Jax? Liz frowned. What was she doing here? Wednesday wasn’t a changeover day as far as she knew… but even so. She braked as she was seized by one of those flashes of inspiration particularly common to lady primary school teachers.
Liz’s lips tightened; she was still angry about the incursion into the Old Barn to find those keys … and yet—
She braked as she was seized by one of those flashes of inspiration particularly common to lady primary school teachers where various events and elements coalesce into one shining course of action. Someone who knew Neville.Jax …They’dspent so much time and mental energy being annoyed with the woman, blocking her calls and generally fending her off – yet here she was, one person who arguably knew Neville better than anybody and to whom he might well have talked.
‘What areyoudoing here?’ Chloe Lord repeated the words in a voice heavy with aggression. She stood on the verge directly between them and the mussel-blue Corsair, hands on her hips, her white-blonde hair gleaming, body a study of anger and accusation. Discreetly Thelma nudged Teddy who equally discreetly nudged her back and retired to the nearby bus stop where he appeared to become instantly absorbed in reading the timetable.
‘Good afternoon, Chloe,’ said Thelma. ‘I presume you’re here to see Annie.’
‘I asked you the question,’ said Chloe angrily. This afternoon she was wearing a sheath of a silver-blue dress. It did not take too much imagination for Thelma to see in her mind’s eye it armoured with steel-plated shoulders, silver wings sprouting from the back.
‘I’m here,’ Thelma said. ‘We’re here – my husband, Teddy, and I – at the direct request of Annie.’
‘You’re trying to tell me she asked you here?’ The words throbbed with scorn.
Thelma nodded.
‘What for?’ Chloe almost spat the words into the thick, warm air, two angry barks.
‘She’d heard about our visit to your school,’ said Thelma. ‘And emailed me. I imagine Caro Miranda gave her my email address.’
Chloe half closed her eyes and threw back her head. ‘And you thought you’d come here and bother her an’ all?’ she said. ‘You do know I suppose she’s a very sick lady?’
‘I do,’ said Thelma. ‘And I’m very sorry. But as I say – she called me and asked to see me face to face.’
‘Hasn’t that woman been through enough?’ blazed Chloe. ‘What with being ill, and Davey and that inspection and now you and your friends nosying around?’
Thelma tried hard not to resent being seen as the equivalent of a terminal illness, a bereavement or an unfair Ofsted inspection. ‘I know how much she’s been through,’ she said.
‘Do you?Doyou?’ Chloe seized on the words and fired them right back at Thelma. ‘You know our school –herschool – closed today because of that bastard Ofsted inspector? You should’ve seen everyone today – staff, parents, kids, everyone was in bits.’
‘I’m very sorry,’ said Thelma. ‘I can imagine how upsetting that was.’
‘No, you can’t!’ Chloe’s eyes brimmed with tears and she abruptly turned away. Thelma wondered about offering her a tissue but before she could, Chloe had rounded back on her again. ‘So let me see if I’m getting this right,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You think someone from our staff drove over to this inspector’s house and told him where to go?’
‘Possibly,’ said Thelma gently. ‘But Annie’s just told me that the day Neville died was the day you held your memorial service for Davey Fletcher.’
At the mention of his name Chloe’s eyes filled once more. When she spoke her words were hoarse. ‘And what? You think one of us ran off from the ceremony to go and tell the bastard what we thought of him? Well, let me tell you, Mrs Whoever You Are, that we were too busy thinking about our friend who died in a car crash caused by that evil git of an inspector.’
By now she was breathing as though she’d just completed a sprint, her words short and spiky.
She scrabbled for her handbag and produced her phone, stabbing at the screen, eyes screwed against the sun. Thelma moved near and likewise screwed her eyes up as she focused on the small rectangle. Dimly she could just make out a striking woman with a buttercup yellow scarf twined round her hair, wearing a yellow paper flower, sitting against a backdrop of red and orange drapes. Chloe pressed play and the image came to life.
‘Golden lads and girls all must,’ the woman spoke in a soft, sad contralto voice. ‘As chimneysweepers, come to dust.’ As she spokethe sun blazed in from the left of the picture, making her amber earrings wink madly.
Thelma looked at Chloe. Now the tears were running down her face, unchecked.
‘That’s how we were all feeling,’ said the girl, her voice breaking.
Thelma nodded. ‘Was that from the service?’ she asked gently.
Chloe nodded, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s from some poem,’ she said. ‘That’s Bun reading it out on the Zoom.’
Thelma nodded, remembering Caro Miranda quoting the same words in the staffroom at Pity Me School.
‘Poor Davey,’ the girl said, brushing tears from her face.
‘I’m so sorry the school has closed,’ said Thelma quietly, finally passing her a tissue.
