The History Room (12 page)

‘What do you mean?’ He folded his arms. ‘You think I agree with knocking women around?’

Jenny put up a hand. ‘Well, you’ve certainly all put some thought into your characters, well done.’ She raised her eyebrows at me in surprise.

After the rehearsal I stayed on to help Jenny and the fourth-years tidy away the stage blocks.

‘Come and have a drink.’ Jenny pulled the curtains over the blocks and pulled down her sleeves. Like Simon, she lived in a cottage just outside the school grounds. ‘A few of us
are absconding. Never mind the marking, let’s go and have some fun.’

‘We’re going to need it to get through all these play rehearsals.’

She shook her head. ‘I always knew it was going to be tight to put on the play before Christmas. Even with rehearsals for the main parts over the holidays. I must have been deluded.’
She yawned. ‘Sorry, I’m shattered. Simon’s definitely on for a trip to the White Oak. And Deidre. You’re not on junior prep tonight, are you?’

‘Nope. But I promised the dog a walk.’

‘Samson can come too. Nice stroll down the lane for him.’

‘I suppose so.’ One of the benefits of my newly single state: being able to decide what you want to do there and then, I thought sourly. Nobody who needed checking with. Though Hugh
was often away on duty and I’d often had to fill months of evenings by myself. But that had been different because I’d known he
would
be coming back, eventually; that he was
counting the days just as I was.

I felt it again: that sudden thump in the ribs. I wanted to go back to my apartment and curl up on the sofa, burying my head in the cushions, Samson lying beside me on the rug. I didn’t
want to gossip about the school or make plans for further excursions to Oxford for a curry. I wanted to ring my husband, talk to him, ask how he was.

‘I’d love to come,’ I told Jenny Hall, forcing myself to sound enthusiastic. ‘Just let me go and get Samson.’

‘What about you, Emily?’ Jenny was asking the girl. ‘Feel like a glass of wine?’

‘I was going to start researching costumes.’ She wound the front of her long cardigan round her fingers. ‘There’s lots to do. I was going to spend some time on the
Internet.’

‘You can do that later. Why not come to the Oak with us?’

Emily was still making excuses as I headed off through the rose garden, reminding myself that I was going to be
normal
for an evening. I saw something in the dark. And stopped.

Standing on my doorstep was my father. With him stood Cathy Jordan, the school nurse.

I halted. ‘Is someone ill?’ I felt suddenly sick. ‘Is it Clara? Or . . .?’ I shook.

‘May we come in?’ My father spoke very gently. ‘It’s not Hugh. Or your sister, don’t worry.’

Cathy put her arm around my shoulder. ‘We’d just like a quick chat, Meredith. Why don’t you let us in and I’ll put the kettle on.’

I drew back. ‘I was going to the pub. With the others.’

‘I think you need to do that some other time, Merry.’ Dad’s voice was still gentle but there was a headmasterly authority to it now. I unlocked the door and led them upstairs
to my little sitting room. Cathy disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the chink of china mugs and the rattle of teaspoons.

‘What is this?’ Had I missed an anorexic girl in one of my tutor groups? Had a parent complained about me? I racked my brain for incidents where I’d disciplined a pupil. My
blood ran cold. One of the second-years I’d sent to detention for scratching a desk with a compass point, perhaps? I ran my students’ names through my mind.

‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about the placing of that doll in Simon’s cupboard?’

‘No.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Look, I’ve checked that order. It wasn’t made from my laptop, I know that because I looked at the history of all the sites it had gone to over the last month.’

He looked puzzled.

‘It’s easily done, Dad. I could show you. The IT department could check as well.’

I remembered that he wouldn’t necessarily know what was meant by Internet ‘history’. ‘The Internet history is the list of all the websites opened during a period,’
I explained.

Cathy brought in a tray. She’d used an old china mug that had belonged to Hugh. I’d bought it for him years ago when we’d first started going out. Nobody else ever drank from
it. She gave me the mug and I stared at the cartoon dog on it. It had the loopy expression often also worn by Samson.

‘You were seen, Meredith,’ Dad said.

‘What?’

‘You were seen going into that room with the doll.’ He spoke softly. ‘The person who saw you looked through the door just as you put the reborn doll into the cupboard. They
sent me a note.’ His hand went towards his jacket pocket, where, presumably, the note rested.

I stared at him until his face broke up into indecipherable pigments and he didn’t look like my father at all.

I half expected Cathy and my father still to be in the apartment, waiting for me, when I returned from the pub. Simon walked me back up the lane and drive, despite my
protestations. I thought I’d done a good job of putting on a breezy front while we sat inside the old inn by the fire, drinking and chatting. Emily had put aside her reservations about coming
and sat in the Oak with us in near silence, nursing a glass of orange juice. Simon had been solicitous with her, trying to draw her out, asking questions about her education in New Zealand.

‘It was a bit different from Letchford,’ was as much as she’d say. ‘There are very good schools out there but mine wasn’t one of them. That’s why I’ll
have to take some A levels if I want to go to a British university.’

I hadn’t realized this was one of her ambitions. ‘We’ll help,’ I said. ‘Which subjects are you interested in?’

‘Haven’t really decided yet.’ Her eyes had stayed on her drink.

‘If it’s English, just let me know.’

‘Thanks.’ She acknowledged the offer with a nod of her head. The severe ponytail was gone this evening and her wave of hair was like a curtain over her pale eyes. I saw Simon
watching her. He had a kind heart, always sensitive to his pupils and their ups and downs. He probably saw Emily in the same light.

When we reached the door he put out an arm to prevent me from unlocking my door. ‘I’m worried about you, Cordingley.’

‘Not you too.’ I folded my arms. ‘I’m fine. I’m not behaving oddly. I’m just trying to have a life again. Like everyone keeps urging me to do.’

‘I didn’t say you were behaving oddly. You just seemed a little . . . brittle this evening, that’s all.’ He screwed up his eyes at me. ‘What’s up,
Merry?’

I felt my shoulders slump. ‘I’m being framed.’ I sounded paranoid. Daft. This whole thing was a huge fuss about a doll.

‘What?’ He moved his arm.

‘For the reborn doll stuff. My father thinks it was me who put the doll in your cupboard.’ I told him about the email. ‘And now he’s had an anonymous note telling him
someone saw me put the doll in your room.’

‘Why the hell would you do something like that?’

I shrugged. I didn’t know if Simon had been aware of my mental and emotional crash back in the summer. He’d been abroad at the time. He examined me speechlessly.

‘I’m surprised the men in white coats aren’t here for me. Dad even brought in Cathy Jordan to talk to me.’

‘I thought you liked Cathy?’

I glowered at him. ‘I do. When she’s putting cold packs on kids’ strained muscles or talking to girls who won’t eat because they want to look like twiglets. But not when
she’s making me cups of tea and murmuring soothingly.’ The wind was picking up now and it blew my hair into my eyes. I flicked it away.

‘Your father can’t seriously believe it was you.’ He spoke it as a statement. ‘It’s all a prank. I can’t believe Charles is taking it so seriously.’

‘I don’t think he was, originally. But every time the thing dies down and people start to forget, something happens to remind him.’ I hadn’t thought of this before, but
it was true. First the email. Then the ‘sighting’ of me.

‘Your father’s still mourning. He’s vulnerable. That’s probably why he’s not observing his usual objectivity about the silly doll.’ He yawned. ‘How
would you have unlocked the room anyway?’

‘I suppose I might have stolen the key from your cottage one of those nights we were playing backgammon.’

‘Nah. Not you.’ But for an instant something passed over his face. Did he doubt me? But his voice was warm when he spoke again. ‘I’d better push off. I’ve got to
plan tomorrow’s lesson on the Plantagenets.’

‘Don’t tell me that lesson’s in the morning period?’

‘First lesson.’ He grinned at my shocked face. ‘The heat is on.’

‘How can you leave your planning until the last minute like this? And go out to the pub?’ I sounded like my sister.

‘I dunno, feel the fear and all that.’ He grimaced. ‘You know what I’m like.’ But he sounded unrepentant.

‘Hopeless. But a damn good friend.’ I kissed him on the cheek and unlocked the door before I could start to blub. ‘Thanks for the support,’ I muttered, going inside. As
he moved off I heard footsteps from the other side of the garden and caught a glimpse of a slender figure. Emily. Had she been listening in to our conversation? I pushed the suspicion away.

Cathy and Dad had tidied away the tea mugs in my living room. There was no other sign that they’d been in the apartment. Perhaps they hadn’t. Perhaps I’d dreamed them up.
Perhaps I’d imagined that my father thought I was neurotic and attention-seeking. I sat on the sofa, staring at the plain white walls as though they could tell me whether I had in fact lost
my mind. Just because I didn’t remember doing those things mightn’t necessarily mean that I hadn’t done them.
Of course you didn’t bloody do them, you idiot
, the
phantom Hugh whispered in my ear. I told him to go away. It annoyed me that I could still hear his words although he’d made it so clear that he wanted nothing to do with me.

‘If you were dead I’d probably like you popping back now and then,’ I told thin air. I blinked with the shock of what I’d just said. But it was true. It would almost have
been easier for me had Hugh bled to death in the dust of Helmand Province. By now I might have been moving forward in life, instead of being stuck in limbo.

If I slept at all that night it was only to wake almost hourly to the sound of the wind blowing. I’d always hated the wind; even as a small child I’d stuffed my fingers into my ears
and screwed up my face against its raspy stroke. But I forced myself out of bed when the alarm clock shrilled and tugged on tracksuit bottoms and an old jumper for my dog walk. Samson seemed to
find the wind a stimulus, pretending he couldn’t hear my calls and didn’t understand the sound of the whistle. He ran in excitement after scurrying leaves, barking at them. His nose
went down and he accelerated. He’d picked up a rabbit scent and was heading through the woods towards the fence marking the school’s boundary with the road. As I sprinted after him I
could hear the traffic humming along. Seven a.m. Commuters already making for the railway station, intent on making good time, not paying attention to the railings at the side of the road, railings
a leggy dog could jump in the thrill of a chase.

‘Samson!’ Not as much as the twitching of an ear from the dog in response. He reached the fence and for a moment I thought he was going to leap over it into the traffic. I screamed
at him again. But he slammed down his hind legs and lifted his front quarters to peer over the fence, tail wagging. As I reached him I saw that he was staring at a small red car parked in a field
entrance on the other side of the road. A car in which Emily Fleming was sitting with the driver, whose back was turned to me. The car was similar enough in size and appearance for a dog to have
mistaken it for Hugh’s red Mini Cooper, now shut up in a garage. Emily turned as I shouted and a flush of annoyance covered her face. She said something to her companion. The other figure
turned towards her and away from me so I didn’t get a close glimpse of whoever it was.

I snapped the lead onto Samson’s collar and dragged him off the fence as the car’s engine started up. We walked away as I muttered reprimands at him. No reason at all why Emily
shouldn’t be up and about and meeting a friend so early in the morning. But no reason for her to glare at me like that. Samson hadn’t done anything more than show excitement at seeing
her. Perhaps she disliked dogs, I reasoned with myself. Perhaps she hadn’t recognized me in my sloppy outdoor clothes. I shouldn’t be so touchy.

I dragged Samson home, showered and changed for school. Bad start to the morning. I gave myself a shake. This would be one of my together days. If I heard the voice of my absent husband I would
deny it access to my thoughts. By now Dad would have had time to reflect on my vehement denial of involvement in the doll business. He must know I’d recovered. I provided evidence of my
sanity every time I stood in front of the classroom. You can’t fool a group of teenagers. The GCSE results of the class I’d taken over last spring had been good. Perhaps he’d also
reflect on his own disproportionate response to this whole episode. Maybe Cathy needed to give
him
the tea and talk.

This was my busiest day of the week. No time for mulling. We had another rehearsal this afternoon. I was going to be a composed and focused teacher if it killed me.

I didn’t see my father during the working day. It wasn’t his day for taking assembly and I imagined him in his office: ringing parents, speaking to the heads of the feeder schools
for Letchford and setting up open days, briefing the chair of governors. All those things he regarded as having nothing to do with the business of education. And he’d be doing all this
without my mother. He couldn’t really think I’d had a part in this silly doll stuff. He was distracted, grieving, as Simon had said.

I reached the gym for the afternoon’s rehearsal a little ahead of time, in keeping with my new approach to life. My father’s accusations had benefited me in one way: they’d
given me a push forwards.

Two figures sat together on the stage blocks. Emily and Olivia. They looked up as I came in and something about the simultaneous raising of their heads made them look somehow in cahoots.
‘I’d love to see New Zealand,’ Olivia was saying. ‘Did you always live over there?’