‘Luke. Can I have a word?’ was all she said, and I was brought back to the days when I was the apple of her eye. Back then, being summoned meant extra praise for working hard throughout the year. It was why I had returned here, to the same school I had attended. I didn’t need to put in the effort of creating a friendly facade when the groundwork had already been done. And now, not even a year into my new role, I was being called to her office for a telling-off. My ego had led me to this point, an inability to resist a schoolgirl’s adoration. I may have been the teacher’s pet once myself, but I was not beyond reproach.
As we marched to her office I was grateful that most of my students had gone home. I tried not to think about Emma as I steadied my breath, but it was an impossible task. I knew without a doubt that she was the reason for the stringent beckoning, and I had my story prepared.
The head teacher’s office had not changed much over the years. It still housed an old-fashioned Teasmade in the corner that appeared to be more for decorative than practical use. Mrs Pritchard used the recently refurbished staffroom with the rest of us, taking advantage of the Dolce Gusto coffee machine which was always on the go. A large round clock still kept time on the wall behind her desk, and the same wooden photo frames now held updated snapshots of her brood. On the windowsill a dusty-looking bonsai plant absorbed the sun through glass that was long overdue a clean. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on my forehead as I sat in the airless room. Having been forced to spend time with my family over the holidays, I had looked forward to returning to work. The question was, would I be staying? By the look on Mrs Pritchard’s face, I was not so sure.
She clasped her fingers together, her heavy bosom fighting against the constraints of her blouse as she leaned towards me. ‘I’ve called you here to ask you about one of your students – Emma Hetherington.’
I remained silent, my face impassive as I waited to hear what I was being accused of.
‘There’s no point in beating around the bush so I’ll come straight out with it. What is the nature of your relationship with this young woman?’
I inhaled a calming breath through my nostrils as I prepared my explanation in my head. ‘The same as with all of my students. She turns up for class – I teach her. Why?’
‘Because that’s not what I’ve heard. Apparently there was an incident after school last week and you’ve been seen together in town.’
‘Colchester’s not exactly London. I often bump into students when I’m out.’ I sighed, leaving enough of a gap to make it appear as if I was wrestling with my thoughts. ‘Can I be honest with you?’
‘I’d prefer it if you were.’
I rubbed the side of my neck. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything. I’m fairly new to this role and the last thing I wanted was to be knocking on your door with my problems.’
‘Which are?’ She arched an enquiring eyebrow.
‘Emma’s got a crush on me. I’ve done everything I can to dissuade it, but she’s totally infatuated. It’s even gotten to the point that she’s followed me about in town. If I’ve been seen talking to her outside of school, it’s only because I’ve been gently warning her off.’
‘A crush?’ The head folded her arms and gave me a look that suggested she was not quite convinced. ‘You should have spoken to someone if this has gone so far.’
‘I did,’ I said, relieved that I’d had the hindsight to talk to my colleagues in the staffroom. ‘Lorraine Rugman and Sean Talbot. I mentioned it to them before Christmas.’
‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Best you don’t leave yourself open to allegations. I’m going to monitor the situation, see how it pans out. Hopefully Emma will get over her infatuation soon.’ She gave me another thoughtful gaze. ‘You’re sure you’ve not done anything to . . . encourage her?’
‘I approached you about Emma’s after-school art revision and you approved it. The minute I had an inkling of her feelings I brought them to an end.’ I exhaled an exasperated sigh. ‘Last week I was talking to one of my students after class. Emma burst in and created a scene. I followed her to the toilets to make sure she was OK, but she was in a dreadful state. She said she didn’t want to see me talking to any other girls. I told her she was being ridiculous, that I was a teacher and I treated all my students the same.’
‘And that’s all you said? Because she’s been off sick all week.’
‘I’ve got a girlfriend. I’ve no intention of risking my career over a silly schoolgirl crush.’ It was a lie, but a fictional girlfriend would suffice. After making me sweat for a few seconds, Mrs Pritchard delivered a warm smile.
‘You understand why I had to ask, don’t you? You’ve got a bright future ahead of you. I’ll be making a record of our conversation and noting your concerns. If there’s anything I can do, my door is open.’
I leaned across the table and reached out to shake her hand. ‘Thanks. I appreciate your support.’ I said my goodbyes, knowing that as far as Emma was concerned, I was playing a dangerous game. My footsteps echoed as I strode down the corridor to my classroom, inhaling the smell of gym clothes and well-thumbed books. A door slammed in the distance as the last of the students hurried to class. How I loved this arena, and the prospect of being delivered a batch of fresh-faced teenagers each year. But for now, my focus was on Emma because I was not quite finished with her yet. My chat with the head had made me realise Emma’s work wasn’t up to scratch, and wouldn’t be making the art exhibition after all. I would enjoy teasing her tomorrow, my little puppet on a string.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
ALEX
2017
Inhaling the comforting scent of freshly ground coffee, I pretended for just a few minutes that everything was under control. A shaft of long-overdue sunlight flooded in through the window of Costa Coffee, and I basked in its heat as I queued, waiting for our drinks to be made.
‘Alex?’ Theresa spoke, touching me on the forearm.
A smile graced my lips. ‘Thanks for coming. I ordered you a coffee.’
‘I haven’t got long, I’m afraid.’ She eyed me warily. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was tied back into a short ponytail, and she looked smart and efficient in the black trouser suit she wore for work. I joined her at the quietest table I could find. As I passed her the shortbread biscuits, I thought of how nice it was not to receive a look of disdain in return. Food had always been a battlefield for Emma, its very presence bringing instant unease. Theresa took a bite, her little finger wiping away the trail of crumbs from the corner of her mouth.
‘It’s Emma,’ I said. ‘I need your help. She’s relapsing, and I don’t know what to do.’
‘Is this about what happened to Jamie?’ she said, her eyebrows knitted in concern.
‘Partly,’ I said. There was so much more to Emma’s eating disorder than food alone. It stole her concentration, making her physically and mentally unwell. I listlessly stirred my coffee, feeling the burden heavy on my shoulders. ‘I caught her throwing up in the toilet again the other night. She goes from bingeing to barely eating at all. I’m worried it’s taking her focus from Jamie. He could have been run over yesterday.’
‘You need to be there for her.’ With the pad of her finger, Theresa picked at the leftover crumbs on the table and deposited them on her plate. ‘What happened with Jamie was an accident, but if you treat her like she’s some godawful person, that’ll cause her to relapse even more.’ She brushed the crumbs from her fingers, finally meeting my eye. ‘Emma’s suffered from anxiety all her life. It’s like this tireless voice in her head, always judging, always pointing out her flaws. You need to be louder than the voice, tell her what an amazing person she is.’
I frowned. How could I tell her that after Emma’s confession? Such a declaration would feel like a lie. ‘What happened to Jamie . . . he could have died. I should have been there. Why didn’t she call me?’ The memory stabbed my heart. ‘I’ve never done anything to make her scared of me.’