‘Do you know if Victor is friends with Malin Cohen?’
‘They live close to each other, but I didn’t think they were friends. Victor’s off-the-chart bright, Malin struggles academically. But I suppose it makes sense. If any of this makes sense, Christ. Malin’s a thug. Always has been. An uncontrollable temper.’
This corroborates what other teachers have told them.
‘Is there anything that’s happened recently that’s been strange, even a small thing?’
‘Well, there was something, I suppose, but it was three months ago now.’
‘Can you tell me?’
‘One of the gardeners saw a man outside a maintenance shed. There’s a tractor and trailer, tools, that kind of thing. But nothing was stolen.’
‘Is the gardener here today?’
‘No, he works part-time in the winter.’
‘Did he say what this man looked like?’
‘No, I think he just saw his back. It was in the school holidays, so not a student. But like I said, nothing was stolen so we didn’t take it any further.’
‘Where is the maintenance shed?’
‘Just off the drive in the woods, near the high ropes course.’
‘Is there anything else you can think of at all?’
‘Just some silly pranks. In the last few weeks, someone cling-filmed the stools together in the science labs; someone put glow-in-the-dark slime inside the girls’ toilets in the art block; someone rang Old School’s doorbell really loudly and then ran away again before we could see who it was. That’s all.’
‘Thank you.’
She ends the call.
‘Sarah Jensten was evacuated from New School,’ Thandie tells Rose.
So, if it’s Victor Deakin and he’s aiming the attack at Sarah Jensten, then he’s been extremely careless. But Neil Forbright told them that Victor didn’t want to be at this school in the first place, so there’s no obvious reason for him to have a personal grudge against the school.
‘We need to talk to the school’s head of IT, Olav Christoffersen, as soon as possible,’ she tells George.
‘A junior school teacher just phoned in from one of the boats,’ Amaal says.
‘Are they okay?’ Rose asks.
‘Reception’s terrible. They’re getting the teacher to text.’
* * *
In The Pines Leisure Centre cafeteria, Steve, the energetic young man, is shouting into his mobile phone: ‘Can you hear me …?! Chloe …?’ Beth Alton imagines the noise of the sea and the wind, a young teacher straining to hear her fiancé’s voice.
You know, Jamie, I don’t mind that you didn’t talk to me about Antonella.
Mum …
You’re seventeen and boys of seventeen don’t talk about those kind of things with their mothers.
He’s growing up, growing away, and she’s been trying to hold on to him, holding him back, she realizes, trying to make him her little boy again. Perhaps it’s because he’s her younger child, she wasn’t like this with Theo. But Jamie should grow up; that’s the right and natural order of things. He should grow up.
She sees Antonella’s mother on her own. Her friend with painted nails must’ve gone to the loo but won’t take long; will dash into a cubicle, not locking the door, not washing her hands, doing up her zip with one hand as she runs back, other hand holding her phone, suddenly hopeful of news in the few minutes she’s been absent.
Beth goes over to her. ‘I didn’t know whether to come and say hello. I’m Jamie’s mother, Beth. Beth Alton.’
Antonella’s mother doesn’t smile; no one smiles in this room, no social niceties here, but she doesn’t react at all.
‘Jamie Alton is my son.’
Antonella’s mother looks perplexed. ‘I don’t know anyone called Jamie.’
Did Antonella keep you a secret from her mother like you kept Antonella a secret from me?
But teenage girls talk to their mothers; especially pretty mothers with long glossy hair and nails.
‘I’m sorry,’ the woman says. ‘But I really don’t know your son.’
Does Antonella do this to you? Pretend you don’t even exist any more? Is that why you’ve been so unhappy?
‘Jamie was Antonella’s boyfriend for three months, up until the end of June.’
There, putting it down on the table, so she can’t look away from it, can’t look away from Jamie.
‘Her boyfriend is Tim Makeston,’ the woman says. ‘Has been for two years.’
I don’t understand, Jamie …? In your diary …
You thought it was real. Antonella and me. I never said it was real. It wasn’t meant for anyone else to read.
So, it was a fantasy.
That sounds porny and it wasn’t.
All those beautiful drawings; more of a dream.
No, it wasn’t, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.
He’s been lonelier than she thought; the sharp cutting of unrequited love in so many hidden ways. And now he’s hiding alone, most probably terrified, without even remembered love to comfort him.
There’ll be someone else, sweetheart. When you go off to university there’ll be so many lovely girls, and you’ll fall in love again, with someone who’ll love you back.
Yesterday, this morning even, she’d have felt jealous, threatened, by such an imaginary girl. She’d had no idea then of the love she had for Jamie, had assumed it was possessive, grasping, but the make-up of her love is not like that at all.
Antonella’s mother is leaning closer towards her, two mothers sharing a confidence. In a minute, she will put her manicured hand round Beth’s garden-rough one.
‘Maybe your son just had a crush on her. I know lots of the boys do.’
Not boasting, but giving an explanation for Jamie, perhaps understanding his vulnerability. She’s kind. Is her daughter kind? Beth thinks probably not, because what teenage girl with lots of boys who have crushes on her is kind?
‘Her boyfriend, Tim, isn’t that special. I really don’t know what she sees in him.’
As if she is softening the blow and if it were up to her she’d choose someone different, Jamie perhaps, for Antonella.
‘Tim’s the reason she is in the theatre and not evacuated,’ she says. ‘She doesn’t even like acting.’
Was it because of Antonella that Jamie wanted to be part of the production? A beggar-my-neighbour game – Jamie there because of Antonella, Antonella there because of not-very-special Tim.
Zac and Victor were in it too, Mum. My two best mates, remember?
Yes, sorry.
Didn’t know Zac would get a Velcro-girlfriend and Victor would leave, did I?
You must’ve felt lonely after that.
Must be exhausting, Mum, being in a paddy about me all the time.
I’m not, but—
I’m not a complete loser all the time, you know.
Of course you aren’t. I never thought that. And you carried on, didn’t you? You didn’t give up.
Exactly. I’m a trooper. And what about my A levels? My party?
In his bedroom above his desk is a piece of paper pinned to the wall with ‘100%’ written in his beautiful calligraphy and she’d been both heartened at his ambition for his A levels and worried that he’d fall short, because though some kids do get 100 per cent in their A levels they work far harder and are cleverer than Jamie; she’s feared disappointment, sadness. Next to it, an elaborately drawn ‘18’, although his eighteenth birthday is almost a year away and she’s been worried about that too, that his imagination would outstrip whatever party he gave. Or maybe she didn’t want to think about him becoming an adult before she had to. Mike had been irritated with her for not seeing the positive.