It feels strange, standing outside the school gates. I haven’t picked Charlotte up from school since she was twelve and when I see Ella strolling out of the main doors, her books clasped to her chest, her blazer thrown over one arm I half expect to see my daughter walking alongside her, knocking elbows and laughing at each other’s jokes.
‘Ella?’ I reach out a hand and touch her elbow as she draws close. ‘Could I have a word?’
She glances around to check the reaction of her classmates but they don’t seem to have noticed me as they stream out of the gates, laughing, chatting and pulling faces at each other. Or if they have they don’t care.
‘Ella please, it’s important.’
‘Okay, okay.’ She waves a hand to signal that we should move away from the gates, glances over her shoulder – to check for what I’m not sure – and then looks back at me. ‘What about?’
‘About you and Charlotte covering for each other?’
Her defiant expression fades ever so slightly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I think you do.’
I could pretend that I know everything but if she realizes I’m lying this conversation is over. ‘I read the conversation the two of you had on MSN Messenger. It was saved onto one of our home computers.’
Ella’s eyes grow large as she searches my face. She’s trying to work out if she’s in trouble or not. I need to go carefully.
‘Who’s Mr E, Ella?’
She glances away, towards the school, then back at me.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs Jackson.’
‘Mr E. In the conversation you and Charlotte had on Messenger, Charlotte said that if Mr E found out what you’d done, he’d kill you both.’
She shrugs. ‘I think you’ve mixed me up with someone else.’
‘Ellsbells,’ I say. ‘That was the username of the person Charlotte was talking to. I know it was you.’
She shrugs again, purses her lips into a half-smile, half-pout and turns to go. She knows there was nothing in that conversation to incriminate her and I can’t do a thing to persuade her otherwise. How can she be so callous when her best friend is in a coma she might never wake up from?
‘Ella, please.’ I put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I don’t care what you and Charlotte did or why you had to get your stories straight. I won’t be angry and I won’t tell your mum, just please tell me who Mr E is.’
‘I told you.’ She shakes my hand from her shoulder. ‘You’ve got the wrong person.’
She turns to walk away but I grab her again. ‘Is he someone’s dad, this Mr E? Or a teacher? Is he one of your—’ the expression on Ella’s face changes from anger to something else. ‘He’s a teacher, isn’t he?’ I can’t keep the jubilation out of my voice. ‘What’s his name, Ella?’
‘Get your fucking hands off me!’
Now the other kids are staring at us. The stream of bodies passing by has stopped and I’m surrounded on all sides by staring, surprised faces. Conversations fade and laughter turns to embarrassed giggles. ‘Who is she?’ I hear someone ask then, ‘Oh my God, it’s Charlotte Jackson’s mum.’ ‘Shit, yeah! Total nut job. Apparently she wouldn’t let Charlotte have a bath or shower for a month because she thought someone had put acid in the water!’
Ella notices the commotion around us too. The base of her throat blushes red but she flicks back her hair defiantly. I know I should remove my hand from her shoulder but I’m terrified that if I let her go I’ll never see her again.
‘Ella,’ I keep my voice soft. ‘There’s no need to cause a scene. Just tell me Mr E’s full name and I promise I’ll never bother you again.’
The girl smiles and, for a second, I think that this awful, awkward moment is about to end but then the smile disappears and is replaced by an ugly curled lip.
‘Help!’ She tosses back her head and screams, ‘Someone help! Help! Help!’
I let go of her but it’s too late, I’m shoved to one side as someone bowls through the crowd and stands between us.
‘Mrs Jackson?’ There’s an astonished expression on the face of the woman standing in front of me. It’s Clara Cooper, Charlotte’s English teacher.
‘She hurt me. I thought she was going to pull my arm off.’
Miss Cooper turns to look at Ella. A group of girls have appeared around her, forming a protective arc of patting hands, murmured reassurances and raised eyebrows.
‘Mrs Jackson hurt you?’
‘Yes, Miss. I was just going for the school bus when she grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go.’
‘Yeah,’ says one of the girls behind her. ‘Yeah, she did.’
‘I thought she was going to hit me.’ Ella’s face is the epitome of wide-eyed innocence. ‘I was really scared.’
Miss Cooper turns back to me and raises her eyebrows.
I feel hot, faint and terribly dry-mouthed. I can’t believe this is really happening. I just want to go home. I want to crawl into bed, go to sleep and wake up to find that all of this – Charlotte’s accident, James’s presents, the argument with Brian and this – were all just a dream. ‘I tapped her on the shoulder,’ I say. ‘That’s all. I just wanted to talk to her.’
Miss Cooper gives me a searching look then turns back to the crowd. ‘You lot, go home. Show’s over. Ella, go and stand by the gates. I’ll have a word with you in a second.’
Ella pulls a face. ‘But Miss—’
‘Go.’
She pouts, puts her palms out as though she’s about to object then seems to think the better of it and she makes her way through the crowd. They disperse slowly, grumbling with disappointment that the spectacle is over.
Miss Cooper waits until there are no children within earshot and then looks at me. The frown has left her forehead now we no longer have an audience. ‘How are you, Mrs Jackson?’