The Secretary Read online

  I went over to the desk at the front. Miss Gleason had some kind of reward chart on the wall behind it and a pile of gold stickers in the shape of stars were on her desk. I picked one of them up. Sam had told me about the gold stars. They were big news. I looked at his name on the chart, how many stars he had compared to his classmates. He was woefully behind.

  She had a mug with ‘best teacher’ written on and a file full of what looked like lesson plans and teaching notes. At the side of it was a red pen with a silly cluster of feathers on the top. This was the pen she used to mark the work. I’d seen it in Sam’s maths book, all that ticking and crossing. The underlining she’d done over his poor working out, the numbers that he sometimes still put down back to front. Those snippy little comments: ‘Must try harder Sam!’ I put my finger to the nib and drew a red dot on my finger tip.

  And taped to the desk, she had a list of everyone in the class and their birthday, so she’d know when to make the class sing. When to give what child attention. I’d typed that up for her. I did it for all the teachers so they’d look good to the kids. I took a moment before going to the back of the classroom where the trays were.

  I found Sam’s tray and had a quick look through the stuff inside. There were some drawings – animals, roller coasters, the usual. A couple of test papers in which he’d done OK, those annoying big red underlines and another snippy comment, ‘Good try’. Some spelling work, handwriting practice and I took a moment over his spidery letters. His carefully drawn words, I knew he’d have done them with his tongue sticking out, his fingers tightly wound around the pencil, and then I placed the stolen books on top and closed his tray.

  I’d see Miss Gleason, Lisa, when Sam was in breakfast club, before the day started. I’d catch her as soon as she arrived. I’d tell her about it all, confess that he’d brought the books home, tell her how worried he was. I’d ask her to give him a gold star, not for bringing his work home but for caring about it so much. He was so anxious to do well. If Lisa spoke to him, reassured him and told him to come to her if he needed any help rather than stuffing his maths book up his jumper, then gave him a gold star because he was trying so hard, it might just work towards him feeling secure in the class. It might help with all the other stuff.

  I switched off the lights and could make out distant voices as I walked back to my office. People were arriving already.

  ‘It’s all to do with the strategy,’ I could hear Gary telling Sam. ‘Carlisle United have a long, firm reputation and you can’t just—’

  ‘Blue Army!’ I sang as I went in and Gary smiled.

  ‘Your mum gets it,’ he said, ‘she knows.’

  ‘Thanks for the coffee.’ I went over to my desk. ‘OK if I bring those cakes into school on the Friday, give them to you then?’

  ‘Perfect.’ Gary smiled broadly. ‘I could kiss your mother sometimes,’ he told Sam, ruffling his hair. ‘She’s the best thing about this godforsaken school.’

  ‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ I told him. ‘Now I think it’s time we got you,’ I said, turning to Sam, ‘into breakfast club, so I can get on with my work.’

  Before we got to the hall I crouched down to Sam so I was level with his face.

  ‘All done,’ I told him, ‘back in your tray. No one knows.’

  He took a moment and I nodded. Reassuring him. He smiled hesitantly, a small dimple showing in his left cheek, and I could see him tentatively relax, his shoulders drop a little. ‘Love you, Mum,’ he whispered, and I hugged him tightly. Squeezed his shoulders, breathed in the scent of him and held his small body against mine.

  ‘By the end of today,’ I said into his hair, ‘it will all be sorted. Promise.’

  ‘Promise?’

  I cupped his cheeks in my hands and kissed his forehead.

  ‘Promise,’ I told him. I watched him walk along the hall, find a space at one of the tables and pick up a book. I stayed a moment, making sure he was settled, then waved to Kim, the breakfast club supervisor. I turned to go back to my office, putting my hands in my pockets as I went. I felt something sharp suddenly stab me and grabbed the offending object.

  It was the red feather pen from Miss Gleason’s classroom. I’d taken it without realising. The silly feathers sticking up, the bright red barrel in my hand, a streak of ink along my finger. I took a step towards her classroom, then stopped.

  The thought of her without it made me pause. I put it back in my pocket. She’d have to do all her crossing and snippy comments in another colour for today.

  THREE

  You wouldn’t think a primary school reception area would be so busy, but that morning they were queuing out the door. Two were waiting for me when I got back from dropping Sam off at breakfast club, and in the three quarters of an hour I had before my job officially began I hadn’t been able to leave once. There had been a steady stream of parents and grandparents.

  My office directly faces the entrance to the school, and there’s a small area in front where people (mostly parents) congregate. Mr Cartwright, John, the head of the school and my boss, has his office to the right, hidden away behind a small seating area and a large Swiss cheese plant. He’d raised his eyebrows as he entered, shuffled his large body through the throng of people with heavy breaths, then shut his door and that was it. He wouldn’t come out again until he had to, wouldn’t see a single parent without an appointment. Unlike me, he wasn’t trapped behind a glass partition that’s never closed and constantly available.

  There’s a slight chip in the glass of that partition, right at my eyeline, and a small silver bell is fixed to the desk beside the signing in book. Whoever fitted that bell has a sadistic sense of humour. It’s a silver one, the type mostly seen in hotels, and people tended to ring it, repeatedly, even when they could see me. It was worse if a child got hold of it.

  Once, an elderly man rang it and shouted, ‘Two fish and chips, one with gravy’, and since then I’ve never been able to shrug off the feeling of my office being like a kitchen. Like I’m taking orders, peeking out of the cubby hole and everyone’s crowding in, waiting to be fed.

  ‘The thing is,’ the woman in front of me went on, ‘that the supermarket ones don’t have the school emblem on, and that should be a priority.’ She was a fat little thing and sounded slightly asthmatic, the grandparent of some child in reception, and this was her third time blocking the reception area that week.

  The man queuing behind her waved an envelope at me, coins rattled inside and I reached out. He passed it over the top of her head, me reaching awkwardly so as not to knock off her glasses, but she didn’t pause for breath.

  ‘What should be a priority is the fit,’ she announced, ‘and the durability.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he mouthed and went to leave. I glanced at the envelope, it was blank, no child’s name, no class.

  ‘Wait … ’ I called after him, but it was too late, he’d gone.

  ‘And,’ the woman went on, ‘parents deserve the best for their children. And children deserve to be comfortable.’

  It was at this point that I remembered I’d not yet eaten breakfast. My stomach churned, a familiar pang of hunger, and I looked to my bag where I’d optimistically packed a banana. For the second time that week I wished I’d eaten the cereal I’d bought for Sam instead of thinking I could manage on fruit.

  ‘Ruth?’ It was Linda, the year six teacher. She’d entered the office from the door behind me that led directly into the school. She saw the grandparent at the hatch and almost about turned.

  ‘Letters for the library system are just there,’ I pointed to the shelf and she took them gratefully.

  ‘You’re a star,’ she said before leaving. ‘I owe you a drink.’

  ‘You owe me more than one,’ I said, but she’d already gone and the grandparent was still talking at me. She was rummaging in her bag now and I knew what was coming.

  ‘Please,’ I began but it was no good, she was pulling out the polo top, the school emblem sewed on the l
eft breast.

  ‘See?’ she said thrusting it towards the glass partition, ‘expertly done and not much more expensive than those in the supermarket.’

  I took a moment.

  ‘They’re four times as expensive as those in the supermarket,’ I told her gently, ‘but I have shown it to Mr Cartwright, and if we think you can go on the official list he’ll be in touch.’

  I’d told her as much yesterday. She looked down at the polo shirt and ran her finger across the purple emblem. I got an image of her sitting by her sewing machine, attaching the school logo to countless white polo shirts, the idea of setting herself up as a uniform supplier. It was a ridiculous idea; the school could only recommend establishments that were approved by the governors and Lord knows who else. Something I’d told her the first time she visited but she seemed to have forgotten that information, thinking that if she showed me or someone her work, we’d change our minds. There were two uniform suppliers currently on the school website and both were professional companies, reasonably priced and able to deal with a large demand. Not a lone grandparent with a sewing machine and few extra hours in the evening.

  ‘Oh, give it here,’ I told her quickly, and she looked up. ‘I’ll take this one into him and see if he can’t show it to the governors, or whoever decides these things. Maybe they’ll put you on the list as an independent set-up.’

  Her face lit up, she went to say something but was stopped by a loud ring. We all froze, mid-pose. The school bell had that effect.

  It was the first ring, five minutes and lessons would start. This was the cue for the children to line up in the playground, for the saying goodbye to parents, for the gathering of books and bags and lunch boxes, and it meant I only had five minutes in which to grab Miss Gleason. To tell her about the stolen homework, about how Sam was feeling, about her giving him a few of those gold stars.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, ‘but I have to go. Just leave it there.’ The grandparent nodded and began pushing the polo shirt through the glass partition.

  ‘Thank you,’ she was saying, ‘you won’t regret it, I work far better than any of those big companies.’

  The woman behind went to protest and waved an envelope. I felt for her, she’d been waiting patiently for ten minutes.

  ‘Just leave it there,’ I told her and pointed to the area beside the bell. ‘Please,’ I told the rest of them, ‘any payments just leave them on my desk and if there’s anything urgent … ’ I waved in the general area, ‘I won’t be long.’

  I ducked out of the door ready to head down the corridor but was stopped by the breakfast club. They were filing down past the hallway, dropping off children into the classrooms as they went, Sam among them. If he saw me he’d realise that I’d not spoken to his teacher yet and that couldn’t happen. My only chance was to go outside and get to Miss Gleason’s classroom by way of the infant playground, through the main entrance. I could catch her before the majority of the children came in, it would only take a moment.

  I hurried past the queue of parents and children who were all now trying to get out themselves and went onto the street, the quickest way to get to the lower end of the school. The sun was bright, just at that place where it’s blinding, reflecting off the pavement and putting a white sheen over everything. I put my hand up to shade my eyes. There was a slight panic in the air, children running into school, parents shouting instructions and as I went past his car, I didn’t think much of it, my mind too full of Sam, Miss Gleason and the gold stars.

  It was parked on the double yellows outside the junior entrance, forcing parents and children to walk in the gutter. I went to scurry around it when the door opened and there he was. No more than a few yards in front of me, blocking my way and the sunlight from my eyes.

  I felt my jaw slacken.

  I imagine I must have looked like a cartoon character, chin hitting the floor, eyes on stalks, because that’s exactly how I felt. I was aware of people rushing past me, of my heart beating wildly, but I couldn’t move. He was helping a young girl out of the back seat. I watched as a pretty little thing came out, curly long hair, deep brown eyes, must’ve been about nine, and then another one came scrambling out behind her. Younger, maybe seven or so.

  ‘Bye, Daddy!’ she shouted to him, and a hot flush of adrenalin shot up through my torso.

  He turned to a well-dressed woman who’d got out of the passenger seat and was handing out school bags and lunch boxes. She was older than me, early forties, with a face full of make-up and expensive jewellery. She looked familiar, like I should know her.

  She raised her head to him and he kissed her on the lips. My hand went to my throat as he did so, my breath catching.

  ‘See you later,’ he said, pulling away from her.

  ‘Don’t be late.’ There was a warning in her voice. ‘Book club’s at six.’

  He gave a distracted nod. ‘Be good!’ he shouted to the girls as they walked away from him. ‘Be good for your mum until I get home.’ And then, with his car door open, as his wife and children disappeared into the playground, he sensed me.

  Our eyes met.

  It was definitely him.

  He was wearing a grey suit, well-tailored, expensive looking, and his hair, which had been short when I last saw him, was longer, a floppy fringe against his forehead. My heart pounded, a flush went up through my body. The last time I’d seen him, I’d been naked. I’d been sweating and I’d been drunk.

  He tilted his head. I could see his mind working as he remembered who I was. Who I was to him. I slowly went forward, my hand nervously fiddling at my collar. I didn’t know how to behave; I felt as if the world had tilted on its axis.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, and he gave me a vague smile. ‘Ruth,’ I prompted, ‘it’s Ruth.’ I waited a moment, and then, ‘Quibeck Gym? Valentine’s dinner?’

  There was a moment before a look of complete horror passed over his features.

  His eyes went round as his brain registered who I was and slotted me back into his past. I saw his body recoil a little, his eyes flick towards where his wife and children had just gone. A fleeting moment of terror.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, and gave a little laugh, ‘it’s you.’ He shifted nervously, moving his weight from one foot to the other until he was hiding behind his car door. ‘Hello.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘You’re married?’ I asked him.

  He held up his hands, palms facing me. Car keys dangling from his thumb.

  ‘You’ve got children?’

  He waved his hands and there was a jangle of the keys. His eyes flitted from me to the school gates and then back again.

  ‘February, wasn’t it?’ he asked with a small laugh, empty of humour. He rubbed his hand along his chin. ‘God, I was hammered that night.’

  ‘You told me you were single –’ I was close enough now to see the fear in his eyes ‘– but you’ve got children here? Two girls? You said those things to me, we did those things, but you had children and a wife at home?’

  For a second, he looked ashamed. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it.

  ‘Does she know?’ I asked him, glancing towards the junior entrance. ‘Were you on a break, was that it? Tell me you were separated when we met.’

  He followed my stare, swallowed. I saw every muscle in his throat work. ‘I wasn’t even meant to be at that dinner,’ he said, not meeting my eye. ‘Bloody hell, I was drunk that night.’ He ran his hand through his floppy fringe and looked at me. ‘We were both drunk, weren’t we?’

  He smiled then. It was the smile he’d used on me the last time we’d met. A dip of his head, a look of mischief in his eyes, and I felt sick. ‘Both out of it. Both of us completely hammered, what did we have – two? Three bottles of champagne?’ he asked conspiratorially. ‘We had a good time though, didn’t we? You enjoyed it. Don’t beat yourself up about it, you were drunk. What we did was nothing, it was just a bit of fun. Best forgotten.’

/>   A familiar rush of mortification coursed along my body. ‘A bit of fun? That night was a bit of fun?’

  He winced at the sound of my voice.

  ‘I tried calling you, but I thought I’d typed in the wrong number. I waited months for you to ring me.’

  ‘Listen –’ his voice was low ‘– that night, we were out of it. That dinner, it was terrible, full of sad desperate types on Valentine’s.’ He paused. ‘As I remember you enjoyed it quite a lot. We both had a good time. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’ He gave a curt nod, as if the matter were over.

  ‘But you lied to me,’ I said. ‘You told me you never did that kind of thing either, you said you were single and you promised to call.’

  A woman was watching us. I was aware of her in my peripheral vision, but I was too preoccupied with him. How to tell him how he made me feel all those months ago? How low I’d felt that night, how confused I was when I met him. How embarrassed I was the next morning and how desperately I wanted to explain to him who I really was, to tell him that I never behaved like that, that I was a different woman to the drunk one he met that night, but he never gave me a chance.

  ‘I didn’t even like you –’ I shook my head ‘– that’s the ironic part. I didn’t even like you and yet you humiliated me.’

  He bristled slightly. ‘Have you followed me here?’ he suddenly asked. ‘Is that it? Is this some kind of Fatal Attraction shit?’

  His words hit me like a slap.