Nest of Sorrows (13 page)

‘And she’ll have no teeth left.’

‘Milk teeth!’ snapped Dora. ‘You’ve only to worry when the second lot comes.’

‘That’s not true. The longer she keeps her milk teeth, the better her others will be.’

Dora slammed the bag of sweets on to the table. ‘I see. So you know more about bringing up children than I do, eh?’

‘She’s my child!’

‘And I’m the one who looks after her while you go out all day!’

Kate marched to the table and slammed down her bag next to the packet of sweets. ‘That can soon be altered, Dora. If you object to coming, I’ll get a nanny in . . .’

‘No need.’ The woman’s expression was suddenly frantic. ‘Nannies are too expensive. And anyway, Geoffrey likes to see me every day. He wouldn’t hear of it.’

‘No. No, I’m sure he wouldn’t. And I won’t hear of my child being ruined to the point where I can’t handle her. She thinks she’s only to run to Granny and everything will be just the way she wants it. I don’t like spoiled brats, Dora.’

‘I see.’ The arms were folded beneath the pendulous bosom. ‘I never spoiled Geoffrey. I brought him up on my own after my poor husband died. There’s nothing spoiled about him, is there? Well? Is there?’

Kate stared at the woman and knew that it was pointless. If she came out with all of it, if she stood her ground and said all that needed saying, then she would destroy what little peace there was. Geoff was a spoiled brat and would continue so for the rest of his life. But what would be the virtue in telling this woman, ‘you did it all wrong’? Anyway, who the hell ever got it all right, this child-rearing business? Was Kate doing a good job, had Rachel done her best, was any mother perfect? So she simply sighed and said, ‘No. He’s not spoiled. But please stop giving in to Melanie. I don’t like her so petulant.’ To ease the pain she added, in a kinder tone, ‘And thanks for the date scones, Geoff will enjoy one of those later.’

With a heavy heart, Kate left her daughter in hands that were deemed capable and went off to the bedroom. There was an unreal quality to her life here, as if it were temporary, as if she knew that she would not be staying. At times, she felt like a guest in her own home, because that was how Dora made her feel. The best hours were spent at school where, in spite of the fact that she disliked the system and most teachers, she could at least make a contribution she knew to be valuable. The self-starters had begun to read, and among them Kate had found little teachers, children who re-learned while educating others. Thus, in a way other teachers might have derided, Kate had a smooth-running class full of good learners and potential successes. If she could just have her own school. If she could just escape a system apparently comprised of the deliberately blinded led by the totally inept.

Melanie tottered in followed closely by Dora. ‘Mummy doing?’ asked the child.

‘Mummy’s thinking,’ said Dora gently. ‘Mummy’s got all her work to do for school, then she has to change for when Daddy gets home. Come along now . . .’

‘Leave her,’ said Kate quietly. ‘Let her stay here for a while.’

‘Oh but it’s time for her supper.’ Dora’s tone remained sweet as she led the infant away towards the stairs. ‘Granny’s mashed you a lovely banana for afters. Come on, leave Mummy to get on.’

The door closed.

Kate leaned forward and stared at herself in the dressing table mirror. Who am I? she seemed to be asking herself. I’m not a wife, I’m hardly a mother. Who then? What then? A teacher? Is that all I’m going to be, a teacher in circumstances that almost make me puke? Partridge and Gibbons, am I like them? Surely not. What the hell am I going to do with the rest of my life?

She tore off her clothes, pulled on a robe and went into the bathroom. Where were the roses round the door? Where were her brushes and paints, easels and charcoal? Her hands turned taps and sprinkled salts into water as she studied the long tapering fingers. These hands used to have talent, these hands were once going to change the world.

What had happened to all that ambition? Had it disappeared with Mike, did she need a man to prop her up, give her a sense of direction? She sank gratefully into the hot tub, remembering her old idea of heaven. No, it hadn’t really changed, had it? Not basically. In the slipper baths, Kate had felt alone. Perhaps her idea of heaven all along had been aloneness. Did she love Geoff? Or Melanie? Was she capable of loving anyone – even herself?

But oh Lord! A teacher? Forever? No!

At twenty-six years of age, Kate Saunders was approaching her best. Although she had always been thin, there was at last a little flesh on her bones, a fine layer of firm texture that covered the sharp angles of her face and lent them some softness. Her body, too, was rounder with maturity and her hair had settled into a soft billowing mass of red-blonde waves that framed her features perfectly.

She would never be a real beauty – she knew that well enough – but she attracted attention as she shopped in town, drew male glances and the odd wolf-whistle which improved her self-image no end. And it needed improving too. Geoff treated her as if she were an old habit, something he could pick up or discard as the mood took him. His frequent visits abroad gave him the opportunity to indulge his need for other women; it was as if he required a whole harem to support an ego that was receding along with his hairline.

Dora continued in frequent attendance even though Melanie was now at infant school, and life had taken on the sort of humdrum normality that was supposed to soothe. It did not soothe Kate, though. She found herself longing for things she couldn’t even name, intangible things that were probably connected with a freedom she did not dare to steal. If she left Geoff, she would be universally condemned, and she had not yet reached the stage of maturity – or would it be desperation? – that might lead her to dissolve her lifeless marriage.

School became the only place where she felt real and required. In her class, there were several children of great promise, infants whose parents, like her own mother, had slaved for years in factories just to give their offspring ‘a decent start’. Kate’s progress in Class One did not go unnoticed, and when Mr Partridge suffered a stroke which left him unable to teach, she was invited to apply for his position. No-one else in the school seemed to be interested in the deputy-headship, so the job was hers after an interview at which she was the sole applicant. Miss Ashe shook her hand firmly. ‘We shall do very well, you and I, Mrs Saunders. Your ideas are progressive and you will keep me on my toes.’

‘Thank you. For the chance and for having faith in me.’

‘You’re a good teacher. How do you think you’ll like the change from infants to juniors?’

Kate smiled sadly. ‘Funnily enough, I’ll miss the little ones. Strange, because I’m not very good with my own five-year-old.’

‘Typical, I’m afraid. Good teachers do not necessarily make good mothers. My own life has been childless, of course, so I don’t know how I would have coped with motherhood.’

‘I don’t get the chance. My mother-in-law is there at weekends, too, now. And Geoff is talking about buying a new house in Edgeford, a house with a bit of land for his mother to have a separate flat on our property.’

‘Oh, dear. Will that be a very sore trial?’

‘It will indeed.’

‘Hmm.’ Miss Ashe tapped a toe against the rug in front of her desk. ‘Get rid of her, my dear.’

‘Easier said than done. My husband is very attached to his mother.’

The headmistress inhaled deeply. ‘Listen to me. There comes a time for all these things to be put into perspective. You are his wife, Mrs Saunders. Your wellbeing should be of paramount importance to him. From little things you’ve said over the years, I gather that the senior Mrs Saunders is a bad influence on your daughter. Explain this to . . . what’s his name?’

‘Geoff.’

‘Explain it to him. Surely he will see reason?’

‘No. No, he won’t.’

‘Too late for him, is it? Oh dear, when I think of my own poor mother . . .’ her voice tailed away to a whisper.

‘Pardon?’

‘She used to say to me, “Leave me, Celia. Leave me before it’s too late, before you turn into a Cinderella”, the number of times she said that. She was a truly unselfish woman. Always matchmaking, always looking for a man for me to marry. She didn’t want me fastened to her, you see. That’s a proper mother.’

‘But you stayed.’

‘Because I never met the right man. And because I loved her. I still miss her dreadfully.’

‘Are you lonely, Miss Ashe?’

The older woman stared unseeing through the window, her eyes misting with unshed tears. ‘Mrs Saunders, we are all lonely in the final analysis. We come into the world alone and we leave it in the same condition. I am no lonelier than you are, my dear.’

Kate looked at the sad spinster she had known for over five years. A funny old thing, everyone thought. Not quite the full shilling because she’d never married. Who could know about life without being married? She was strange to look at, yes. She still wore her hair shoulder-length like a young girl, still moved as if she were in her twenties or thirties. But Miss Ashe was the full shilling, Kate knew that now. ‘In the final analysis, we are all alone.’ Kate would remember this woman’s words for the rest of her life.

‘Back to business,’ snapped Miss Ashe, as if deliberately pulling herself together. ‘You will take responsibility for playtime rotas, dinner registers, teachers’ signing in and out book, the nurses’ visits and any dinner time supervision that might be required. Timetables and schemes of work will be organized by both of us in conjunction with each separate member of staff. You’ll get some ribbing because of your position and your youth. Get that staffroom sorted out. Now that the . . . the liaison between . . . well . . .’ She coughed. ‘The barrier to progress has been removed, Mrs Saunders. I know that you are simply dying to help upstairs with the less able, and there is now nothing to stop you offering such assistance. Persevere. Against all adversity.’

‘I shall.’

‘I know that. Why do you think I persuaded the board not to advertise? I knew I wanted you right from the start, since poor Mr Partridge became ill. So, onward ever onward, eh?’

‘That’s right, Miss Ashe.’

‘And don’t be a stranger. Any problems – familial or educational – just come to me. And I’d love you to visit me some evening or weekend. We can do a lot of planning once we get into a pair of comfortable chairs with a sherry in our hands.’

Kate grinned broadly. ‘Sounds just my cup of tea.’

‘You prefer tea?’

‘Not really.’

‘Good. A sherry or a fine port blurs the edges of a grim day, Mrs Saunders. Goodbye now. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Maureen was waiting by her car in the street. ‘Hello, boss.’

‘Don’t start.’

‘Can I open the door for you, boss?’

‘I’ll batter you in a minute.’

‘Isn’t life going to be hard now? You’ll be closeted with old Spaniel face every other day, staying behind for meetings and looking into her soulful doggy eyes.’

‘She’s OK.’

‘And can we still be friends? I mean, how are you going to tell me off if I don’t do a good job? You’ll laugh.’

‘I won’t. And anyway, you do a good job. Get in the car and drive.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

As Maureen climbed into the car, Kate noticed a young man hovering by the side door of the school. There was something familiar about him, she had seen him at parents’ evenings, hadn’t she? He looked so sad and lost, while his clothes appeared to have been thrown on in haphazard fashion – coat unbuttoned, tie hanging loose from a creased collar, shoes scuffed and unpolished. He was an attractive man with gentle blue eyes and soft light brown hair. She took a step towards him as his name suddenly dropped into her mind. ‘Mr Collins?’

He stared at her as if from a great distance. ‘Pardon?’

‘You’re Mr Collins, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. Yes, I am. Are you Rosie’s new teacher?’

‘That’s right. I took over from Mr Partridge yesterday. Did you want to see me? Is there a problem?’

He shuffled about for a moment or two, eyes downcast, head shaking slowly from side to side. ‘She’s . . . in hospital.’

Kate waited for a while, but no more was forthcoming. ‘Is it anything serious?’ she asked.

He cleared his throat. ‘It’s . . . er . . . something to do with her blood.’

‘I see.’ She waited again. ‘Are you her father?’

He drew a grubby hand across his eyes. ‘Our parents are dead. I’m her brother. She’ll . . . she’ll be back at school, Mrs . . . er . . .’

‘Saunders. Kate Saunders.’

‘Right. Yes.’ Sad eyes were slowly raised until they met Kate’s questioning gaze. ‘Look after her.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Don’t tell any of the other teachers. I want her life to be as normal as possible. She . . . isn’t going to make it. She’ll get better for a while, but she’s got . . . it’s leukaemia, I think. Be kind to her. Just be kind to my little Rosie.’

Her breath was caught in her dry throat. ‘I will. I most certainly will. And I won’t tell anyone. Wait! Please? Is there anything I can . . . ?’

But he was already walking away, leaving Kate staring at his sloping back. He stumbled along like an old man, though he was obviously only in his twenties.

Kate climbed into the car.

‘What did he want?’ asked Maureen.

‘Not much. Just asking about Rosie’s progress.’

‘Hmmph. He looked a mess. He’s a teacher, you know. Usually very smart and up to the minute.’

‘Let’s go home.’

In spite of Kate’s disquiet about Rosie, they drove in comfortable silence down to Bolton and through its heart. This friendship had become valuable to both women over the years. Each now knew the other’s hopes and fears; there were few secrets between them. One of the few was Rosie . . . ‘How’s it going in there?’ asked Maureen as they stopped outside Kate’s house.

Kate shrugged. ‘The only bit of French I remember is “plus ça change, plus c’est la meme chose”. It’s true. Things change while remaining the same.’ Except for Rosie Collins. Things could only get worse for that poor kiddy.