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“You have no idea of the damage you’re doing,” I said before I could even stop myself.
I didn’t recognise my voice. It was harsh and guttural, but the tiny part of my brain that was still present realised that I preferred it to my normal tone.
The young man turned back, and now he looked me up and down. I knew what he saw, and his thoughts were portrayed on his face. Finally he met my eyes, and his lip curled in a sneer.
“Who asked you? Miserable old bag.”
I screamed, but only in my head.
Chapter Forty-Four
The school fete rushed towards us at a headlong gallop. The week had simply sped by, and I felt a certain amount of trepidation as I got washed and dressed that Saturday morning.
Tuesday’s choir rehearsal had been better. Not brilliant, but better. I’d fixed them all with a headteachery look – picked up from Petra without even noticing – and told them, “This needs to be perfect on Saturday, ladies. One last push to the weekend and then we’re done until the autumn term, okay?”
They’d mumbled an agreement and the rehearsal had ended, but I could feel that something was off. Perhaps they were picking up on the tension between Petra and I. It was certainly showing no signs of abating.
Just then, Petra appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. She was still in her robe, and she was holding a mug of coffee.
“You still in here?” She frowned. “I need to have a shower.”
“I’m just finishing,” I said. “And it’s not been that long.”
“Hmph. Any length of time is too long today. There’s so much to do.”
She’d disappeared, and I could do nothing but roll my eyes. Our paths crossed on the stairs, but no more words were exchanged between us until, half an hour later, Petra called down the stairs, “Are you ready to go?”
We met at the bottom of the stairs, and faced each other. She was wearing red – always her best colour, and today was no exception – and had painted her lips to match, making her look positively Parisian. I, on the other hand, had on my standard plaid shirt and smart-looking jeans. Like a stereotypical lesbian.
“You look good,” I said after an awkward silence.
“You too,” she replied evenly.
As we left the house for the short walk down to the school, I could almost see the glaze of ‘headteacher’ pour across her. While I secured everything we needed in the trolley, she locked the front door, and when she turned back to face me, she was her old self.
“Come on then, my lady, allons-y,” she chirped, gallantly extending her hand out to me. I took it, a little shiver going up my arm at the contact, biting back the uncharacteristic snap that her term of endearment had sparked within me. It’s what she’s always called you now and again, I scolded myself. Get a grip. And be happy that she’s being so effusive, even if it is only while we’re in public.
On the way down, the streets were surprisingly quiet, everyone probably still asleep. It was just gone eight o’clock on a Saturday morning, after all. Our stuff rattled vigorously in the trolley as it bounced over the uneven road, and Petra removed her water bottle from it halfway down the hill.
“I can just see it spilling everywhere,” she grumbled, much more like the crotchety woman with whom I was familiar these days. The moment passed, though, and when she straightened up from her crouch again it was with a beam, and a wave as she greeted a parent.
The first thing I did when we got to the school was haul the piano from the music cupboard. It had been inexplicably buried underneath boxes of musical detritus, and I worked up quite a sweat clearing the way for it. The caretaker helped me roll it outside into the playground and, with a complex system of wiring, plug it in next to where the stage would be set up. Then I left the folder of music in the shade of the piano, made sure the outside gates were still locked, then returned inside to find Petra.
I had an inkling that she would be in Victoria’s office again (which of course was her office at the moment) and I was correct. She was sitting at the desk, listening to someone on the phone and twirling a pen in her fingers absently. When she saw me edge my way into the room, she nodded and motioned to the chair in front of the desk without altering her blank expression at all.
“You’re sure I can’t persuade you to put in an appearance? I think it would certainly do a lot for everybody’s motivation if you were there,” she said, and I squinted at her. Her delicate, treading-on-eggshells tone indicated that it was Victoria herself on the line, but I hadn’t had any inkling that the staff were any less motivated when their boss wasn’t there. Was that part of why Petra was so stressed? And why she had lashed out at the choir last week about their lack of motivation?
I was brought back to earth by her deep exhalation. “Well, all right. That’s completely valid, I understand. It would have been nice to see you, but I understand.” A pause. Then her tone grew sharper, more defensive. “Yes, of course I can! I’m completely capable, don’t worry.” Pause. “Yes, I will. I got your email. I’ll call you later and report back. Take care.”
“The boss lady?” I inquired, although it didn’t need saying.
“Won’t come down.” Petra shrugged. “Said she isn’t strong enough yet, even though last week she told me she was starting to feel better.”
“Well, it’s been a long old road for her,” I said tentatively. “It’s been months, and she’s only just starting to get better? There’s a big difference between feeling slightly better and coming to her school’s summer fete.”
“Yes, I don’t need you to tell me that, Jean,” she said, scrubbing at her face. She hadn’t put any makeup on yet, the bag still sitting next to her. Ordinarily, I would have put my arms around her and tried to infuse some strength into her, but I didn’t fancy losing an arm or two today. Sitting on that chair was clearly giving her some of Victoria’s anti-bullshit qualities.
“I’m sorry,” I said instead, quietly. “I can tell you really wanted her to come.”
