I wait for him to jump to his feet and take action. Instead he keeps staring at me like he’s expecting me to say something else.
‘Please.’ I motion for him to stand up. ‘Can we just go and find him? The longer we wait the more chance there is that he’ll leave for the day.’ Or maybe forever. I can’t shake the feeling that James knows I’m onto him. ‘Please, Mr Anderson. He needs to be stopped before he hurts someone – if he hasn’t already.’
‘If who’s hurt someone?’
‘James Evans.’
‘James Evans – our business studies teacher?’
‘Yes. No. He’s not really a teacher, he’s an imposter.’ I inch towards the door. ‘Please, Mr Anderson. Let’s go.’
‘Mrs Jackson,’ he holds up a hand. ‘Sit down for a minute and let’s start this again. I’m struggling to keep up.’
‘There isn’t time.’ I cross the room and stoop down, my hands gripping the edge of his desk, my face at the same level as his. ‘Please. I’ll explain everything but I need you to find James Evans with me now. You have no idea how much danger the children are in. We need to stop him before he can escape.’ I can’t keep the exasperation out of my voice. ‘Please, let’s go.’
‘We take accusations against our teachers very seriously you know, Mrs Jackson.’ He gets up interminably slowly and I wait as he pulls his jacket from the back of the chair and slips one arm, then the other into it then smoothes it over his shoulders. For one terrible second I think he’s about to do up his buttons too but he suddenly becomes animated and crosses the room in four large strides.
‘Mrs Jackson,’ he says as he opens the door and I catch sight of Clarissa’s arched eyebrows, ‘if you’d come with me.’
Even with Mr Anderson’s long-legged strides it takes forever to reach the staff room. When we cross the ‘bridge’ between the science block and the main building I pause to press my hands up against the floor to ceiling window and search the car park. A dozen or so teachers mill around below, some chatting in small groups, the others letting themselves into their cars. I scan the group for James’s face but he’s not down there.
‘Mrs Jackson?’
The headmaster is standing at the far end of the bridge. I hurry after him.
‘Of course he might not even be here,’ he says, holding open the door to the staff room. ‘There’s every chance he’ll have left for the day, be in the business studies room or even …’
I don’t hear the rest of the sentence because my heart is hammering so hard in my chest I feel sick.
There is a man standing at the opposite side of the staff room. He has his back to us, his blonde head dipped as though he’s reading a book or marking a pile of papers. I can still hear Mr Anderson’s voice but I can’t make out a word he’s saying. Every fibre of my being is commanding me to turn and run, but I can’t. I can’t tear my eyes away from the broad expanse of back and the strong arms of the man across the room. The air stills, the distance between us closes and it is as though I am standing behind him and breathing in his musky scent. I reach out a hand and feel the coarse wave to his hair, the soft skin on the back of his bent neck and the starchy stiffness of his shirt collar under my fingertips. I have seen this shape, felt these things in a hundred nightmares. He just needs to turn around so I can see his face.
‘James?’ I breathe as the edges of my vision turn amber and then black. It’s as though a match is being held to a photograph. I blink to try and clear my vision but now there are black spots and my ears are ringing with the sound of the ocean. I feel like I’m swimming under water, deep, deep down under the—
‘Mrs Jackson?’
I feel a hand touch my elbow and try to turn my head to the left to see who has touched me but I’m fighting so hard to keep my balance I feel like the slightest movement will send me hurtling like a stone towards the sea bed.
‘Mrs Jackson, do you need to sit down?’
There is another hand, touching my right elbow and I feel something nudge the back of my knees and then I’m pushed/pulled down until I am sitting. Everything is black and the ocean inside my head pounds the sides of my skull. My stomach lurches and—
‘Oh God, she’s been sick.’
‘There are paper towels in the gents. I’ll get some.’
‘And a glass of water if you—’
‘We’ve got mugs. There might be a clean one some—’
And then there is silence.
‘Mrs Jackson. Mrs Jackson, can you hear me?’
‘Mrs Jackson?’ A different voice, female this time.
Then, ‘Sue?’
‘Brian?’ I say but no sound comes out. I try to sit up but gentle hands press down on my shoulders, on my hips and I am forced back down.
‘Don’t move. You hit your head when you fainted. The paramedics are on their way.’
‘James,’ I say, staring into the bright blue eyes that are looking at me with a mixture of concern and puzzlement.
‘No, Sue. It’s Brian.’
‘I know. I know you’re Brian. Where’s James?’
My husband twists around to look at someone behind him, someone out of my eyeline.
‘James, she wants to talk to you.’
‘No! No!’ I try to scream but the words catch in my throat. ‘No!’
‘Mrs Jackson?’ A face I’ve never seen before appears beside Brian. ‘I’m James Evans.’
‘No. No, you’re not.’
The man smiles. It’s a warm smile that lights up his face, spreading his nostrils wide and crinkling the skin under his eyes. ‘You can ring my mum or check my birth certificate if you like but I’ve spent the last twenty-nine years being called James Evans – well, Jamie to my friends – so I’m pretty sure—’
‘The other one,’ I say. ‘Where’s the other one?’
I try to sit up so I can look around the room but Brian shakes his head.