know all the staff – who isn’t on their game any more, who has lost their motivation, who is letting standards fall. You’ll hear things that I won’t. I’m counting on you to help me, for the good of the school. I need you to be not only my right hand, but also my eyes and ears.’

It normally worked like a magic charm, someone asking for my help – I could rarely resist. But this? Spying on my colleagues, who I had worked alongside for years? Betraying the teachers who had taught Caitlyn, kept an eye on her for me, shaped her into who she was? I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.

‘I’ll help in any practical way I can,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘But I won’t spy on my friends, or tell tales about hardworking teachers who care passionately about this school and their students, and who are doing their best in difficult circumstances. That’s not in my job description, and not in my nature either. But if there’s anything else I can do, you need only ask.’

If I’d thought the atmosphere was cold before, it was nothing to how low the temperature dropped now. Jo sat back and crossed her arms, sending me a patronising smile.

‘I think you misunderstand, Eve. I never suggested you should spy, only to work with me to identify areas of improvement. Of course, if you don’t want the increased responsibility, I respect your decision. It is disappointing, when I had heard such good things about your commitment to this school.’

Jo tapped at her keyboard, and I took this as a sign that I was dismissed. I stood up, feeling bizarrely as if I had done something wrong. Had I? If nothing else, I’d clearly annoyed Jo, and that would make working in such close proximity awkward. But I couldn’t regret my decision. I hesitated, wondering whether I ought to say something else, to try to smooth things between us.

‘Oh, Eve?’ Jo didn’t look up. ‘There’s a box on your desk. It contains Mrs Armstrong’s belongings. Please get rid of it. And on the subject of your desk …’ Now she looked at me, and it wasn’t a friendly look. She clearly wasn’t in the mood to smooth things out. ‘I intend to introduce a clear desk policy. Have you any idea how much a data protection breach would cost, financially and reputationally? Everything confidential must be locked away. Your first job this morning is to clear your desk.’

She focused on her screen and started typing before I could tell her that I was fully aware of the rules and regulations concerning data protection, and that whilst my desk may look untidy, there was nothing confidential on there. I walked back out to my cubbyhole and glanced over at the desk. Perhaps untidy was an understatement. How long had it been since I last sorted through the piles of stationery catalogues, magazines and junk mail? Mrs Armstrong had kept me too busy. Well, I would soon show Jo Blair that a clear desk policy held no fear for me …

It was lunchtime before I could catch up with Tina, and she did a double take when she saw me sitting behind my immaculate desk. I had reproduced Jo’s minimalist look to perfection, with the exception of the photo of Caitlyn beside the computer monitor. No amount of arm-folding or disapproving looks would persuade me to part with that.

‘Have you been fired?’ Tina asked, goggling at the expanse of clear desk between us. Not even a paperclip besmirched the tidiness now. Of course, the desk drawers were bulging, but Jo couldn’t take control of those too, could she? ‘Have you managed to irritate our new boss already?’

‘It wouldn’t take much, would it? She’s not fired me yet, but I’m wondering if it’s only a matter of time. We’ve worked together for one morning, and so far, she’s objected to the state of my desk, the smell of my peppermint tea, that I didn’t divert my phone when I nipped away for two minutes to go to the loo, and that she doesn’t like the way the computer files are labelled and arranged. She’s also told me that I won’t need to do any more typing for her, as she has a digital dictation system on her computer, which is more efficient. If I hear the word efficient one more time, I’ll …’

The door to the corridor was flung open and Jo strode in, abruptly cutting off my rant.

‘The lunch system is inefficient,’ she said. ‘There’s a queue halfway down the corridor, and staff members are wasting time having to police it. Make a note for the next staff meeting.’

I nodded but didn’t move, and she continued to stare at me until I reluctantly opened a drawer a crack to try to remove a notebook and pen without her noticing the untidy state of the drawer.

‘Can I help you? Mrs Wade, isn’t it? History?’ she said to Tina. Assuming Tina had only come around to gossip, I began to give a spurious excuse for her presence, but she waved at me to stop.

‘I have some excellent news, Ms Blair,’ she said, in a fawning manner that I thought unworthy of her. She held up a sheet of paper that I hadn’t noticed before. ‘The popular TV archaeologist Paddy Friel has agreed to come and give a talk one evening. It’s excellent publicity for the school, and a great enrichment event for the students.’

‘We won’t be able to fit it in,’ I said, glaring at Tina. How could she go ahead with this, after what I had told her about Paddy? ‘Next term is too busy already, with the prize-giving and end-of-year musical evenings, and the hall will be set up for exams for most of the time.’

‘I know all that, so I begged him nicely and he’s agreed to come in the last week of this term. Isn’t that great?’

The last week of term? There were only two weeks left until we broke up for the Easter holidays, which meant Paddy would be coming in next week. That was too short notice to arrange an event with anyone, let alone with someone I didn’t want to see within twenty miles of here.

‘That doesn’t give us time to organise it,’ I said. ‘It’s not just a question of advertising the event, but we need to make arrangements for school to be open late, and for staff members to stay behind … Think of the costs for the small benefit it might have.’

I thought that pointing out potential financial implications would bring Jo over to my side, although it seemed incredible that we were battling over her. But Tina sent me a smile full of mischief.

‘I’ve thought of all that. We could have it a week on Wednesday. There’s a Year 10 Information Evening at six, so we could invite Paddy to start his talk at seven-thirty. As the school will be open late anyway, and staff present, it would be an efficient time to do it. You could include it in the newsletter tomorrow.’

I had to smile, and acknowledge her skill, even though my heart sank as Jo nodded in agreement.

‘It’s an excellent idea, Mrs Wade, well done. We can charge for tickets and drinks, to make a profit from the event. This is exactly what we need to see – initiative and positivity from the staff.’

I didn’t know why she looked at me when she said that: I could be extremely positive when I chose. Just not where Paddy Friel was concerned. I was still smarting over the whole business at the end of the day when I met Tina at my car to share the drive home.

‘You deserve to walk,’ I said, unlocking the door and throwing my bag onto the back seat. ‘How could you have arranged this with Paddy behind my back? You knew I didn’t want him here.’

‘But you heard how good he was at the other school. We hardly ever have events like that here. We’re too out of the way to draw big names. Why should our students always miss out? If it inspires one of them it will be worth it.’

I shrugged and reversed out of my space with unnecessary speed. She was right, and I couldn’t argue with her. I just wished it had been anyone but Paddy who was offering this golden opportunity.

‘Besides, you don’t need to come,’ she added. ‘He won’t turn up until long after you’ve gone home. If you really don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. Forget you ever heard about the event.’

If only it were that easy.

*

Caitlyn telephoned at the weekend, brimming with excitement about her new life in Paris and her job as an au pair. Everything was fun and interesting; the family she was working for were lovely, and the children she was looking after were adorable. The weather, the food, the flowers, the improvement in her accent already … she was enthusiastic about every detail.

My heart ached to hear her. She was so happy – happier than I ever remembered hearing her before. Was that my fault? Had I held her back, in our quiet Lancashire town, taping up wings that were twitching with the urge to fly? Had I held her close, when she wanted to be set free? Protected her, when she needed to test herself and learn from her own mistakes? I had done what I thought was best, for Faye’s sake, but it was agonising to think that I might have promoted her safety above her happiness.

‘How are you getting on with the Be Kind to Yourself vouchers?’ Caitlyn asked at last, when even her enthusiasm for Parisian life was exhausted. ‘You’ve only sent me one so far.’

‘There will be another one on the way soon.’ I laughed. ‘You might not think it exciting enough. I had to buy some new running clothes, and I didn’t go for the cheapest own brand this time.’

In a moment of mouse madness, I had clicked on a hi-tech outfit that apparently could breathe, sweat and possibly even do the running for me, or that’s what I expected for the price. It was due to arrive on Monday, in time for the first running group meeting on Tuesday. After a sustained campaign of persuasion from Lexy, I’d given in and agreed to lead it for her. I was trying not to worry about what I had let myself in for.

‘Is it going to make you look young, gorgeous and athletic – unlike the baggy things you’ve worn in the past?’

‘I don’t think it can perform miracles, even at that price.’ Caitlyn’s laughter floated down the line. I closed my eyes, and for a bewitching second it could have been Faye on the other end of the phone. ‘I thought I ought to look the part, if I’m leading the group. That’s if anyone turns up. Lexy has set up a Facebook event, but no one has signed up yet. No one has even said that they’re interested.’

‘But the middle-aged people who need exercise might not use Facebook.’

‘That’s a fair point. I’ll tell Lexy that we need to write out flyers on parchment with our quill pens, and send them off attached to a pigeon …’

‘I didn’t mean you. You’re not middle-aged. Not yet.’

‘Thanks!’ Of course, I spoke too soon.

‘Not until August, when you turn forty and officially go over the hill …’

I clutched the phone more tightly to my ear, staggered by the overwhelming nature of how much I missed her, felt in every fibre and follicle of my being. Her absence was like a physical force, buffeting me from all angles.

‘I can tell you’re not missing me at all,’ Caitlyn said. ‘You’re having too much fun with your running club and nights out with Tina. Where did you go? You didn’t say. I hope it wasn’t just cinema night with Gran Gran and the Chestnuts gang.’

‘No, we went to Yorkshire.’ I realised that probably didn’t sound much of a treat to someone currently living in Paris. ‘We attended an evening lecture.’

Caitlyn’s silence confirmed that the extra detail hadn’t helped elevate the outing in the excitement stakes.

‘You did get the concept of the vouchers, didn’t you?’ she asked. ‘You were supposed to be having fun.’

‘It was fun!’ Or it had been until a certain fake Irishman had barged into my personal space. ‘It was all about Roman Britain and what the archaeological evidence tells us …’

I trailed off. I had deliberately not given Caitlyn any details of the talk when I filled in the voucher. She knew my history, of course, and knew about my degree, but I had tended to play it down as a subject in which I had a passing interest, not one that I had intended to make my career. I had never told her about the plans Paddy and I had made before she came to live with us; the plans to take time out and join archaeological digs across the world. We had both been juggling a variety of part-time jobs to fund our travels; my share of the money had ultimately been used to fund time out with Caitlyn and our travels to Lancashire.

I had never mentioned Paddy to her at all, and as far as I knew she had no memory of him. I hoped not, anyway. But I certainly didn’t want her to think that I’d been desperate for her to leave home all these years, so I could pick up my old life again.

‘It was only …’ I began again, but Caitlyn interrupted.

‘That’s fantastic! I didn’t realise you were still interested in all that old stuff. Are there any more talks you can go to?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ I conveniently forgot the fact that one was taking place at our school.

‘That’s a shame. What about going on a dig? Is that the sort of thing you used to do? You should definitely have another go. I bet you could volunteer for something over the holidays. Why not?’

‘Well …’ Caitlyn was reminding me of someone again, but it wasn’t Faye this time. It was me. Wasn’t this exactly the same cajoling voice I’d used countless times to encourage her to join in with things she wasn’t keen on? Since when had our roles reversed?

We said our goodbyes, and Caitlyn returned to her busy, delightful French life while I slumped on the sofa in front of the television in my empty house. I had no plans for the rest of the evening, or for Sunday either. Rich was busy with his children, Tina was away, and even Gran had told me to keep clear of The Chestnuts or face the consequences of a nasty gastric bug. I had no plans for the rest of the year. No plans for the rest of my life, whispered an impish voice in my head.

I thought about Caitlyn’s suggestion of volunteering on a dig and the stir of excitement I had felt when she had mentioned it. Could I pick up where I had left off all those years ago? Could I volunteer on a dig over the summer? Why not, Caitlyn had asked. I thought about it all night, and couldn’t think of an answer.

Chapter 6

Jo Blair didn’t improve on further acquaintance.

‘Is that business-related post?’ she asked, when she caught me during morning break on Monday, with the parcel containing my new running clothes. I had just finished writing out a voucher to send to Caitlyn.

BE KIND TO YOURSELF

VOUCHER TWO

I, Eve Roberts, have been kind to myself by buying state-of-the-art new running clothes!

I would have denied it if I could, but the bag was covered with the name of the sports shop, making pretence futile.

‘No,’ I admitted. ‘It’s an urgent parcel I need for tomorrow.’

I chose not to elaborate; she looked wiry under her power suits, as if she worked out, and I didn’t want to risk her turning up to join the run.

‘It’s not school policy to allow personal mail to be delivered here. I thought you would have been aware of that. Don’t do it again.’

I was half inclined to think she was making it up – Mrs Armstrong had never mentioned the existence of such a policy, and her gin club parcel used to turn up here every month without anyone batting an eyelid. But I told myself it wasn’t worth fighting over. I had my clothes and wasn’t expecting any other deliveries, so there was no point falling out over it. We had to work together, and though our working relationship had been strained so far, never recovering from our initial chat, I didn’t want to risk making it worse.

That was what I thought at break. My good intentions didn’t last beyond lunchtime, when I returned to my desk and found a pile of posters dumped on it. I picked them up and marched into Jo’s office without knocking.

‘What are these doing here?’ I asked, waving the stack of posters at her. A piece of dried Blu-Tack flew through the air and landed on her desk, in bold defiance of the clear desk policy.

‘I found them scattered around the school, ruining the walls. Have you any idea how much it costs to paint the corridors in this place? Send an email to all staff telling them not to put posters up other than on the official display boards. Blu-Tack is banned with immediate effect.’

My blood, which had been lukewarm already, quickly escalated to boiling point.

‘This has nothing to do with any staff member,’ I said, thumping down the posters onto her clear desk. ‘I put these posters up. Mrs Armstrong gave permission. They are all anti-drug posters. It’s an important message.’

‘Mrs Armstrong is no longer here and I’m withdrawing permission. It’s sending out the wrong message to parents and visitors. We have an important event this week, with Paddy Friel’s talk taking place, and the press will be here. We don’t want to give the impression that we have a drugs problem in school.’

The reference to Paddy did nothing to calm me down.

‘What does it matter what visitors think? Any decent parent would be pleased to know that the school was taking a stand – that we have a strong anti-drugs policy,’ I said. She was usually a stickler for policy and procedure, so why not this one? ‘Who cares about the cost of repainting the walls, if the posters make one student think twice before experimenting with drugs?’

Jo leant forward, and if I hadn’t already concluded after a week’s acquaintance that she was an efficient machine and incapable of human feeling, I would have sworn she was trying out a sympathetic expression.

‘I understand, Eve, why you feel so strongly about this crusade, but you need to pursue it in your own time and not let your obsession …’

I froze. She was giving me a pointed look – a look that suggested she knew things about me, about my background, that I certainly hadn’t told her.

‘My obsession?’ I repeated. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She clearly didn’t understand at all. This wasn’t an obsession. It wasn’t a crusade. I wasn’t charging into battle for my own glory, far from it. But what did this woman, with her own obsession for policies and efficiencies, know about the things that were really worth anything in life? ‘Call it what you like. This is a million times more important than exam results and budgets. This is a chance to save lives. I can’t think of any better way to spend my time.’

I was still shaking when I reached the staffroom, and Tina took one look at my face and shepherded me into the nearest empty classroom.

‘What’s up?’ she asked, pushing me down onto a chair. ‘Is it Phyllis? Caitlyn? Your mum?’

‘No, everyone is fine. It’s Jo …’

‘Oh crikey, what’s she done now? The staffroom is still up in arms about her decree that we need permission to photocopy more than ten sheets of paper. What has she planned next? We can’t cope with another of her bright ideas yet.’

‘She’s taken down all the anti-drugs posters.’

I didn’t need to say more. Tina understood, more than Jo ever could, and immediately leant forward to give me a hug.

‘Oh, love. What’s she done that for?’

‘Because posters might damage the school walls. And she doesn’t want parents to think there might be a drugs problem here …’ I stopped. Jo’s concerns were so trivial, when compared to what was at stake. How could she think any of that mattered?

‘So what, we ignore the issue, and keep our fingers crossed that nothing like that happens here?’ Tina said. ‘She’s more of an idiot than we realised.’

‘She called it my crusade.’ I looked at Tina. ‘How does she know?’

Again, Tina needed no more explanation about what I was asking. She shrugged.

‘I suppose it must be on your personnel record somewhere. Mrs Armstrong knew all about it, didn’t she? About Faye, and how you came to have Caitlyn …’

So Jo Blair had been snooping, grubbing round in our private lives – for what reason? Looking for the weak links, who she could then remove in a round of budget cuts? Perhaps I wouldn’t have minded if it were my secrets she was raking over. But not Faye’s. I didn’t want her to know anything about Faye, didn’t want someone like her to judge my sister. There had been enough judgement already. And what had Jo found out? The truth about Faye, and how she had died, presumably. Because Faye had died unexpectedly, but not from an accident or a freak illness. She had died from taking a pill – a drug – that had turned out to be a bad one, and that had killed her.

But that wasn’t the real truth about Faye. It wasn’t how she deserved to be remembered. She had been so much more than the tawdry tale of her death that had featured in the local and national newspapers for days afterwards; sleazy journalists hadn’t been able to resist front-page photographs and stories about the beautiful young woman who had thrown her life away because of drugs. She had been vibrant and funny, a wicked impressionist, a talented artist, and the most wonderful sister I could have wished for. Hardly a day went by without me regretting what I had lost, and even more, what Caitlyn had lost. I had done my best for Caitlyn, but it could only ever be second best to what she should have had.

I stared out of the window, nails digging into my palms as I forced my thoughts to stop there, not to prod at the memories of that time, at the bruise that would never heal. Tina took hold of my hands and uncurled my fingers.