The school bell rings. A long, sharp sound that takes me back to my childhood. I shudder, relieved when the clanging finally comes to an end. Maybe I’ll have to cross over and go into the playground itself. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to make myself too conspicuous. At least I’m harmless looking – petite, slight, dark-haired. I could blend in quite well with the other mums.
My pulse quickens. Striding along the pavement comes a woman in a dark suit and heels. It’s her. The mother. She’s late. The woman’s face is tense, strained. Not like the other mums. Anticipation tingles in my belly. My mind begins to race. I start making a mental note of all the things I’ll need to do…
Seventeen
I sit at my desk and stare out of the window at the distant indigo ocean, sipping my piping hot latte. Yesterday went surprisingly well. Eva slotted straight back into school with no trouble. And there was enough going on at work to keep me busy. To keep me from dwelling on Cosgrove. I brushed off Damien’s enquiries about the pitch, saying that Cosgrove Properties’ ethos didn’t align with ours, or some such nonsense. Damien seemed to buy it. With any luck, I won’t have to think about Mick Cosgrove ever again.
My PA appears at my open door, smart as always in a charcoal suit, his hair slicked back in an achingly cool quiff. ‘Hey, Gemma, you’ve got an hour until the next one. We’ve just had someone drop out.’
‘Oh, who was that? Not the girl from Manchester?’ We’ve been interviewing for a new facilities manager, but so far the applicants have been dismal.
‘’Fraid so. But we still have four more this afternoon,’ he says, trying to cheer me up.
‘Do any of them sound promising?’
‘Three of them are local with minimal experience, but one is coming from a respected company up north and says she’s keen to move down to a seaside location.’
‘Mm, sounds interesting. Okay, thanks. Let me know how you get on.’
Damien disappears off to his desk and I open up my personal emails. There are two more replies from the tutors I emailed. The first one I open is a gushing reply from a teacher called Louise Martin. She’s apologising about being newly qualified, but says she’s sure she can do a good job if I give her a chance. To be honest, she doesn’t sound too promising. She has zero experience and comes across as a little unconfident. Today’s second reply is a snooty guy who all but reprimands me for leaving it too late to book his ‘extremely sought-after expertise at coaching bright young minds’. I’m tempted to type a sarcastic reply, but manage to restrain myself. However, his pomposity makes me look at Louise Martin’s naivety in a new light. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?
I take the last few sips of my coffee, pick up the office phone and punch in her number. When it gets to the fourth ring, I think about hanging up. Everyone at school said I need someone experienced.
‘Hello?’ The voice on the end of the line is young, out of breath.
‘Hi, is that Louise Martin?’
‘Speaking.’
‘It’s Gemma Ballantine here. I sent you an email about—’
‘Oh, yes, Mrs Ballantine. Thank you so much for calling. Your daughter sounds lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ I give a wry smile. Flattery is a good opener. ‘Have you tutored anyone for the grammar-school test before?’
‘I haven’t,’ she says carefully. ‘But I know the papers inside out. All your daughter needs is someone to teach her the right techniques and guide her through what’s expected. I can do that.’
I decide I like the sound of her. ‘How about we do a trial session, see how it goes?’
‘That would be wonderful! I’m free any time. Sorry, probably shouldn’t have said that.’
‘It’s fine. Let’s say Thursday, four thirty?’
‘Fantastic. You won’t regret it, Mrs Ballantine.’
To try to build bridges, Eva’s teacher has paired her up with Lauren for their school science project. Which is great, but the bad news is that they have to do it as part of their homework. So this afternoon, I have once again had to leave work early to have Rebecca, Lauren and her younger brother Ethan over after school. Robert offered to host it, but after last week’s debacle, I need to re-bond with Rebecca anyway, so this afternoon is as good a time as any.
The other reason I want to have Rebecca over is to see if I can find out whether she has anything to do with the graffiti and the computer virus. She’s the only person I can think of who could possibly want Eva to fail the grammar-school test, which would give her a motive to stop me finding a tutor. But it seems so…extreme. Anyway, maybe I can be proactive and find out if she is responsible.
So far, everything this afternoon is going well, apart from a few work calls I’ve had to take. Ethan and Katie are playing on the trampoline in the garden, while our kitchen table has turned into a scale model of Mount Vesuvius.
‘I think it would be more realistic if you didn’t paint the whole thing red,’ Rebecca says to the girls, her blue eyes narrowed critically, head tilted. ‘Maybe add some brown. And there would be grass at the base, so you can use green, too. Maybe we could get some real grass from the garden? Give it some texture.’
I would much rather let the girls get on with the project without our input. They’re quite capable of following the YouTube instructions for creating a papier mâché volcano, but Rebecca is intent on managing every aspect of the process. In fact, I think she would rather do the whole thing herself without any child involvement. But I’m sure Mrs Slade can tell the difference between parent-made projects and our children’s efforts, so I figuratively wrestle the paintbrush from Rebecca’s hand and suggest letting the girls do it their way. The funny thing is, I’m usually quite a control freak myself, but Rebecca’s discomfort at letting the girls make mistakes is pushing me further in the opposite direction.
‘Come on, Rebecca. Let’s leave them to it; take our tea into the lounge.’ I pick my mug up off the table and take a step towards the door.
‘Shouldn’t we stay and keep an eye?’ Rebecca says. ‘You know, Miss Chalmers is going to pick the best ones to display in the hall during parents’ evening.’
