Death of a Teacher (21 page)

‘So this power you think Becky has – is it good or bad?’

Jake had said slowly, ‘Good. But it’s also scary.’

Robert had put his hand on Jake’s shoulder. ‘Then if it’s good, there’s no need to worry.’

But he wasn’t so sure himself. Instead of going to work, Robert found he was driving towards Uplands where Neil Clifford’s rectory was. He and Neil had been friends for years, which was just as well if he was going to ask the rector’s advice about something which might sound utterly barmy. He pulled over and called Neil from his mobile.

‘Can I come and see you?’ he asked. ‘There’s something that’s bothering me.’

In the police canteen, Ro pushed her spoon around in the saucer and waited.

Jed had been all smiles in front of Sergeant Liddle, but now, opposite her across the table, his face had set into the harder, more reflective expression, which reminded Ro of the evening when he had blown up at her. Jed Jackson had two personalities, she thought: the happy-go-lucky bright boy at the station, whom everyone liked, and someone with a darker side which perhaps only she had seen.

She wasn’t going to help him. He had deliberately insinuated himself into her discussion with Sergeant Liddle. He must have a reason. He clearly 
wanted to be friends again, but there was no way she was going to let him gloss over what he had said to her about Ben.

‘This airline enquiry …’ he said.

‘It needs a proper police officer to follow it up. Here are the details.’ Ro slid a piece of paper across to him. ‘I’ll get back to spying on shoplifters and tracking down litterbugs. Plastic police work.’ She started to get up.

‘Ro, sit down. Please. I’ve wanted to speak to you all day.’

Again, she waited.

‘Look, there’s no excuse for what I did and said the Sunday before last. It was so wrong. It was rude and insensitive and unkind.’

‘Yes, and unchristian too.’

‘That’s below the belt, Ro.’

‘No, it’s not. You’re the churchgoer with the high principles. Does that make it OK to lash out at everyone you think morally beneath you? Which, by the way, I’m not. I’m not a bleeding heart and I don’t think Miss MacDonald does drugs. To be honest, you owe us both an apology.’

‘I know. I’ll apologize to her too.’

Ro felt slightly surprised. She was cynical enough to see the advantage for Jed in saying sorry to a colleague. But there could be no advantage in
apologizing
to Alison MacDonald, a woman he might never see again. She listened to him less sceptically.

‘Ro, we had a tragedy in our family when I was in my teens. My cousin died of a drug overdose. She was just like that teacher, pretty and talented, and she wasted her life with clubs and drugs. It caused a huge rift between my mother and her brother. I think that’s the real reason I’m in the police force. I should have said that when you asked me.’

Ro nodded. ‘That’s interesting.’ Then she leant forward. ‘But it shouldn’t lead to you being so intolerant. Perhaps if you’d studied psychology instead of theology you’d have a better understanding.’

‘No, Ro, that’s not true. Understanding the human need for God tells you more about people than it can possibly do about God, by definition. It was me that was limited, not my subject.’

‘You may be right there. I’ve never understood religion. The usual cliché – why does God let bad things happen? It always puts me off.’

‘I’m not surprised, in your situation. No one can answer that. It’s one of the mysteries of faith. But I want to say something else …’ Jed reddened. ‘I think it’s great how you cope with Ben. I’d like to meet him. Maybe I can help you with him, sometimes, you know, lifting or carrying. Or just being a bloke….’

This was all starting to get embarrassing. ‘Don’t worry, Jed, we manage. But it was a kind thought. Maybe I’ll take you up on it sometime.’

For moment Jed looked rebuffed, and she felt sorry for him. It must have 
cost him a lot of effort to make this approach, however ham-fisted it sounded. Jed was a confusing mix. But then so was she. That was probably why they got on with each other, despite all the differences. And it was much simpler now she no longer blushed each time he spoke to her. Suddenly he looked to her like a kid who had been rude and overbearing, rather than an attractive young man. That’s all he was, really. A bigger, less easy-going version of Ben. And she and Jed did have things in common. She remembered the first time they had chatted, about art, outside the old chapel.

She said, ‘Actually, if you really want to meet Ben, and this isn’t just talk, come over to my house this evening. I’ve got some friends coming and I can show you something which might really interest you.’ Even as she heard herself talk, she thought how odd it sounded to say she had ‘friends coming’.

Jed smiled. ‘I’d like that. And Ro, please believe me, I’ve learnt a lesson. I really am sorry.’

‘OK, I think you mean it. No worries. Except about this airline passenger. We’d better get the paperwork faxed over as soon as we can. You’re the
religious
one. Start praying that we’re on to something useful.’

Robert Clark and the rector, Neil Clifford, were sitting in Neil’s study. Robert had refused a coffee and felt slightly embarrassed. But he knew he could trust Neil Clifford completely. He had outlined Jake’s claims, feeling silly. But Neil had been mildly surprised rather than horrified or amused, and had listened intently.

‘It’s OK, Robert. Just talk.’

‘I’ve been looking up all this poltergeist stuff on the Internet and I don’t know what to think. What’s the Church’s view?’

‘I’m not sure we have one,’ Neil said. ‘People do still come to us for
exorcisms
and I know a few clergymen who’ve done them. But I also know of one priest who went to exorcise a house where the owners had been hearing a gruff voice coming out of the walls. It turned out to be a battery toy jammed down the back of the bookcase.’

Robert laughed. ‘But I can’t deny that the things have disappeared. And Jake is a very down-to-earth kid. He’s convinced this girl has some sort of power.’

‘And what do you think, Robert?’

‘Well, I’d heard of poltergeists before. In fact, looking back, I remember some friend of my sister alleging that furniture moved around in her bedroom. But I’ve always written this sort of thing off as hysteria, to be honest.’

‘Yes,’ Neil said thoughtfully. ‘We do tend to do that when women get hard to handle, don’t we?’

‘You don’t think I’m being male and dismissive, and that there really is something in it?’ 

‘I don’t think
you’re
male and dismissive, Robert. But society is. You can’t deny that over the centuries, particularly before industrialization, it was accepted that there were some people amongst us who had powers we couldn’t explain. Maybe that was what led to the witch hunts. Misguided
religious
fervour certainly. But also a cull of women who challenged the theory of a totally material world. Witch hunts didn’t really get going until the seventeenth century when trade and industry began to prosper and those outside the system had to go.’

‘So are you saying you believe in it? And that Becky Dixon might have some sort of paranormal quality? Not a witch, surely?’

‘No, of course not. But who knows about the supernatural – or the
spiritual
, as I would call it? We belong to a church which believes in paranormal experiences, much as we tend to forget it. The biggest mistake in religion is to fight elements you don’t understand. Don’t think witches, think saints.’

‘So you’re saying Becky Dixon is a saint? That’s absurd.’

‘Well, the word has quite an extensive meaning. In medieval times there were smaller saints who did a few miraculous things and then settled into being good, solid church organizers. Like St Trallen, who was nearly a martyr, but ended up as a first-class manager. Jake certainly feels this girl has some sort of power.’

‘Yes he does. His intuition is the most compelling evidence.’

‘In many of the cases, the young women emanate some sort of abnormal power when they’re young, but it passes. It seems to be to do with hormones, if it has any basis in reality at all. My advice is to let whatever is going on between Becky and God run its course. And in two or three years, or even two or three months, you may well look back at the missing kitchenware and write it off as one of those things.’

‘So the jury is out?’

‘Rob, who knows? It could be a coincidence. It could be mild kleptomania, or sleepwalking, or whatever. But it’s doing nothing but good, from what you’ve said. Tell Jake that these things sometimes happen, and that Becky is special, but not some sort of alien. And let it go. I can’t say more than that.’

Robert felt himself relax. ‘OK. Actually, that’s been very helpful.’

The two men walked to the door and Neil saw Robert out into the blustery morning. The grey clouds had descended and spiky rain was coming in from the west. Even in Uplands, Robert had the sense of the sea only a few miles away.

‘Thanks again,’ he said as he pulled up the collar of his jacket.

‘Good to see you,’ Neil said. ‘And, Robert, never forget. Great are the mysteries of faith!’

Goodness, it was four o’clock already, Peter Hodgson thought. Where had the day gone? He had meant to telephone St Mungo’s School, but time had raced by. He’d had a very satisfying visit to the supermarket. He had to admit he’d had no idea that such a high-class food store was within reach of dear old Pelliter. Whenever he had come home to visit, his mother had served up her usual staples of tough roast beef or fried fish, and Brenda had kept up the tradition. But Liz Rudder had purchased the very dainty profiteroles (and who could blame her – delicious!) from a bakery counter which rivalled anything he had seen in the South. It made him realize how much he had missed out on, by spending so much time eating at Brenda’s house, which was hardly dinner at High Table. Liz Rudder’s smoked salmon vol-au-vents had been outstanding.

His brain was really working well. It must be the fish. He tittered. But another idea had been slowly forming and had bubbled up when he had been in the wine department choosing a sweet sherry and rather nice claret. It was more of a vision than an idea, to be honest. He suddenly saw himself and Mrs Rudder ambling contentedly around the supermarket, selecting interesting ingredients which could be turned into the sort of mouth-watering Sunday lunch Brenda had never achieved. These days, he thought, Liz Rudder would be beyond the stage of wanting any sort of physical contact with a man. Very usefully, she had a husband, so any harpy ideas would be out of the question. It could be a mutually beneficial partnership, he thought.

It had been late afternoon when he had returned home, having treated himself to tea and a fresh cream scone in the supermarket café. Now, though, he was back, and rather grateful that he’d had the day to think about things.

Whom should he talk to about this dreadful concert at the school? The headmaster perhaps? Liz Rudder had made it clear that there was something distasteful about this man. ‘
Mr Findley, the head teacher, is really rather taken with this young woman and, as you might have heard, his wife is an invalid. It’s a very difficult situation
….’

Peter Hodgson congratulated himself on being a man of the world, like many celibates. It seemed quite clear to him that Liz Rudder was implying an unhealthy attraction between Findley and the new teacher. And the chap had an invalid wife! It sounded an unwholesome situation. It was too late now to telephone the school. He would certainly do so tomorrow, in the morning, first thing. But now it was tea time. He spent a long time trying to decide whether to go for salmon-en-croute, luxury moussaka, or chicken Kiev ready meals.

R
o looked round her cottage with a sense of panic. It was six o’clock and she had invited people for seven. She’d left work later than she should have done, hovering around the fax machine and constantly checking emails, but there had been nothing from the airline, even though their London office was still working after six. Then, on the way home, there had been a traffic diversion around Pelliter Marshes which had delayed her. The CID was
planning
a reconstruction of Brenda Hodgson’s last walk and the usual gawpers had turned up to watch.

She raced around the house, tidying up, putting white wine in the fridge far too late in the day, and shovelling crisps and nuts into bowls on the kitchen table.

What have I done? she thought.

They had never had a party before, but this wasn’t a party, she told herself. This was just a little gathering of people interested in her picture, who would breeze in and then breeze home for supper. But even so she regretted the impulse. She should have given people time to wind down after the barbecue, to rethink, and refuse her invitation nicely. She couldn’t believe they really wanted to come to Burnside, and the idea that they might turn up out of sympathy for her and Ben made her feel sick.

She snapped the light on over her picture and instantly the atmosphere changed. The Fraktur, a huge coloured painting showing birds and animals and illuminated text in Gothic German, lit up the room. It was a
Taufschein
, or baptism certificate, and the name of the child was Rosemary, with the word hooked into roses of all sorts. That was why her uncle had saved it especially for her, and Ro had been touched – as well as astonished when she discovered the picture’s potential value. There was no signature or identification, except for the tulips which were so common on the Fraktur pieces. The Fraktur artists had proliferated in North America from the early eighteenth to the 
mid nineteenth century, and their roots came directly from the world of medieval illuminated pictures. Like the
Book of St Trallen
, which Ro had yet to see.

Now the room was looking welcoming.

‘Ben!’ she called. ‘Have you changed yet?’

An incoherent grunt from upstairs indicated that Ben was still trying on different shirts. He had also insisted on wearing mega-baggy jeans with the crotch round his knees which was doubly dangerous given his wobbly walk, but Ro didn’t care. Ben was growing up.

There was a knock on the door. She glanced at the clock: half past six. Really too early.

‘Hurry up, Ben!’ she yelled, and went to open the door. Standing there was Alison MacDonald.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Alison said. ‘I would have phoned, but I didn’t really think it through. I was driving home. There was a diversion around the Marshes and I found the car pointing this way, so I just kept driving till I got to the turn-off to Burnside. I wanted to talk to you.’

‘About St Mungo’s?’

‘Yes, and not just that.’ To Ro’s alarm, Ali’s face started to melt, the way children’s faces do when they start to cry. ‘Oh, Ro, it’s so awful. Mrs Rudder is back at school. She wants to cancel the end of term concert. I was really upset. I lost my temper. It was awful.’

Alison had already plumped herself down on the sofa, with a clump of tissues in her hand.

‘I was so upset. I’m having a bad time anyway. My boyfriend and I have split up. But that’s not what this is about. Mrs Rudder didn’t say openly that she thought the concert should be cancelled. She just said that some local people thought it was disrespectful, and that I should talk to Mr Findley about it. But she looked so—’

‘Smug?’ Ro suggested.

‘Yes! That’s it exactly. She was pleased. I’ve really been putting everything into this concert, with the mural and everything. Now Mark and I have broken up, it’s all I’ve got.’

‘So what did you say to her?’

‘I said that I thought she had no right to interfere with my class. I told her she had been trying to keep me down since I arrived at St Mungo’s, but I wasn’t having it any more.’

‘Good for you!’

‘And that she and Callie McFadden teamed up together to bully everyone else; and that I thought she was trying to cover up for Jonty because he had 
broken the window and he was Callie’s son. And, like an idiot, I told her I had seen the hammer. And that I had told you.’

‘Ah. What did she say?’

‘She didn’t say anything at first. She just went paler. And then she said ‘What hammer?’ and I said the hammer that I had seen, and that Becky Dixon saw. Then she said, ‘You aren’t a very reliable witness and Becky Dixon is a weirdo. I doubt anyone would believe either of you’. I had to go back to my class then. But at home-time, I was so upset I just got in the car and came here instead.’

‘I’m glad you did,’ Ro said. ‘Look, I believe you about Jonty. You know that. But I think that now you’ve said these things to Mrs Rudder, you need to tell a police officer. I can help. But I’m only a PCSO.’

‘But remember the way that awful police officer treated me? I can’t go to someone like that.’

‘You won’t have to,’ Ro said. She looked out of the window by the front door. Jed Jackson’s car was bumping down the lane. ‘I think he’s coming to you.’

How had it all happened? Looking back at the evening, from the warmth and quiet of her own bed, Ro had been astonished by the way things had unfolded. Jed and Alison meeting each other was odd enough, but then within minutes Phil and Becky Dixon had arrived, without Judith. She was at another of her local activities.

There had been a most peculiar atmosphere, a sort of huge corporate intake of breath, which left Ro looking at Alison and then at Jed and Phil.

Jed had said, ‘Hello, Uncle Phil. It’s been a long time.’

Phil had looked astonished and his eyes had flickered to Ro, who was flinching. I had no idea, she’d wanted to say; I’m so sorry if you’re
embarrassed
. Instead she’d said, ‘I’ll get the drinks. They’re downstairs in the kitchen.’ As she’d left to go to the fridge, Becky had been busy quizzing Alison about the picture, kneeling on the sofa, her face alive with excitement as if she knew something significant was happening. Glancing back, Ro had seen Jed hold out his hand, and Phil take it, and then suddenly and with real affection, they’d hugged.

When Ro had come back upstairs with the wine, Phil was smiling.

‘Ro,’ Phil had said, ‘this is my sister’s son. I had no idea he was in the police force. I’m so glad to have met him here. We haven’t spoken since he was a teenager.’

Becky Dixon had been looking at Jed with that intense expression. ‘So you knew my mum. You were her cousin.’

‘That’s right.’ 

‘Am I like her?’

‘Your grandad can tell you that.’

‘I want a second opinion.’

‘Well, you don’t really look like her,’ Jed had said. ‘But you’re clever, like she was.’

‘Tell my teacher.’ And then Becky had laughed. ‘You’re all here,’ she had said, with an air of satisfaction. For a fraction of a second Ro had felt the hairs stand up on her neck as she looked at the girl. There was something about Becky. As if she had brought them all together … Then Ben crashed down the stairs in his new jeans and shouted, ‘Hey, it’s a party.’

So that’s what it had become, the first party they had ever given. When everyone had drinks and nibbles, Ro had made them gather around, and had talked them through the picture. Alison had been particularly fascinated. But it was Jed who had grabbed everyone’s attention.

‘I went to see the
Book of St Trallen
on Monday at Norbridge Abbey. It looks remarkably like this sort of art. Of course the text of the St Trallen picture is in Latin not German. And to be frank the
Book
isn’t nearly as
beautiful
as this. But the look of it is similar.’

The party had broken up into little groups. Ro noticed that Jed and Alison were talking animatedly. Thank goodness, she thought. She’d found herself with Suzy, who said, ‘Well, you secret party animal!’

‘Suzy, that’s not true. I have no idea how this happened.’

‘Well, this picture has got everyone going. We mustn’t forget that the mystery man had a Fraktur template in his pocket. And he was found at St Trallen’s.’

‘It’s not my job to investigate,’ Ro had smiled. ‘My sergeant would be very annoyed with you for leading me on.’

‘No, but you’ve got Mr Gorgeous Plod over there on the case, haven’t you? You’re a dark horse, Rosemary Lloyd.’

Now in bed, still unable to sleep, Ro thought about it all. Phil and Becky hadn’t left until after nine o’clock and Becky had wanted to stay later, though Phil had said, ‘Come on, love. Gran will want you in bed. It’s late and you’ve got that exam on Saturday.’

‘Dodsworth House,’ Becky had said to Ben, and pulled a face.

‘Good luck.’ Ben had shaken her by the hand.

And then they had all gone. The house had been empty and there was nothing left to do. Robert and Suzy had already washed up for her. It had been a remarkable evening – even more remarkable than the day before. It had consolidated the friendships of the barbecue, reintroduced Jed to his uncle and brought Jed and Alison together.

Ro sat up in bed. She was overexcited by this sudden social success. She 
should calm down and do her job. Tomorrow would be vital, when she was allowed to be a real police officer for a day. If the information from the airline came through, she would need all her wits about her. Sleep!

I must keep on the ball, Liz Rudder thought to herself on Tuesday evening as she lay in bed. She opened her bedside table to check that the hammer was still there. So far, the hammer had been very useful for nudging Callie into doing what Liz wanted. But if Alison MacDonald had told the PCSO about it, that could cause difficulties. Still, no one took PCSOs seriously, and Alison MacDonald was widely regarded as a flake. She had certainly behaved like one recently. She had looked dreadful, on the verge of tears all day. Maybe she was cracking up at last.

Wriggling down under her pink duvet, Liz did an audit of her own
situation
. On the good side, she was still in her job, comfortably trudging through routine things with the pre-pubescent Year Five. John wouldn’t last long now. She had noticed him weakening over the last few days, and she had managed to lose his pill supply after telling his carers she would administer them herself. When John died she would own the whole house. Its sale would fund a high-end apartment in Spain, and her pension would keep her in relative luxury. Brenda, the dependent friend, was out of the way – so no one could ever accuse Liz of dumping her. And anything damaging which Brenda knew about the Rudders’ less than perfect relationship had died with her. As far as Pelliter was concerned Liz was an exemplary teacher, who was universally respected and known to be a good, if martyred, wife.

And that was how she saw herself, too. She would float off to Spain on a cloud of goodwill and enjoy herself. If she was lucky and John popped his clogs quickly, then it wouldn’t really matter if Ray Findley had it in for her. And if John lingered, she could maintain her position, teaching Year Five and then collect her full pension – as long as Ray Findley was preoccupied. And she had both Callie and Father Peter working on that.

So all was well. Eventually Liz could put two fingers up to St Mungo’s and take the plane to Andalusia to scout out condos, while Kevin sold the house for her. Poor Kevin. He would miss her and the little treats she provided for him, his droopy wife and his family of cloth-headed boys. But she couldn’t take care of everyone.

Tomorrow was Wednesday, her Spanish class and the best day of the week.

She hoped Peter Hodgson was fretting about the insult to his sister implicit in Miss MacDonald’s concert. A nice political row at the school would bring the Findleys to heel again, even if Callie McFadden somehow failed. Liz sighed happily, turned on her side and waited for sleep to take her to Spain. 

Alison woke on Wednesday morning with a sense that the world was still upside down, but not quite the nightmare mess it had been the day before. Being without a boyfriend at twenty-five years old was a scary prospect. But she was also surprised by her sense of relief. This morning, she felt more able to face the other issues in her life without the drag of worrying about how bored Mark would be by her problems. She took off her engagement ring and put it in its box on her bedside table. She would send it back. Mark might find that the money came in useful for a new computer.

When she opened the curtains it was a beautiful day. Her parents’ house had a view of fields, which she had taken for granted since childhood, but today they looked fresh and new, while the blossom freckled the hedges like soapsuds.

She needed to think about school. First, the concert must go ahead. Most primary schools held celebratory displays at the end of Year Six. It would be as inappropriate to cancel it in memory of a teacher as to ignore her life and work. A suitable speech about Brenda, maybe even a few minutes’ silence, would be enough. And then the show should go on. Secondly, the Dodsworth exam would be happening in three days’ time, on

Saturday morning. Alison expected that the atmosphere in the class was going to be increasingly charged. She would need to keep the children’s agitation under control and the parents calm too. It wasn’t her job, but she would offer to hold a class after school on Friday night to go through some of the possible questions, and to prepare the children both academically and psychologically. She would try and give those who might fail a sense that it wasn’t the only thing that mattered in the world.

Thirdly, and more long term, there was Liz Rudder. It was obvious now that the deputy head was hostile to her. But at Ro’s house the evening before, Alison had confided to Jed Jackson that she was sure Jonty McFadden was the window vandal. This time Jed had listened to her, his brown eyes watching her, encouraging her. At one point he had glanced at her engagement ring and to her own surprise she’d covered her left hand with her right. It seemed to burn on her finger and she knew then she wanted to take it off.