‘Did you check the candidate numbers?’
‘Of course. In fact, on the day of your daughter’s exam, we had to double-check all the candidate numbers because wereceived an anonymous call that morning, informing us that some parents had been pressured into swapping their daughter’s candidate number.’
‘An anonymous call?’
‘Yes, and you’ll be pleased to know that we found out that your daughter had the wrong number. Thank goodness we did check!’
‘Yes, thank goodness,’ I say.
I sit in the car outside Adams and open Facebook. I paste a clear still of Tor and Zac in flagrante delicto and type:
My name is Tor, I’m a lying bitch, and this is my toy boy, Zac.
I wait for eight seconds before the first response. Soon, there is a tidal wave – about 40 per cent moral outrage, 40 per cent prurience and lust, and 20 per cent feminist solidarity.
I head straight to WHSmith. They don’t have any paper quite as pompous as Adams, but I buy the best I can, go home and type the content of my rejection letter onto the laptop with variations more suitable to Ellie. I copy the coat of arms from their website and paste it at the top of the letter. I print it several times to get the right placings and colours and after half an hour I’m quite satisfied. There’s a job for me as a forger if all else fails.
I use a little bit of steam and prise the address label off Nelly’s envelope, then it’s just a matter of printing Sophie’s address on a new label and sticking it on. I fold the letter and use the iron on a low setting to achieve the pristine lines, then pop it into the envelope, use a bit of Nelly’s Pritt Stick and seal it.
I race down the road and arrive just as Sophie’s postman is nearing her house. I run ahead of him to hang around Sophie’s front door in a proprietorial manner. When the postie arrives, I walk towards her and hold out my hand. She glances at me, as she clearly knows I’m not Sophie, but my gaze suggests that questions are not welcome.
‘I’ll take those in,’ I say.
She puts a small bundle in my hand. I watch her leave and head to Sophie’s front door. I find her letter from Adams, replaceit with Nelly’s rejection letter, and pop it through her letterbox along with her others.
As I leave, I hear a thunder of footsteps and then Ellie cries out, ‘Mum, the post’s here!’
Chapter84Acceptance
The evidence suggests that I might love my children. I give so much to them while getting nothing in return, which suggests something more than just a transactional relationship. My actions are no different from my friends’ except I’ll go the extra mile to ensure things work out well for them. Perhaps in feeling less, I even love them more.
I’m standing alone in the kitchen with Sophie’s letter. I feel a sense of excitement that I’ve purloined this potential golden ticket. I slowly peel open the envelope and take out the perfectly folded letter. I’ve prepared myself for bad news, but I don’t know what steps I’ll take if Ellie has also been rejected. I might have to hound them into changing their minds with a malicious social media campaign.
I hold the letter in my hand and slowly unfold it. I see the beautifully embossed school coat of arms, and the first line, ‘Dear Mr Caldas and Ms Hills’. I close my eyes momentarily, then read the first word. ‘Congratulations.’
I have an Adams offer letter in my hand. Admittedly, it’s not for Nelly, but I feel the same enthusiasm and joy as if it were. I read the rest of the letter and discover that Ellie has been offered a 50 per cent scholarship. I feel so proud of her. She must have worked like an absolute demon.
I make myself a cup of Earl Grey tea, thinking through the options. I sip and mull. I wonder about the relationship between the admissions department and the senior staff, and whether data changes are shared. I imagine not.
I find the telephone number on the letter and call Adams.
‘Hello, this is Sophie Hills, I’ve just received an offer for my daughter, and I’d like to accept,’ I say.
‘What’s your daughter’s name?’
‘Eleanor Caldas,’ I say.
‘Well, congratulations. I’ve noted that now, and you’ll receive confirmation by letter. Is Eleanor pleased?’
‘She’s absolutely delighted.’
‘We’re so happy that she’ll be coming to Adams.’
‘As are we,’ I say. ‘Just one more thing. I need to inform you of a slight change of our details?’
‘Of course,’ she says.
‘It’s a delicate situation, actually. Mr Caldas and I are splitting up, but Eleanor doesn’t know anything about it yet.’
