Death of a Teacher (22 page)

Jed had said, ‘Thank you for telling me all this. I was rude to you last time we spoke, I know.’

‘Yes, you were.’

‘I’d like to explain but it’s complicated,’ he’d said. ‘It’s my personal neurosis and I shouldn’t have landed it on you. Maybe I could talk to you sometime about what happened to Becky’s mum.’

Alison had smiled. ‘I don’t think anyone can really understand Becky,’ she’d said. ‘But I’d be interested to talk to you.’ 

‘Thank you,’ he’d said. ‘And I’m truly sorry for the way I spoke to you.’ She thought that he probably meant it. It had occurred to her that Mark would never say sorry.

Ro opened the curtains before the alarm clock went off because the sun was reflecting off the fells opposite and the room seemed full of a softer light. Ben’s transport was picking him up at 8.15, and she always waited to see him into the taxi to make sure he was all right. But today she wanted to get started earlier. Lying there, she realized that for the first time she could leave him to cope. He had grown up just that bit more over the weekend. She crept around getting ready for work, and then tiptoed downstairs. She put his breakfast out for him, fed the cat, wrote him a note and checklist, and then called him awake.

When she put her head around his door, he stirred on the pillow, his face like a little boy’s at first glance. But when she came close, the few spots and the new muscularity of his features hinted at the teenager he would be in a few months’ time. He looked and smelt older. She realized with a shiver of pleasure in the crisp morning air that this would be his first really
independent
morning, when he would get ready alone, without having her within shouting distance. But she knew he could do it.

‘I’m going to work early,’ she whispered. ‘Everything is out for you
downstairs
. The school taxi will be here in three-quarters of an hour. Don’t go back to sleep.’

He woke and stared at her with his half-seeing eyes. By the autumn, his sight would be improved if the cataract operation went ahead, and that would bring its own problems. Ro touched the scar on her cheek. It had been days since she’d thought of it. In the mirror in the living-room, her face looked different. She was tanned, and her hair was longer than usual. She cut it herself, in between occasional visits to the hairdresser in Norbridge. But she hadn’t had time this weekend and, anyway, the longer look seemed softer. She smiled at herself, and was astonished at the difference it made.

The drive into Norbridge took her through one of the prettiest valleys in this part of the world, and the town itself was sparkling in the early sunshine. When she parked at the station, Jed was already in the car-park.

‘Morning, Ro. Isn’t it a superb day?’

‘Morning, Jed. You look like you had a good night’s sleep.’

‘I did. Thanks so much for inviting me last night. It was great for me to meet Uncle Phil again. It was so lucky. Though, if Aunty Judith had been there, it might not have been so easy.’

Ro stopped herself asking about Mrs Dixon. ‘And you apologized to Alison MacDonald?’ 

He was the one who blushed. ‘Yeah.’

‘She’s nice, isn’t she? Not a daughter of evil. And I understand she’s ditched her boyfriend.’

‘Really?’ Jed took the steps up to the station a little faster. ‘Anyway, let’s see if we have anything from Air Canada. And in the meantime, I’m going to find out more about Fraktur Art and the famous, or not so famous,
Book of St Trallen
, patron saint of eye specialists.’

Two hours later the phone rang in Ray Findley’s office at St Mungo’s. He had just settled the supply teacher into Year Four. She would be with them until the end of term, but Sheila had said she wanted to be back at work in September. He really believed that she would be better by then. There would be difficult decisions to take in the future. Tackling Callie wasn’t going to be easy, either personally or professionally, and he was still unsure what to do about Liz Rudder. In a way, she was a more difficult problem. There was nothing she had actually done wrong. It was more her insidious negativity. Yet there would have to be a confrontation and he dreaded that more than the inevitable battle with Callie.

He took the phone call. The confident tones of Peter Hodgson brought him back to earth.

‘Father Peter Hodgson here. My sister taught at your school until her untimely death.’

‘Oh yes, of course. My sincere condolences. I hope you received my letter of sympathy. I know the Chairman of our Governors, the Reverend Neil Clifford, has mentioned to you that we should do something in Brenda’s memory.’

‘It’s exactly that matter which I wish to discuss. I hear you are thinking of putting on an end-of-term concert. A pop concert! I have to say that idea is deeply offensive to me personally.’

Fifteen minutes later Ray Findley put the phone down and rested his head in his hands. It was such an unnecessary fuss. He was sorry for Father Peter’s loss, but he was sure Liz Rudder had alerted this self-important man to Alison MacDonald’s plans. The confrontation was going to come sooner than he’d been expecting.

He put his head around the office door. The school secretary’s birdlike face looked up at him, bright with excitement at this latest disruption. She had put Peter Hodgson’s call through and had doubtless caught his tone. Ray had never been quite sure whose side the secretary was on. But there would be no more taking sides at St Mungo’s.

‘Could you ask Miss MacDonald to see me at lunchtime? And then ask Mrs Rudder to come at the end of the day. Thanks.’ 

I
t was midday when Jed got the call from Air Canada. Amazingly there had only been half-a-dozen men of that age on the daytime flight from Toronto. As it was a police request the airline would provide him with their names.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Thanks. But what about billing addresses if possible? … Yes, I know that would take time, but we’d be grateful for it. Thanks … Yes, I’ll pick up the fax personally and ensure that no one unauthorized gets the
information
. And I’ll keep you posted.’

Ro raised an eyebrow.

‘The info is coming by fax. Old-fashioned, but more secure than email. They aren’t very happy about the billing address, but they can see we need that too. Once we have it, we can start making enquiries.’

Ro’s stomach was tight with nerves, which was silly. It was only a minor lead. It might be no help at all. The fax machine wheezed and buzzed like the tired creature it was. Jed sauntered over to it.

‘Oh,’ he said. He was looking at the fax. He sounded surprised. She went to stand by him at the machine. He pointed at the details on the print-out. There was a list of names which were hard to read. But one stood out.

‘Richard Rudder. It might mean nothing, but it’s not that common a name,’ Ro said. ‘So, say he was the man coming to Pelliter? But the Rudders have never reported someone going missing. Maybe they didn’t know he was coming? Or maybe he’s nothing to do with them? Or maybe he did come, and then he went away again, innocently. What about the Toronto end?’

‘We need to call police in Canada I suppose, and see if they can spare someone to go and see if Richard Rudder is at home. That’ll take time. And it’s pointless going to see the Rudders here before five o’clock, because we know she’ll be at work. It looks like we have a wait on our hands, which is a nuisance. But the least we can do is ask the Rudders if they knew this man.’ 

Faye Armistead was furious. Toby had spent the May Bank Holiday hanging around with his mates, and he had pleaded a tummy ache on Tuesday and refused to go to school. At this rate, he would certainly fail the Dodsworth exam. He hadn’t taken the usual earlier entrance exam. Despite their elegant farm, the credit crunch meant money was tight at the Armisteads’. But this time round he would have a real chance of a scholarship, as long as there was no competition from inappropriate families like the Dixons. But to succeed, Toby needed to work. On Wednesday, Toby still stayed at home, looking
listless
in his pyjamas and doing nothing more than play on his computer when he should have been doing online exam preparation.

At lunchtime, Faye gave in to her curiosity and called Callie McFadden on her mobile at the school.

‘Callie? It’s Faye.’

Callie thought that Faye’s voice sounded even further up her bum on the phone. ‘Hi, Faye, whatya after?’

‘I’m after you. I’m rather surprised, actually, Callie.’

‘What at?’

‘I’ve heard that you’re putting Jonty in for Dodsworth. You never mentioned it.’

‘I never thought of it till this weekend, that’s why. Anyway, what’s it to you?’

‘Well, it lessens everyone else’s chances, doesn’t it? I mean Jonty is hardly an intellectual, but the more children who enter, the harder it gets for the others.’

‘For your Toby, you mean? Tough. My boy’s as good as yours. The only thing that stopped me before was the money. Parents still have to pay
something
even if the kid gets the scholarship. I haven’t got that sort of dosh.’

‘So where are you getting money from? If he passes.’

‘Oooh, that’s got you wondering, hasn’t it?’

‘Callie? Tell me.’

‘It’s nowt to do with you.’

‘Are you somehow getting the money from Jonty’s father? This isn’t fair. I just don’t see how it’s possible….’

You’re right there, Callie thought. Threatening Ray Findley with the possibility of being Jonty’s father had never seemed very realistic to her. She was getting fed up with Liz Rudder pulling her strings and forcing her into an impossible position. She sighed a bit theatrically. ‘Look, maybe we could have a chat. I don’t want to fall out with you over this, Faye. If we play our cards right, perhaps both lads can end up at Dodsworth. Let’s talk.’ 

‘All right. When?’

‘Tonight. Why don’t I come over to the farm? It’s busy at my place….’

I bet it is, Faye thought, shuddering at the idea of Callie’s children lounging over the shabby furniture, scattering cans and take-away food cartons through the tiny kitchen-cum-diner-cum-living room. But she couldn’t invite Callie to the farm that evening. Roger was at home on Wednesdays. On Thursdays, though, he went to the auction mart.

‘Tomorrow would be preferable. Come to the farm after school. Four thirty. I’ll make afternoon tea.’

‘Oh, jolly nice of you,’ mimicked Callie nastily. ‘I’ll see you then.’

In Norbridge Police Station, Jed Jackson said to Ro, ‘Let’s go. Liz Rudder will be home from school soon.’

It took twenty minutes to drive to High Pelliter and park in the Rudders’ drive, a gravel sweep outside their imposing home.

Ro said, ‘What did John Rudder do for a living?’

‘I’m not sure. Something to do with personal finance. I think he organized a pension, or maybe an endowment mortgage, for my dad. He was obviously successful.’

‘When did he have his stroke?’

‘I can’t say. Maybe a year ago? He was in business with Liz’s brother, Kevin. You know how it is round here, family’s everything. Unless you’re feuding, of course.’

Jed rang the Rudders’ doorbell. There was a long wait, and then a man answered and looked at them in surprise. He had floppy hair, and his face opened with a smile.

‘Yes?’ he asked.

‘Is Mrs Rudder at home?’ Jed asked. ‘It’s a police enquiry.’

‘Liz? She’s my sister. I’m Kevin. Liz isn’t here.’

‘When will she be back?’

‘Not till much later. She’s delayed at school, and going straight from St Mungo’s to her Spanish class in Norbridge. I’m sitting with my brother-
in-law
. It’s our Wednesday evening ritual. But do come in. I’m sure I can help. This must be about Brenda, mustn’t it?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Jed, and followed him into the house.

At St Mungo’s School Liz Rudder was sitting in front of Ray Findley’s desk, her head characteristically on one side, her face creased with a smile.

The head teacher said, ‘All I’m asking, Liz, is what you think about Miss MacDonald’s concert project? After all, you were Miss Hodgson’s closest colleague.’ 

‘But there’s no need to put me on the spot like this!’

‘Your opinion is vital to my decision. As you know I have the greatest respect for your views on matters of diplomacy.’

Liz Rudder squirmed. Sarcasm was not what she had expected. Nor was a direct approach from Ray Findley, virtually accusing her of provoking Peter Hodgson. In her plan, the demoralized Ray Findley would have capitulated at once in the face of Father Peter’s pressure. Instead he went on, ‘Have you talked to Brenda’s brother by any chance? You must know him too.’

‘Well, yes, of course.’ Her credibility as Brenda’s closest friend was in
question
if she denied it.

‘I thought so,’ Ray Findley said. ‘So really, I’d like to hear what you think, as a long-standing family friend of the Hodgsons. I personally feel Alison’s concert idea is a marvellous way of bonding Year Six together. Surely it could be a tribute to Brenda too, after all the problems of this year?’

‘Really?’

He smiled. ‘You know, Liz, with your closeness to the family, maybe you could talk to Peter Hodgson and explain to him that the class will be paying tribute to Brenda at the show. Maybe we could start by singing her favourite song or something like that. I can rely on you to help, can’t I?’

Disputes were not Liz Rudder’s thing. That was Callie’s preserve, and she wasn’t here. The deputy head was never anything less than perfectly
professional
and completely respectful. No one could ever say otherwise. She squirmed.

‘Of course you can rely on me, Ray. You’ve done it a great deal over the last few months. I’ll talk to you about my views tomorrow when I’ve thought about it. And now, if you excuse me, I must leave. I always go into Norbridge on a Wednesday evening for my Spanish class. It’s my personal career
development
. One mustn’t get stale in teaching, as you so often tell us.’

‘No indeed,’ said Ray Findley. ‘
Buenos tardes
!’

In the smoking area of the car-park at the Crossed Foxes, Callie McFadden looked at her watch. Ray Findley had kept her waiting half an hour. At first she had thought he was bottling out of meeting her, but the longer she waited, the more she wondered if he were doing it deliberately, to make her sweat. It wasn’t characteristic. Ray had previously been terrified of anyone finding out about his indiscretion, and once Sheila had come on the scene he’d been doubly malleable.

It had been really funny, because to be honest there had been nothing to it. Callie had been pretty drunk on the night in question too, though she could remember everything quite clearly. It had meant nothing to Callie except a bit of a laugh. She’d enjoyed Ray’s obvious embarrassment
afterwards
and the whole thing had been a bit of a joke. Of course nothing had happened. They’d chatted a bit. She’d offered him some gin from her hip flask and he’d gone out like a light, slumped in the back seat, snoring. Poor bugger. He’d had a pretty hectic first term and he’d relaxed just a bit too much at the Christmas party.

But Liz Rudder had seen them get into Ray’s car together, and noticed that the car was still there, with steamed-up windows, when her own husband came to pick her up fifteen minutes later. At that moment, Callie had got out of Ray’s car, and had caught John Rudder looking at her. She’d adjusted her blouse ostentatiously. No one else had really been aware of it. Still, afterwards there had been useful mileage in Ray’s guilt and confusion.

But now, thanks to Liz, she was embroiled in this stupid scheme and she knew she had overplayed her hand. She didn’t give a toss about Jonty going to Dodsworth House, and she was pretty sure that ultimately Ray Findley would brazen it out. Liz’s idea that Jonty might be Ray Findley’s son was all too far fetched. Callie knew very well who Jonty’s real father was. She shifted uncomfortably on the bench. What had started as a bit of teasing fun, putting the head teacher on the hop occasionally, now seemed disconcertingly out of hand. Callie was good at bullying and putting on the pressure. But real
blackmail
was a much bigger ball game.

Ray Findley’s car drew into the car-park. He got out and gave her a jaunty wave.

‘No, Callie, don’t move,’ he said cheerily. ‘I’m not worried about who sees us. Have another smoke. It’s a nice evening. You’ve still got some lager left, I see. This won’t take long.’ He dropped on to the bench opposite her.

Callie’s mouth swung open, and to cover her surprise she stuffed another fag in it. Ray made no attempt to produce a light for her. He went on brightly, ‘So you want Jonty to sit for the Dodsworth exam, do you? Well, on
reflection
why not? He’s a bright boy in a “native wit” kind of way.’

Callie started to cough. ‘But what about the rest of the fees?’ she rasped.

Ray leant forward. ‘Look, Callie, I’ve discussed this with Sheila. If Jonty’s my son, we’ll gladly pay the fees. It isn’t necessarily what I’d want, but you’re his mother and you know best.’

Callie began to feel the ground slipping from under her.

Ray said, ‘Although you’ve never given me the chance to know him, have you?’

Callie gaped at him. ‘You want to
know
Jonty?’

‘If he’s my son, isn’t that reasonable? And I’m happy to go for a paternity test any time you want.’

‘You are? But then everyone will know that we—’

‘Yes. They will, won’t they? But what exactly
did
we do, Callie? I should 
never have offered you a lift – I wasn’t fit to drive. But we never left the
car-park
. You say I acted unprofessionally, for ten minutes twelve years ago when I was new to the school, lonely and under pressure. But we’ve only got your word for it.’

Callie narrowed her eyes. She was never speechless for long. ‘She’s put you up to this, hasn’t she? Your bloody wife—’

Ray got up. ‘I’m leaving now, Callie. I’ll deny any assertion you make about us having a sexual relationship, and if necessary I’ll take a DNA test. How will that make you look? You might just have to come clean about who Jonty’s father really was. It’s laughable to think it might be me, and you know it. I’m happy to support any child in my school who wants to sit the entrance exam for Dodsworth, but I’m not paying for Jonty. Think about it and tell me tomorrow what you want to do. Now, can I offer you a lift? Or after last time, would you prefer to walk?’

Ro and Jed were back in the car. They had just left the Rudders’ house.

‘Isn’t that Ray Findley driving past?’

‘Looks like he’s just been in the Crossed Foxes. Let me pull away out of the village,’ Jed said. ‘I’ll park down the road and we can have a talk.’

He accelerated past the Crossed Foxes and parked a few hundred yards away, in the lay by, where the High Pelliter Road dropped down to the Marshes.

‘So what did you make of that with Kevin?’ Ro asked.

‘Well, we didn’t get anywhere, did we?’

Kevin had ushered them into the overheated living-room where he had been sitting with John Rudder in his wheelchair, watching TV. He had offered them coffee, which they’d accepted, and they had sat in a friendly circle. Kevin had gone out of his way to make sure John was included, turning his wheelchair so he was illuminated by a soft pink lamp. It was a kind gesture to help a man who couldn’t communicate.