The School Gate Survival Guide (36 page)

‘You were daydreaming about me?’ I started to laugh. When I’d been conjuring up his face in the mirror while I polished, he’d been dripping about at staff meetings. What a pair.

‘Don’t laugh. I know I sound like a teenager having his first crush. I knew that I couldn’t be Head of Upper School and become involved with the mother of two of my pupils. And to start with, I didn’t want to split you and Colin up because of the children, but then you came in with the black eye and I knew that you’d be better off without him. So I started to engineer a transfer to that other school. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d try and stop me. You were always saying that you were afraid you’d mess up my life. I thought you’d refuse to see me if you knew, so I decided to present you with a
fait accompli
.’

‘You did that so you could carry on seeing me?’

‘Yes. I did. Didn’t you realise how much I thought of you? It must be my northern working-class ways. Can’t do all that middle-class touchy-feely stuff.’ He was looking away again. ‘I was absolutely overwhelmed by you. Your timing was brilliant though. I got the phone call about the secondment the same day your letter arrived saying you were taking the children out of Stirling Hall.’

‘Why didn’t you talk to me about it? I could’ve explained,’ I said.

‘Okay. You’re going to laugh at me now. I’d moved heaven and earth to get into another school. I wanted to ask you to come and live with me. I couldn’t stand the thought of you staying with Colin, in case he turned on you again. When I got that letter, it made me feel like I couldn’t trust you, that I didn’t know you at all, that you’d been using me.’

I stared. I cursed myself for leaving that bloody letter where Colin could get his hands on it. ‘Move in with you? But you’ve never even lived with anyone. And I wouldn’t have come without Bronte and Harley anyway.’

‘I was expecting you to bring them as well, of course.’

My eyes widened at the thought of trying to keep Harley contained in that immaculate flat. ‘So are you taking the secondment or not?’ I wasn’t sure how to break the news that the kids were staying on at Stirling Hall.

He put his teacup down with a rattle. ‘Yes. Luckily, I think it will be very interesting.’

I hoped like mad that all the teachers at his new school would have crossed eyes, great big lardy arses and sensible lace-ups. ‘I’m really sorry that I didn’t talk to you about taking the kids out. You had such faith in me that I didn’t know how to disappoint you. Then once I was at Clover’s away from the bailiffs and the debts and everything, I suppose I buried my head in the sand a bit and of course, Colin got involved. There’s no way I would have sent that letter without telling you first. Do you at least believe that?’

He put his head on one side. ‘Yes, I think I do. But you wouldn’t speak to me. I couldn’t work out what was going on.’

‘I found out you’d been seeing Serena. You’re banging on about how you were mooning about, overwhelmed by me, or whatever your words were but you still had PC Plod on the backburner. Hedging your bets, were you?’ I could hear the poison tumbling out of me but I couldn’t seem to get the stopper back in the bottle.

Annoyance flickered over his face. He put his hand up. ‘Hang on a minute. You were the one with the partner, not me. Up until a few weeks ago, you were going back to Colin.’ He stepped towards me. ‘Okay. I’m getting the message that Serena is the sticking point here. Let’s deal with her first. She liked me more than I liked her. We had a few dates but I let it fizzle out.’

I wasn’t letting him get away with that. ‘But she was there when I phoned you, after Bronte was found. I heard her, whining about sitting there like a “stuffed lemon” while you were talking to me.’ I made a conscious effort to take my hands off my hips, but then I couldn’t think how to stand naturally.

Mr Peters shook his head. ‘I hadn’t seen her for ages before Bronte went missing. I think she felt as though fate had brought us together again. She made an excuse to come over to discuss the school’s strategy for dealing with Bronte’s disappearance and I was glad of the distraction. It all ended rather badly because she thought she’d be staying the night and I called her a cab just after I spoke to you.’

I hated the idea of Serena lounging about in Mr Peters’ flat, preparing to make a night of it, all come hither eyes and girlie giggles. I wasn’t about to be fobbed off with that. ‘But I saw her coming out of your building about a month ago. I’m not making that up.’

Exasperation was creeping into Mr Peters’ voice. ‘She goes to the beautician to have facials or whatever stuff you women have done. I heard her say that to you at the ball. That’s nothing to do with me. I swear I have seen her once since Bronte was found and that was at the ball.’

I didn’t know what to believe. Maybe that snog-fest look was an electrolysis thing rather than a Mr Peters thing. I stared at him. He wasn’t fidgeting or looking away like Colin used to when he was feeding me a line.

‘But you must have invited her to the ball?’ I said.

‘I hold my hand up to that. I don’t know what I was thinking. The headmaster had already caught a whisper that I was involved with you, probably from Felicity. Of course, I denied it flat out but he was watching me. Watching us. He’s keen on the whole community relations thing and had drawn up a list of the local great and good to invite to the ball from the police, council and various charities – including Serena. All the senior staff had to escort someone. You weren’t answering my calls, so I just took the easy option and chose Serena. I suppose I thought it would stop people gossiping. About you and me, anyway.’

He glanced at my Open University forms that I’d left on the side. A huge grin spread over his face, then he seemed to realise it wasn’t the moment. ‘Right, this doesn’t show me in a very good light. I also agreed to escort Serena because I thought it might make you a bit jealous.’ He looked down. ‘Maia, I wanted some sign from you that it wasn’t all a game. Then when I got to the ball, I didn’t want to make you jealous, I just wanted to be with you.’

His voice trailed off. He closed his eyes. ‘I could have punched that horrible Howard bloke. I could see him hitting on you but also trying to humiliate you and I just hated it. Then you told Frederica you were going back to Colin and I realised I’d missed my chance. I came outside to look for you, to try and talk to you but you’d already gone.’

‘Yeah. I went home to throw Colin out. And to cry my eyes out over you.’ I studied his face, trying to read the truth there. A little – what did Rose used to say? – ‘scintilla’ of excitement sparked somewhere deep inside me.

Mr Peters walked over to me. I caught the scent of his aftershave and a memory of him lying on top of me in his flat wafted into my mind. He stood within touching distance and I held my breath.

‘I must let you get on.’ He glanced behind him towards the open kitchen door. ‘Okay, this isn’t very northern lad, a bit gushy for a Boltonian boy, but I really like you.’ The man was blushing. Really blushing. ‘I don’t know how you got under my skin so easily. Anyway, I’d better go before you get the sack.’

‘I don’t think I’m likely to get the sack,’ I said. I stared at him to see if he was having me on. For such a bright bloke, it appeared he hadn’t completely understood my change in circumstances.

‘Who are the owners, anyway?’ he said.

‘A wonderful woman, a single mum, with two lovely children. She’s just missing the gorgeous boyfriend now.’ I started to laugh and moved in a bit closer. I could see the tip of the eagle’s beak poking out of his shirt.

Mr Peters looked confused. ‘What?’ He drew away from me slightly. ‘I’m thinking that I need to be concentrating on this conversation. It’s a bit tricky when you’re standing so close.’

He shook his head but didn’t try to stop me as I undid a couple of buttons on his shirt. I kissed the eagle and put my ear against his chest. His heart was thudding. When I looked up, those dark grey-green eyes were questioning me but he didn’t look like he was rushing to get away. I brushed his lips with mine. His hands threaded into my hair.

I murmured into his ear. ‘I thought you knew. This is the professor’s old house, you know, Professor Stainton, the one who left me the money for the school fees? I only found out a few weeks ago that she also left me the house. And rather a lot of money. It’s a long story, but she was actually my grandmother.’

He drew away from me. ‘Your grandmother? You’ve inherited all this? I thought you were, I don’t know, living on the top floor with the children or something. That’s brilliant. Oh my God. You’re not joking about owning it. And there was me, riding to the rescue, thinking you’d want to move into my two-bedroom flat. What a moron.’

I pulled him back towards me. My legs were trembling. Every nerve in my body was waiting to be soothed by him. He lowered his face to mine, kissing me softly, tiny little kisses, pausing every now and then to look at me with those headlamp eyes. I could feel him holding back, not wanting to scare me off. I needed more than that. ‘Zac, it’s okay.’ I felt his lips curve when I said his name. He pressed his mouth hard onto mine, kissing me until there was no room for any thoughts, just giddiness. I could practically hear the blood pumping round my body.

Zac buried his face in my hair. His hands were moving up my T-shirt and I was having to concentrate on keeping my breathing even. ‘How many bedrooms did you say there were?’ he asked.

I didn’t get to reply. The kids came barging through the front door, charging into the kitchen and doing a cartoon screech to a halt as they clocked Zac.

‘Hello, sir. How are you?’ Harley was all smiles and mud. Even Bronte broke into a big grin, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright from the fresh air.

I pretended to look for something in the fridge so I could adjust my T-shirt. Zac’s shirt was gaping open but he managed to look cool and trendy rather than undressed. Zac took it all in his stride. ‘Morning, you two. Just popped in to discuss a few things with your mother. I gather you’re quite enjoying living here.’

Harley rushed out hundreds of details, how he was going to get a quad bike, how he was playing tennis every day, what fish he’d caught, before flying off upstairs to ring the servants’ bell in his bedroom which showed up on a panel in the kitchen. Bronte contented herself with getting out Rose’s book of wild birds and showing him a picture of a kingfisher she’d seen at the stream. He was so easy with them, so interested.

Half an hour later, I walked out to the car with him. ‘Will you tell the children?’ he asked, as he opened the door.

‘Tell them what?’

‘That I’m your new boyfriend?’

‘Are you my new boyfriend?’

‘I’d like to be. That is, if you don’t mind dating the lower classes now you’re part of the aristocracy.’ He had his arms folded, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels.

I reached for his hand. ‘I like a bit of rough.’

He laughed and pulled me into his arms. ‘Maia, I don’t want to let you go again. I’ve faffed about, got it all wrong and I just want a chance now to behave a bit bloody normally.’

He kissed me gently, then not so gently. He glanced over my shoulder, back to the house. ‘I’m going. You need to talk to the children before they see us together. I love you.’

‘Love me? You haven’t even had dinner with me.’ I had yet to learn that smart-arse remarks weren’t always the answer to embarrassment.

He shook his head. ‘Go. Go now. Tell the children I’m going to be around for a very long time. I’m serious.’

I didn’t feel like a cleaner. I felt like a princess. And that was nothing to do with money.

I’ve been very lucky to have had some great cheerleaders to get me from ‘there’ to ‘here’. If I hadn’t found the creative writing program at UCLA, I’d still be telling a yawning audience about my ambitions to write a novel, so huge thanks to my teachers: Jessica Barksdale Inclán, Lynn Hightower and Robert Eversz and my fellow students: Carol Starr Schneider, Karen Gekelman, Rochelle Staab and Romalyn Tilghman.

On this side of the ocean, Harry Bingham and his team at The Writers’ Workshop both spurred me on and offered wise words when needed, as did author Adrienne Dines.

I’ve had massive support from my family, especially from my husband, Steve, who managed not to say out loud, ‘When is all this writing nonsense going to stop?’ I think some of them may even be a little bit proud now. Friends, way too many to mention, have played their part in pushing me onwards when it was all looking too damned hard. Special thanks to Caroline Broderick, Bushi Pearson and Sharon Woodrow – and my writing buddy, Jenny Ashcroft, without whom I would be rocking in a corner.

Mary Wheeler gave me generous help on police procedure and Mark Collins pointed me in the right direction on probate matters. All mistakes are mine – they knew their stuff.

Some authors have overnight success, many more slog away for years finding the notion of giving up just slightly less bearable than carrying on. I know which category I am in. Consequently, I am so delighted that when things did start to happen for me, I found two lovely people to work with: my editor, Helen Bolton at Avon (and her team) and my agent, Clare Wallace at Darley Anderson. They have both made the publishing process joyous.

Finally … I raise a glass to everyone who bought or recommended this book in its previous incarnation as
The Class Ceiling
and created enough success around it to move it to the next stage. Cheers.

I was wearing the wrong bra for sitting in a police cell.

It was sod’s law that I’d chosen today to try out my early Christmas present from Scott. But I hadn’t dressed thinking the police would confiscate my blouse as ‘evidence’. I’d dressed thinking that sexy underwear might put my husband into a more festive frame of mind.

As soon as we’d arrived in reception at the police station, the constable who’d arrested me leaned over the counter and said, ‘She won’t be able to keep that shirt on. We’ll need to bag it up.’