Wicked! (90 page)

‘Lady Belvedon, sorry about little Dick, is he OK? Nasty piece of work that Xav Campbell-Black, takes after his dad more than you would think.’

It was Stancombe. Anthea thought of his handsome, sensual face, his dark devouring eyes and his billions.

‘Wondered if we could go out for a meal this week.’

‘I must be there for my Dicky, but he should be back at Bagley by Wednesday. What about Wednesday evening?’

‘Perfect. To avoid the tabloids, as you’re such a high profile lady, why not come to my place?’

Life was full of surprises. Lady Belvedon gave Stancombe the best blow job he’d ever had.

Things were also looking up for Dicky. He received a signed football shirt and a get-well card from David Beckham, who was a friend of Rupert, and if Dicky and a friend would like to watch a Real Madrid match one Saturday, Rupert’s helicopter was also at their disposal. Dicky definitely thought he’d live.

Xav, who’d gone into rehab, wasn’t sure.

‘Perhaps he’ll meet Feral’s mother in there,’ said Bianca wistfully.

Such bad publicity for Rupert and Bagley was not good for Jupiter’s New Reform Party and he had the temerity to tell Rupert so.

‘You’re chairman of his governors, why don’t you tell Hengist to spend more time there?’ Rupert had howled back and wandered off to Venturer to watch a recording of
Buffers
.

Here he had found his father, as one of this week’s panel, downing large whiskies in the green room.

General Broadstairs, the Lord Lieutenant and a governor of Bagley, was also on the programme, which resulted in lots of apoplexy and cries of: ‘I couldn’t agree less.’

Fortunately the contestants were too old to storm very fast off the set and the Brigadier kept the whole thing under excellent control.

Afterwards Rupert had a drink in the bar with the Brigadier, who said he was thinking of asking Ian Cartwright on the programme, what did Rupert think?

‘Bit young, isn’t he?’

‘Sound tank man, read a few books.’ Then, after a pause: ‘Might get him to bring young Paris with him. I might bring young Feral too. Fun for them to see the inside of a studio, still fascinated by it myself. Think the two boys miss each other.’

The Brigadier longed to tackle Rupert about calling Feral a ‘black bastard’. Feral was still so miserable about Bianca, but Rupert was after all the Brigadier’s boss, paying him a splendid salary, so he turned to the more neutral subject of Ian Cartwright and then realized Rupert hadn’t taken in a word.

‘Sorry about Xavier. Couldn’t have been the only one. Dicky’s small but he’s a wiry little chap. Strong mentally too, refusing to shop anyone, like your Xav won’t. Where’s Xav now?’

‘In rehab. Terrible that one doesn’t see what’s going on under one’s nose. Christ knows what we do with him once he’s dried out.’

Rupert’s despondency was as unusual as it was touching.

‘Why not send him to Larks?’ suggested the Brigadier. ‘Janna Curtis is a genius with disturbed children. The classes are going to be tiny, might get some GCSEs.’

‘God in heaven,’ cried Rupert in horror, ‘it’d make him ten times worse.’

‘Christian Woodford suggested we send Xav to Larks,’ he told Taggie when he got home. ‘Of all the bloody silly ideas. “Do you want to finish him off completely?” I said.’

90

Meanwhile, over at Larks, Janna was heroically forcing herself not to betray her heartbreak over Hengist and having a mad scramble to get Appletree ready in time. She was still searching for a maths master when Mike Pitts called and, having asked for a meeting, rolled up clear-skinned, bright-eyed, with no wine and food stains all over his clothes and asked if he could have his old job back.

‘I haven’t touched a drop for two months. I so much admire what you’ve done and I’d like to see my students through to the end.’

Janna leapt up and hugged him, realizing how much paunch and flab he’d lost and how his shakes were from nerves rather than booze – and what courage had been needed to approach her.

‘Come back immediately. That is the best news in months,’ she cried and, glancing at her watch, added, ‘It’s nearly six, let’s have a vast drink to celebrate.’ Then, realizing what she’d said, she screamed with horrified laughter. ‘Oh God, sorry, at least we can have a cup of tea and a piece of lardy-cake my auntie sent me from Yorkshire.

‘I’m desperate for a maths teacher, and I so need your experience,’ she went on, pointing to a rough timetable on the wall as she switched on the kettle. ‘I hope it’ll work. With only forty-odd children, no one need do more than two and a half days a week. So many of your friends are still here: Skunk, Mr Mates, Basket, Cambola, Mags, darling Sophy Belvedon and Gloria. Lily Hamilton, who speaks masses of languages, is helping out Mags. Brigadier Woodford, who’s madly in love with Lily and taught at the Staff College, is tackling history. Wally’s going to lend a hand in D and T.’

‘What about IT?’ asked Mike, mouth watering as Janna cut off two big slices of lardy-cake and drenched them in ruby-red plum jam.

‘Rowan’s very sweetly staying on to teach it and look after me; she also confided that anything was better than staying at home full time looking after Meagan and Scarlet.’

Mike knew the feeling. For a second, like a butterfly on his upper lip, his ebony moustache quivered. What he didn’t tell Janna was the utter nightmare of the last months. No one had wanted to employ him, except Poppet for maths coaching which had come to nothing. His wife had never stopped complaining about having him under her feet, as though he were lying permanently on the kitchen floor singing and waving a whisky bottle, which had not been far from the truth until he forced himself on to the wagon. He felt giddy with relief.

‘The place looks superb,’ he said, looking round. ‘I like all these fawns and sand colours – very soothing.’

‘We thought we’d give primary colours a miss, make the children feel it was more like a college.’ Janna poured out Mike’s tea, remembering the two sugars. ‘The only exception is the hall which doubles up as a theatre. Graffi’s painted the ceiling sky blue, and covered it in stars, suns and angels, who all have faces like Milly Walton.’

Janna winced, thinking of Milly’s mother.

‘I’m right glad to see you, Mike.’

‘You’ve cut your hair,’ said Mike looking at her for the first time. ‘It – er – suits you.’

‘Chally would say it’s much neater,’ said Janna acidly. ‘It takes minutes rather than hours to wash in the morning.’

In a gesture of defiance and despair after she’d found out about Hengist and Ruth, she’d rushed into Larkminster and had her shaggy red mane cut off. Now it fell from the crown in a straight hard fringe to an inch above her eyebrows and to an inch above the collar at the back – typical middle-aged head teacher hair: hideous, or rather headious. But Hengist had gone. It was her farewell to love.

Sally Brett-Taylor had popped in several times, replacing many of the dead saplings with new ones from the Bagley plantation, creating a herb garden with Wally and planting plenty of bulbs, so ‘we’ll have lots to cheer us up in the Hilary Term.’

Each time she arrived, Janna felt glad she and Hengist were over but it didn’t lessen her helpless longing.

With Mike on board, everything seemed to be falling into place. Wally hated the sand colours: too much like Iraq where his son was still serving, but he’d applied them with his usual expertise. Only the blue board outside the school had been left empty so the children could think up their own name. Thank God, now Janna was her own mistress, she could call the shots and start term when she chose – several days after bloody Bagley.

Thank God too for Debbie, who would love working in such a shiny new modern kitchen and who had already been freezing curries and pies.

But just a few days before term began, Debbie had sidled into Janna’s office with a piece of shortbread for Partner, who immediately leapt on to her knee. Then, eyes cast down, she muttered, ‘I’m so sorry, but I won’t be staying on at Larks after all.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘I’m going to work for S and C – or more precisely for Ashton Douglas.’

‘You can’t. He’s a monster!’

Debbie’s face went dead.

‘I take as I find. He’s always been very courteous and pleasant. It’ll be nice cooking for one gentleman, dinner parties and things.’ Her face softened. ‘I’ve loved working for you, Janna, and little Partner.’ She stroked his ginger forehead. ‘But there’s been a lot of sadness and I’m tired. Forty kids and their teachers is a lot with just me, Moll and Marge. Mr Douglas has got such a lovely quiet house in the Close with a nice top floor for me, Wayne and Brad. And he’s promised to get them into the choir school, just two minutes away.’

Wow, thought Janna, Ashton has pulled out the stops.

She felt like the final runner in the relay race, who reaches out for the baton and finds it bashing her over the head.

‘I can’t bear it,’ she wailed. ‘I don’t mean to rubbish Ashton, but he’s been no friend to Larks. I’ll try and put up your wages.’

‘Thanks all the same, but my mind’s made up.’

Where do I find Larks’s answer to Nigella Lawson in twenty-four hours, thought Janna.

Bloody Debbie to walk out without notice. Even bloodier Ashton. Then she flipped and sent him an email.

‘How dare you poach my cook, you conniving shit. Poaching means dropping into boiling water, so don’t you dare hurt or bully Debbie, or I’ll cut off your goolies. Janna Curtis’.

The bastard, it was the dirtiest trick he could have played. No army could march on unfilled stomachs.

‘Who’s going to keep back the best bits of chicken for you?’ she asked Partner.

It was dark outside; the wind had risen. The trees were doing aerobics, swaying and tossing their branches from side to side. It was too late to start ringing catering agencies. Then she saw lights. Was it Ashton come to fire her? But Partner, having jumped on the sofa to check the window, first wagged his tail then snuffled madly under the door. Definitely not Ashton. Next moment, Emlyn barged in. He was sweating and wearing a dark blue tracksuit.

‘Ashton’s poached Debbie,’ cried Janna.

‘I know.’ Emlyn waved an email at her. ‘You pressed the wrong button.’

‘Ashton deserved it, the bastard. He bribed her with a massive salary and places in the choir school for Brad and Wayne, who both sing like crows with laryngitis. Lemme get at that computer.’ Plonking herself down, Janna was about to fire off her rocket to the intended target.

‘Pack it in,’ snapped Emlyn, ‘or you’ll get sued for libel and suspended before term begins. Debbie’ll come back when she realizes what a shit he is. I’m sorry, lovely.’ Then he stopped in his tracks. ‘Kerist, what have you done to your lovely hair?’

‘I know, it’s horrible,’ said Janna despairingly. ‘But as I’m clearly not a sex object any more, I’m putting all my energies into looking like a head.’

Emlyn smiled ruefully. ‘You haven’t got the big ass and dinner-lady arms to go with it, angel.’

In the past, Janna had been able to soften and hide the effects of her exhaustion behind long hair and a floppy fringe, but the hard new style exposed the dark circles and the added lines, leaving her with the face of a novice monk unsure of his vocation.

Crossing the room, Emlyn took her in his arms, his big hands ruffling the short crop, then coming to rest on an expanse of bare neck, which reminded him agonizingly of Oriana. But the cut that enhanced Oriana’s flawless features did nothing for Janna.

‘It’ll be easier to keep,’ she mumbled into his warm, comforting chest. ‘Keep men away, I mean. My love life is over.’

‘Bollocks. Ask Sally for some Gro-more. It’ll be rippling over your shoulders in a month or two. Mind you’ – he squinted down at her – ‘you’ll appeal to a completely different market now, and have Artie, Theo, Biffo and Joan after you – even Ashton might start pressing his pale grey suit.’

‘Yuk,’ shuddered Janna, but she started laughing.

It was nice holding her in his arms, reflected Emlyn. Reluctantly, he released her.

‘I must go, I’m supposed to be in a staff meeting. It all looks great.’ He admired the big collage Janna had made from photographs of every member of the new year Eleven and their teachers.

‘I’ll have to remove Debbie’s photo,’ sighed Janna. ‘Where the hell am I going to find another cook, and how do I know if any of the children will turn up on the first day?’

‘Turn it into a party,’ said Emlyn.

And so Janna did – dispatching every child an invitation to ‘A launching party at Appletree House to welcome Larks Year Eleven. Buffet 12.30 onwards, no uniform to be worn.’

On the following Monday, the staff settled in, rejoicing over the labs, the IT suite, the light airy classrooms, the big windows that didn’t rattle, and the roof which didn’t leak despite a downpour outside. They particularly liked the new staffroom, with its circle of comfortable chairs, coffee percolator, fridge, bar, dishwasher and a television with Sky. Randal had done them proud.

On the Tuesday from midday onwards, the children began to drift in. Making the most of the warm September sunshine, many of the girls showed off bare shoulders and midriffs, their flares sweeping the floor. Both sexes, however, looked edgy. Were they going to be the centre of too much teacher attention, drawn into an exam factory and sweatshop?