‘I am. Just arrived.’
‘Well! We thought we’d lost you. Didn’t we, Pip? Pippa? It’s Claire on the phone. Yes! She’s back! Back to stay, Claire?’
‘Yes. I think so.’
‘Well, that’s good news. Good news. Although the market is tanking here. I poked around for you, about the house, put out some feelers, but there’s no market for big, detached places. Apparently. It’s all flats. But you’re still subletting your old place, no?’
‘I am, yes. How have you been?’
‘Good, good. Well, I say good, but Pippa’s had a bit of a shingles flare-up. Nerves. Johnny’s doing well, we got some of that weight off him.’
‘Good. Great.’
‘Claire, I’ve got to say’ – Derek’s voice lowered – ‘it’s good to know you’re back. Family. All that. Don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. Well, you know how I feel.’
Claire smiled. ‘I feel the same way, Derek.’
‘You had us going! With the Cornwall thing! I said, didn’t I Pip? I said “She’s not coming back”, but Pip never lost faith. She knew you couldn’t keep away. Didn’t you, Pip? Oh, she’s gone.’
‘I came back with a pet, too. A dog.’ She looked down at Benji’s soft eyes, his delicate little paws.
‘Oh, that’s good Claire. Good news. They’re like children, aren’t they? Dogs? Less trouble though, I say to Pip.’
‘A lot less trouble.’ Claire closed her eyes.
‘Speaking of children, what are you going to do for a job, Claire?’
‘Oh, I haven't thought about that.’
‘Well, I shouldn’t worry too much. There can’t be too many people who want to work with those horrors. Can’t work out if you’re a saint or a masochist, Claire!’
Claire felt pinpricks of irritation, familiar annoyance, but this, too, was comforting. ‘I’m hardly a saint, Derek. Maybe a bit of a masochist.’
‘Pip! Pip? Claire, dinner? Yes? Claire, come over for dinner tomorrow night, hmmm? Homecoming?’
‘I’d love to, Derek. Thank Pippa for me.’
That night she slept better than she had done in weeks. Benji, on guard in an unfamiliar house, stayed on her bed, his ears twitching, trotting off officiously to investigate every noise. Towards dawn he slept, too.
* * *
A few days later she walked past the school, with Benji, towards the park. Through the railings she could see a shrieking Miss Peel struggling to pull apart a knot of fighting boys. James Clarke looked palely on from his office window, drinking coffee. When the bell rang, the familiar sound of charging, roaring children, pushing into line, made her smile, made her heart hurt a little. She tied Benji to the railings, and, as if in a dream, stepped through the familiar gate and into the reception, where she ran into James Clarke, striding irritably out of his office. His eyes widened.
‘Claire? Am I glad to see you!’ he said.
45
And so, Claire went back to work. She put her flat on the market and called the Philpotts in Cornwall to let them know that she wasn’t staying there any longer, and could they keep an eye on the place. At night, she thought of the house, suffering emptily under Cornish storms, the windows rattling, the chimney moaning. She imagined the footsteps of Lorna on the stairs. Benji, always close, whined in his sleep, and the two of them nestled together, their fear large in the dark, waiting for paler shadows to settle on the furniture corners, for light to filter weakly through the pane, for the certainty of no-nonsense daylight.
Over the next year, it got easier. The new Christmas Cracker group were delightful. Claire lobbied, successfully, for a Feeling Proud assembly and made sure that each of them got a chance to Show Their Learning in front of the whole school. She seemed to be respected more, deferred to.
‘After all,’ said Miss Peel to Miss Brice one break time, ‘she was the only one who saw the Bell thing coming. Remember?’
The school had been in a lot of trouble after Lorna’s conviction. Although her name had been kept out of the press, it wasn’t a secret from the local authority, and they demanded to know just what exactly had gone wrong. A disaster, an abduction, and a murder, all in one family? Why hadn’t James ever raised any concerns? Where was the care plan for this family? Why hadn’t they been flagged to social services?
‘I have to say it, Claire, I should have listened. About Lorna Bell. I should have taken you more seriously, I understand that now. But with such a big school, so many issues. Well, you understand, don’t you? Even if we get raked over the coals by OFSTED, I apologise, and in future I’ll defer to your good judgement.’ This last was said with a little sarcastic twist, but Claire recognised it for being as close to sincerity as James was capable.
On the anniversary of the fire, the local press and news turned their attention to the school. OFSTED had concerns, but the school wasn’t in Special Measures just yet; it still had a chance to redeem itself. The anniversary also attracted the attention of Easy Tiger Productions, who specialised in true crime and queasy documentaries about teenagers loose in Magaluf. James Clarke was interviewed (‘No indication of anything untoward with the family . . . socially deprived but we at the school make sure that . . .’ etc. etc.). Claire wasn’t spoken to, but was briefly, to her dismay, filmed on playground duty (accompanied by the voiceover: ‘Some of the teachers in this tight-knit inner-city school have been here for years, and the pastoral care has always been judged by OFSTED as “good”. So what happened on that fateful night a year ago? What caused the Bell family to fall through the cracks?’ etc., etc.). When a courtesy copy was sent to James Clarke, he insisted that all the staff watch it during the weekly round-up. Claire tried to beg off, but James was having none of it.