The Lives She Left Behind (16 page)

‘Crying?’ said the man to Mike. ‘You’ll be crying when we’ve finished with you, you ponce.’

There was nothing the teacher could do but watch from his window as they drove their son away.

He went to bed early, imagining the comforting shift of a body on the mattress next to him, imagining the woman he mourned, refreshed, remade. He got up early the next morning,
showered, shaved and drove to the school singing. In the staffroom he read a notice about arrangements for the end of term, pulled a stiff white envelope from his pigeonhole and read its
instruction to come immediately to the principal’s office.

The note took the edge off his new feeling of goodwill. He guessed what it was about. The principal hadn’t liked his suggestion for the end-of-term activities week. She said nobody would
be interested in yet another Somerset castles tour. She wanted something more contemporary. Her secretary, Mrs Firebrace, gave him a slack-jawed, unhappy look when he went into the outer
office.

‘She’s in there with Mr Montgomery,’ she said.

Mr Montgomery was the Chair of Governors.

‘Shall I come back?’ Mike asked.

‘Oh no. No, they’re waiting for you. You’re to go straight in.’

Mr Montgomery was wearing a suit. He stood up when the secretary announced Mike but he didn’t put out his hand. Jennifer Foxton half stood from behind her desk, then seemed to buckle back
into her chair. They both gaped at him as he looked from one to the other.

‘I’m afraid there’s been a complaint,’ she said in the end.

The latch was hanging off, two of its screws torn out of the softened wood, and the five-bar gate sagged open just far enough for her to squeeze through, careful not to let the
damp decay stain her jacket. She was running late with two more appointments to go and had hoped to avoid emergencies like this one.

The cottage stood on a slant from the lane, not quite at right angles, its slate roof dipping away. Paint curled off the window frames in grey-green flakes. Soapy leaves sprawled over newer
shoots in the flower beds.

She looked around what might once have been a farmyard, arming herself for the moment when the papers in her file would merge with a living, breathing client. It seemed to her to be a lonely
place. Brambles arced in from the screen of trees around the yard, barring the way to old brick sheds.

She lifted the door knocker, held it in the air for one more undecided second, then banged it down twice. A pigeon clattered out of the trees. She was raising her hand to knock again when she
heard faint steps within and someone fiddling at the door. The man who opened it was frowning, grey and tired, and she could not imagine him laughing.

‘Mr Martin? Michael Martin?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Rachel Palmer.’

He looked at her blankly.

‘From Whitson Saunders.’

‘Who are Whitson Saunders?’

‘Solicitors,’ she said. ‘I’m here to represent you. Your union called me.’ That got no response at all. ‘Didn’t you know I was coming?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ he said.

‘They didn’t ring you?’ She glanced beyond him into the hallway. In the gloom, she could see a message light winking red on a machine.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Tony Ferranti. Is that right? Your branch representative? He asked me to come.’

‘Did he? I told him I’d be all right.’

‘I’m here to help you, Mr Martin. Your union thinks this is serious. We need to do something straight away.’

‘Why?’

‘What did the school tell you?’

‘The principal said I should stay at home while they sorted it out. She called it gardening leave.’

‘When was that?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘But you’ve been suspended, haven’t you?’

She saw his eyes lift to her and widen. ‘Suspended?’

‘Well, I’m sorry to bring bad news but I’m quite sure you have. They tell me they sent a letter yesterday afternoon by Special Delivery.’

As one, they looked at the floor next to his feet, where a scatter of envelopes spread across the flagstones. A red and white card lay on top and he bent to pick it up. ‘Oh. I didn’t
hear the knocker. It says they tried to deliver something that needs signing for.’

‘Yes. Look, can I come in?’

He shrugged and stepped out of the way. ‘I’m sorry. Of course.’

Rachel Palmer had done matrimonial work and she had seen kitchens like this before, single men’s kitchens which had once been shared. She could even put a rough date on the start of the
disintegration. Ten years ago? No, more than that. Fifteen maybe. Time for the paint to discolour darkly above the stove, for the small saucepans to show the marks of scoured burning while the
larger ones gathered dust.

‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ he said.

‘Have you got any herb tea?’

He opened a cupboard and she saw a mess of very old cardboard packets. Some had split and the teabags spilling from them had turned mid-brown.

‘Don’t worry. Anything will do.’

She watched his back in silence as he searched for a second acceptable mug, then they sat opposite each other at a wooden kitchen table and her papers stuck to its surface as she spread them
out.

‘You’ve been suspended indefinitely, effective yesterday.’

He looked up then, suddenly alert, and she found that a relief. Surprise made him more human, less like the relic of some profound disaster. ‘Is that normal?’ he asked, ‘No,
stupid. Of course it’s not. What does it mean?’

‘It means you mustn’t go near the school or contact anyone else involved.’ She took refuge in her notes. ‘You are the subject of a complaint made by the parents of Luke
Sturgess of Sandwell Cottage, Cucklington. They allege there has been . . .’ she hesitated . . . ‘an improper relationship between you and their son.’

‘What does improper mean?’

She stared at him, saw he was younger than she had thought behind the fence of frown lines. ‘Don’t you know?’

‘It doesn’t mean anything . . . sexual, does it?’

‘Yes, I think in this case that’s a major part of their concern.’

He shook his head. ‘They think that? And the school believes them?’

‘The school hasn’t got much choice,’ she said gently. ‘I suppose you could say that suspension is the necessary response after an allegation of that sort.’ It felt
too soon to dive into further detail. He looked prepared to pull down the shutters at any moment.

‘It isn’t true,’ he said. ‘It’s a complete misunderstanding. I hope you know that? I’m not like that. It’s horrifying that anyone could . . .’ He
seemed unable to go on and she waited for him to get control of his voice but in the end he only sighed so she talked to give him time.

‘I’m sure it will be all right,’ she said, though she wasn’t yet sure of anything. ‘We’ll sort it out. Don’t worry.’

‘Look, I’ll just quit. I had half a mind to go anyway. If they don’t believe me I’ll resign.’

‘I’m sorry, but it’s not quite that simple. They’re suggesting that this may go back a little while.’

‘Does that make a difference?’

‘I’m afraid it does. The boy is only just sixteen now. If he was under sixteen when any offence is alleged to have taken place, then it’s not just a matter for the school and
the education authority. It becomes a matter for the police.’

‘I didn’t even know him until this week.’

‘They say you did. They say you took him on a school trip last year – an overnight trip.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’

‘You hadn’t thought of that?’

‘I hadn’t thought of any of this.’

‘All right, let’s get on and see what we can do. I need to ask you some questions.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘You were married, I understand? Are you still in touch with your wife at all?’

He looked at her sharply. ‘Of course not.’

‘Why do you say of course not? Are you on bad terms?’

‘We were never on bad terms. Not for a single moment. I say that because she’s dead.’

That changed things for Rachel. There was sorrow, not anger, at the core of this house, although there was a disconcerting edge to the way he said it.

‘Forgive me. I should have known that. I really should. This has had to be done in a rush. How long ago did she—’

‘Sixteen years and five months.’

She thought he could probably have told her in days, perhaps even hours.

‘You don’t have any children?’ There were no children here, that was clear, but the question had to be asked.

‘Not now. We did.’

‘You lost a child?’

‘I lost my family. My wife and my daughter. Both at once.’ There was something harsher creeping into his voice.

‘I am so sorry,’ she said, aware of the complete inadequacy of the words. ‘I can only guess at what that feels like,’ then, because she had stumbled into this and could
not retreat without sounding heartless, she asked the hard and pressing question, ‘How did it happen?’

He was staring down at the table. ‘They died together. Gally and . . . Rosie.’

‘How old was Rosie?’

He seemed unable to answer, just staring back at her, shaking his head slightly so she pressed on. ‘Was it an accident?’

He shook his head more emphatically but said nothing more.

‘Mr Martin, you need to trust me if I’m going to help. I have to understand a lot about you, and I have to understand that quite quickly. If this isn’t the right time,
I’ll happily come back but it will need to be soon. I really am on your side. Please believe that.’

‘Are you? Why? You don’t know me.’ He didn’t sound annoyed, more quietly curious about how this thing they had embarked on was meant to operate.

‘Of course your union’s paying me to be on your side.’ She saw his eyes slide away from her as if that was what he expected. ‘That’s how it starts,’ she said,
‘but that’s not necessarily where it stops.’

‘You make your own mind up?’

‘I’m not supposed to, but of course I do.’

He looked at her then, seeming to notice her properly for the first time. ‘All right. What do you need?’

‘It would help if you told me as much about the background to this as you can bear to. All I’ve got at the moment is your professional details. History lecturer at the University of
London, then teaching at a Somerset comprehensive?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not even head of a department? Wasn’t that a big step down in the world?’ She was looking for the discontinuities, the chinks the other side might use if she didn’t get
there first, but she was also thinking he was perhaps a failure.

‘It was a personal decision.’

She chose to keep her silence and that drew him into filling it.

‘It changed when they died,’ he said. ‘There’s no fun travelling all that way up and down just to be by yourself when you get back.’

‘You could have stayed in London?’

‘No, no. This place was Gally’s whole life. I couldn’t leave here.’

‘Gally was your wife?’

He nodded. ‘Once she found this house she never wanted to be anywhere else. We had our baby down here. It was her whole world.’ He frowned. ‘Does any of this matter?’

She nodded. ‘It might. Look, Mr Martin—’

‘Please. I hear Mr Martin all day long at school. I don’t want to be Mr Martin. Call me Mike.’

‘All right. Mike. I don’t think you can guess what this is going to be like. You’re accused of improper behaviour towards a teenage boy. They are going to be turning over
stones. There could be all kinds of suggestions.’

‘Such as?’ He sounded indignant now. She preferred that to weary hopelessness. She could do something with indignation.

‘Well, for example, they might suggest you switched to teaching in this school because you wanted to be with younger children. That’s why I’m asking about your
career.’

‘That’s mad.’

‘I’m afraid when these things get going, you can’t rely on sanity.’

He was clearly shocked. ‘But I was married. I had a child. I just told you.’

‘Sadly there are people out there – married people, people with children of their own – who are still capable of terrible things.’

‘Not me. I promise you.’

‘The police are going to need more than promises,’ she said gently. ‘I’m sure you’ve never been on the receiving end of an investigation before
but—’

And that was when he astonished her. ‘I have,’ he said. ‘That’s the point. I have.’ He stopped and stared down at his hands and she saw his fingers twisting around
each other. She tried to keep her face calm and waited patiently until he looked up at her with an expression of defiance, a new animation.

‘You’d better tell me,’ she said.

‘The police questioned me about Gally and Rosie.’

‘About what exactly?’

‘About their deaths.’

‘In what way?’

‘They thought it might not have been an accident.’

She tried to cover up her shock. ‘You were a suspect?’

‘I was
the
suspect.’

‘Why? Whatever made them think that?’

‘They couldn’t tick their boxes. Gally and Rosie died by poisoning, you see. She would pick things in the hedgerows. Not just for food. For medicine too. Their people couldn’t
sort it out, they couldn’t work out the toxins. They didn’t know exactly what made it lethal.’

‘So they tried to point it at you?’

‘I was all they had.’

‘How long did that go on?’

‘Weeks and weeks.’

‘How very terrible. What happened in the end?’

‘They just let it go. They never said they believed me, only that they didn’t have enough evidence to act.’ He looked at her and it was a moment of certainty for her. ‘I
still feel scared every time I see a policeman,’ he said.

She found herself believing in him. This was a good man, a man who had been fought nearly to a standstill but certainly no murderer.

‘Tell me about Luke Sturgess.’

‘Luke Sturgess?’ It sounded for a moment as if he did not quite recognise the name. ‘Oh, right. What do you want to know?’

‘How did you come across him? In class?’

‘No. I never taught him. I only really met him at the weekend.’ Mike explained about the dig.

‘And last year?’

‘I don’t really remember that much. He came to my after-school History Club once, then he came on the castle visit. They all stayed in a hostel. I was in a B & B next door. He
never came again. Like I say, I didn’t ever teach him.’ Mike didn’t tell her what he was just starting to remember – that the boy didn’t come back because the other
kids in the club had made fun of him and his interest and the strange questions he had asked.