Page 19

I would never wish to underestimate the damage done to so many lives, economies and mental and physical wellbeings during the pandemic, nor return to that strange half-life we all lived for so long.

But, bugger me, I miss virtual Parents’ Evenings.

I’m less than an hour in, already running twenty minutes over and have no idea how I’m going to return my cheekbones to their natural position.

‘. . . and so you see, Mr Andrews,’ Leslie Harlow blithers on, seemingly oblivious to the irate line of parents behind her whose appointments are getting later by the inanity, ‘given that Luke knows all of his times tables, is clearly light years ahead of his peers and is socially very advanced, I can’t help but think he’d fare better in the Year 5 top maths group.’

Leslie is one of the many middle-class parents vicariously trying to prove her own self-worth through her children’s successes. She used to be a C-suite financial officer and tries to negotiate her child’s education like a multi-million-pound merger. I smile back at her. My face hurts.

‘Mrs Harlow,’ I begin, ‘I will have to wrap this up as I have other families to see tonight, but the fundamental issue about moving Luke from his present maths family remains the same as it was when we discussed it in the summer.’

‘And I still don’t understand it!’ she huffs. ‘Luke is clearly attaining at a high Year 5 level!’

‘But he’s still only in Year 2,’ I point out as my phone buzzes in my pocket. ‘Excuse me a moment . . .’

I’d not normally have my phone at Parents’ Evening, but I’ve been fielding calls from Finn all day. I thought he might feel more in touch with me if he had his own phone (Elena has let me know her views in visceral Celtic terms) – but no good deed goes unpunished. I pull out my phone. It’s not Finn. And I try not to smile with any part of my body at the message.

Kiera

You look so sexy tonight.

Can I make an appointment for later . . . ?

We’ve not been able to speak much since my office on Wednesday, so our phones have been doing a lot of the work for us. It’s sexy as hell. I can’t wait to be alone with her later. I’ve been thinking of her constantly. I haven’t felt like this since . . .

I force my eyes and attention back to Leslie Harlow.

‘Sorry – it’s my son, it’s his first football game tonight, he just scored . . . So, Mrs Harlow, while I’m sure Mr Bitt can find Luke work that will stretch him, it just wouldn’t be practical – nor fair – on Luke to put him with children three years older than him.’

‘But if you’d just—’ she begins, and I’m saved from making the point for the umpteenth time by Priya Mistry aggressively running into her chair.

‘Oi! We’ve been waiting here for fifteen minutes!’ she says stroppily. ‘Appointments are five minutes long! Perhaps you could get your Luke to do the maths for you?’

‘Well, I never . . .’ says Leslie, but it has the desired effect and she storms off.

‘Hey, Priya,’ I say, relieved for a sane parent. ‘This won’t take long. Anya’s doing great.’

‘Oh yeah,’ she says dismissively, ‘I know. Far as I’m concerned, every day she’s not pregnant nor in prison, I’m winning, so . . .’

I laugh.

‘Well if you’re happy, I’m running seriously behind, so . . .’

‘There was one thing I wanted to ask you,’ she interrupts. I knew it couldn’t possibly be that simple. ‘Anya was really fascinated by the Love Day stuff today. she’s come home all excited about genetics and characteristics passed on from one generation to the next – she’s decided to do a project in her spare time.’

‘Oh wow, that’s great,’ I say and I mean it. The feedback from Love Day has been mixed to say the least. Apparently Sasha McCall isn’t speaking to her dad for ‘putting your peanuts in Mummy’s wee-hole’, so we clearly need to do a bit of follow up.

‘Yeah, so, on that,’ says Priya, looking me straight in the eye, ‘my aunt is boring her down the phone with fifty-seven generations of Bangladeshi heritage as we speak. But Anya was wondering about your parents? You see, I’m not really in touch with her dad, so she was hoping to feature a man in the project? Are you very like your folks?’

I’m used to parents having no boundaries about my private life – Rosie Thompson stopped me on a jog over the weekend to ask for Theo to get harder spellings – but this is next level. And, as ever with Priya Mistry, the very fact she’s asking the question makes me profoundly uncomfortable.

‘Erm . . . I’m probably not the best example,’ I tell her. ‘I was adopted.’

Dropping the A-bomb is usually enough to activate social embarrassment and prevent further enquiries. But not with Priya.

‘I see,’ she says, as if we’re in an interview. ‘And are you in touch with your birth family?’

‘No,’ I say, trying not to be irritated about her crossing a line I shouldn’t have to draw. ‘I have never felt the need. My parents are lovely. And that’s always been enough.’

Surely that must stop her?

Nope.

‘Interesting,’ she says. ‘What brought you to Westmouth? You’re a long way from home in Inverness?’

Now I’m worried. I never told Priya I lived in Inverness. How does she know that?

‘Look, Priya, I’m very happy to support Anya with her project – that’s great,’ I say, ‘but tonight I’ve really got to . . . Excuse me.’

I feel my phone buzz again. This time, it is Finn.

Finn

Daddy? Daddy please please fone me.

I’m sad.

Oh God. There it is, the dagger to the guts.

‘You okay?’ Priya asks.

‘Fine,’ I tell her, stuffing the phone back in my pocket. ‘But I’m so behind. Do you mind if we . . . ?’

Rosie Thompson herself barges in, sparing me the rest of the sentence as Priya wheels towards her next meeting. What was that all about?

‘ – we haven’t made an appointment – it’s clear Theo is excelling,’ she boasts, putting a slice of cake in front of me. ‘So I just want to say what a great job you’re doing. And you must try my choco-banana loaf. I don’t want to brag, but I think it’s the best one I’ve ever made . . .’

I look down at the slice of cake. Rosie’s baking could plug the Hoover Dam.

‘I’ll look forward to it later,’ I say, putting the slice of constipation to one side as Kiera sashays towards me with a tray of teas and coffees.

‘Something to whet your whistle, Mr Andrews?’ she says with a devastatingly cheeky glint in her eyes.

‘Thank you,’ I say, taking a much-needed coffee.

‘My pleasure.’ She beams back. ‘You let me know if there’s anything else you need.’

She wiggles away. God, I want her. My phone buzzes again. I hope it’s her . . .

It’s not.

I haven’t had my money.

One way or another.

You pay.

Jesus . . . where does this guy think I can spirit up ten grand from . . . ?

‘Mr Andrews,’ comes Stella McEnzie-Roberts’s clipped tones, ‘I want to talk to you about the boys’ spiritual development. We strongly feel that, since Miss Stitchwell’s tragic demise, the religious aspects of the children’s education have been somewhat neglected in favour of—’

A huge clatter explodes, bringing the buzzing hall to a shocked silence.

‘You did that on purpose!’ I hear Kiera yelling, and see Clive standing smugly next to a swamp of smashed crockery and tea and coffee.

‘You should watch where you’re going, my dear,’ he says archly. ‘Now run along and clean it up.’

‘You’re all right, love,’ says Andy, who’s been helping her dish out the drinks. ‘I’ll grab me mop and it’ll all be sorted . . .’

‘You are an absolute prick!’ Kiera yells at Clive, and I jump to my feet. The whole hall is looking and I know I should be thinking about this as Kiera’s boss. But all I can see is the woman I adore being treated like shite by Clive and I just want to . . .

But, before I can reach Kiera, Hattie appears out of nowhere and ushers her out of the hall, practically carrying her back to the kitchen. I walk over to Clive.

‘Everything okay here?’ I ask him. He looks insufferably pleased with himself.

‘You just can’t get the staff, can you?’ he says slickly. He really is a colossal prick.

‘ – sorry to interrupt,’ says Mike Richardson. ‘I don’t want to take up a whole appointment, but I was wondering if my Bea could do work experience here next term. I understand that you had other students here last year and—’

‘Oi! Wait your turn! Some of us’ve been here nearly an hour!’ Leanne Phillips shouts out from my line, which seems to have doubled in size again. She never normally comes to Parents’ Evenings . . . Why is she here tonight? My heart is thumping. My phone buzzes again.

Finn

Daddy. Daddy. I don’t like Don. Hes mean.

Shit. I have to call him. I go to dial his number.

‘Oh – so you got time for a phone call, then!’ Leanne yells across the room. ‘Nice to know your priorities.’

Leanne is the last person I need to upset – she’s trouble. But Finn . . .

‘Jeez – calm down,’ says Karl Davies from further back in the line. ‘The man’s doing his best . . .’

‘What’s your problem?’ says the man with Leanne, who I don’t recognise. ‘You wanna have a go, mate? You talk to me.’

Christ alive.

I put the phone down and head over.

‘Okay, everyone, let’s keep it calm. I’m sorry we’re running so behind, but—’

‘But you have to give the most time to all these posh bints – yeah, we get it mate,’ says the unknown quantity.

‘We haven’t been introduced,’ I say firmly to him. ‘But I’m going to have to ask you to check your tone and language, friend. This is a primary school. Please be mindful of how you’re behaving around the children.’

‘That’s rich,’ he snorts. ‘Coming from you, you jock nonce . . .’

I am so gobsmacked I can’t even form a thought, let alone a word.

‘Hey! You’re way out of line,’ says Karl Davies.

The man takes off towards him.

‘I told you once,’ he snarls, shoving Karl backwards. ‘Mind your fucking mouth!’

‘That’s enough!’ Barney Brock says firmly, getting between Karl and this prick. Barney’s a fitness instructor, former army man and a right big bugger. ‘Stand down – you’re out of order.’

‘Stay out of it, you poof!’ Leanne shouts back. ‘Leave my Lewis alone!’

‘What the hell did you just say?’ Barney’s husband Dustin cries out. ‘Sounds like it’s not just the kids who need a lesson in tolerance on Love Day . . .’

‘Right, that’s enough, everyone!’ I say firmly. ‘I’m calling time – let’s all go home and cool down.’

‘But what about my meeting!’ Leanne shouts. ‘I need to talk to you about my Zac! Or aren’t you interested in my kids no more?’

‘I will reschedule everyone’s meetings, but this event is over!’ I try to shout over the growing fracas.

‘This is bullshit,’ says Lewis, kicking my table across the room.

‘Okay, pal, you’re out of here,’ Barney roars, grabbing his arms and saving me from giving this man a decent hiding here and now.

‘Get off me, fag!’ screams Lewis as he kicks and writhes in Barney’s massive grip. ‘I bet you’re loving this, you perv! I’m gonna report you for assault!’

Lewis has no chance against Barney’s hulk. But before he is wrestled out of the hall he manages to lash one more kick at the buffet table, which is, as ever, overseen by Creepy Jesus. The crappy folding table collapses at the blow, sending cake, coffee and Christ all clattering to the ground.

Creepy Jesus rolls across the hall floor and falls apart.

And out of him drops a half-empty bottle of BuyRite groundnut oil.

Robocoppers

Priya, Al, Tanya

Friday 18 Nov

20.14

Priya

Where are you pair?

Trying to find you at the Crown!

Groundnut oil?!

WTF???!!!!

Al

Sorry – Naomi got called into surgery.

Casey broke up with her boyfriend.

So had to dash home.

But. . .

Holy shit.

Tanya

I’m halfway home too – absolutely knackered after the clean-up.

We had to call Bob Alsorp over that Lewis’s little outburst.

We handed over the bottle at the same time.

There could still be an innocent explanation.

Priya

Oh COME ON, Tan!

What more do you need?

A bleeding knife through Stitchwell’s skull?!!

Al

I have to agree with Priya, babe.

(Terrifyingly.)

Coincidence is one thing.

Groundnut oil up Creepy Jesus’s arse is another.

Tanya

Fair.

I just. . . I still can’t believe it.

Priya

I can.

So we have our murder weapon.

And it’s the same brand bought at BuyRite.

Tanya

So did it?

Al

Not necessarily.

Just because he bought the oil doesn’t mean he used it.

Priya

Exactly.

But he still has a motive – the job.

And I think I know Hattie’s.

When I was in Clive’s office on Weds, I saw a few things.

Tanya

You mean, you snooped at a few things.

Priya

Not mutually exclusive.

So for one thing. . .

Clive had a load of quotes on his desk from catering companies, predating Stitchwell’s death.

I think Stitchwell was trying to get rid of Hattie.

#motive

Al

Another person prepared to kill for a job at St Nonn’s?

I think you’re overestimating staff job satisfaction.

#paranoid

Tanya

Although. . .

That school is Hattie’s life.

I can’t imagine her taking that kind of thing lying down.

Priya

Exactly.

And if Stitchwell also knew about this thing with the Reverend. . .

Al

You’re getting ahead of yourself.

Hattie isn’t going anywhere.

I talked to her about it just today, before the hospital.

And just because Clive knows something, doesn’t mean Stitchwell did.

Priya

Solid point.

But I. . . spotted something else.

Tanya

I talked to her about it just today, before the hospital.

Hospital????

Are you and the kids okay?

And I think the word you’re still searching for, Pri is ‘snooped’.

Priya

Potato/patata.

Clive had some dodgy bank statements on his desk.

Al

Hospital????

We’re fine.

I was visiting an old colleague for a catch up.

Dodgy how?

Priya

They were forgeries.

I’d know Bootleg Barry’s work anywhere.

Skilled forger.

If massive dyslexic.

So unless the school banks at ‘HBSC’. . .

Tanya

Why would he need to forge school bank statements?

Priya

Precisely.

Al

So motives:

= pissed off about his job

Hattie = pissed off about her job (and/or trying to cover up something to do with Rev Stitchwell)

Clive = cooking the books (Stitchwell knew? Threatening to out him?)

Kiera = ???

Priya

= she’s Kiera

(And maybe the Stitchwell Love Child?)

I saw her in Clive’s office and she was pissed.

The girl’s got rage.

Al

Oh Jesus – I saw her today too.

Filthy mood.

Tanya

I think her and Matt are having money troubles.

Their house is on the market.

Priya

I might have. . . accidentally overheard the conversation on Weds.

Clive turned Grace down for the hardship fund.

So Grace can’t go on the residential.

Tanya

On no!

That’s horrible!

Why don’t we see if a few of us can have a whip round?

Al

Oh come on, it’s Kiera.

She’s proud as a priapic peacock.

She won’t have a bar of it.

Priya

Erm. . .

Sorry to play devil’s advocate.

Al

No you’re not.

Priya

But I think Clive’s got a point.

If she can afford that posh school she can send Grace on the trip.

Tanya

I suppose it’s just priorities.

These are tough times.

Priya

But we have another candidate for the Stitchwell Love Child.

.

Al

What?

Priya

He’s adopted.

Right age.

Right place.

And he didn’t look nearly as surprised at that oil as he should have done.

Tanya

ENOUGH!

Just got home.

My brain hurts and I’m tired.

Going to bed.

Have great weekends both xxx

Al

You too, babe.

I’m off too.

Casey’s talking about joining a convent.

Priya

At least then she might actually be able to babysit.

Al

Good point

Put it down, Pri.

Have a good weekend x

Priya

You’re no fun any more. . .

Priya Mistry

Friday 18 Nov

20.43

Al

Pri?

You still there?

Priya

The bar is open.

So here I shall remain.

Al

I need to talk to you about something.

Didn’t want to raise it in front of Tanya.

I lied about why I was at the hospital today.

Priya

Shit – you okay?

Al

I’m absolutely fine – it wasn’t medical.

Well, not exactly. . .

Priya

Al, you’re scaring me. . .

Al

Sorry. . .

The inquest won’t be for months.

But I wanted to get hold of Stitchwell’s autopsy report.

See if we could put Tan’s mind at rest, if Stitchwell didn’t eat the cake.

So I pulled in a favour from a mate who works in pathology.

Owes me for a very discreet STI treatment. . .

Priya

You sly dog!

I love it.

Al

I am spending WAY too much time around you. . .

But it’s not what I hoped.

Here’s the relevant bit:

Gastrointestinal Findings

Oesophagus:

The oesophagus is intact throughout with no signs of injury, tears, or abnormalities.

Stomach:

The stomach is not distended and maintains its normal size and shape.

Approximately 400 millilitres of dark-coloured fluid are present within the stomach. Analysis detected the presence of alcohol in this fluid.

Approximately 200 millilitres of undigested food material are observed. The consistency and appearance of this material are consistent with cake-like substance, as reported to have been consumed shortly before death.

These findings are consistent with the reported circumstances and timeline of events leading up to the individual’s demise.

Priya

Okay.

So the cake is there.

Still doesn’t mean it was the cause.

There’s fluid there too.

If we’re assuming the groundnut oil is the culprit

The murderer could have put it in her tea, water or sherry.

Al

Absolutely.

But doesn’t rule it out.

Which I was hoping it might.

Priya

Me too, matey.

Al

And here’s the other thing.

So let’s have a working hypothesis:

Someone spiked Tanya’s cake with the oil

Priya

That’s where I’m at.

Al

Two things:

1) That’s pretty indiscriminate.

Stitchwell isn’t the only person with a nut allergy at St Nonn’s.

This murder feels very personal.

To potentially hurt someone else as collateral damage feels deranged.

Priya

I agree.

That’s the act of a maniac.

Although crimes of passion tend not to be very organised. . .

That said, the murderer didn’t have to spike the whole cake.

Just the piece that Stitchwell ate.

Al

That makes more sense.

However (just checking something. . .)

Yes.

Stitchwell got her own cake.

Both Hattie and Kiera’s statements back that up.

every inch of my kitchen – you’ll find more nuts in a convent. Anyway, I was putting out me savouries and Tanya was putting out her cake – bloomin’ Stitchwell turns up and nicks a bloody great slice before we’ve even finished laying out, the greedy cow – when dopey Andrews tripped over his own

Miss Stitchwell came in asking for tea, and helped herself to a piece of Tanya’s cake – couldn’t even wait for everyone else, the greedy cow. So I gave her the tea and she took it all back to her office.

Priya

I still think they could be in it together.

They even use the same insult.

Al

Even if they are it would be a helluva bit of luck to spike the right bit.

And come on, you know Hattie.

She’d never risk a child picking up cake that could hurt them.

Priya

True.

What’s the second thing?

Al

For there to be sufficient nut protein to kill Stitchwell as quickly as it did

There would have to be a LOT of oil on that cake.

Priya

That groundnut oil bottle was over half empty. . .

Al

Exactly.

The murderer would have had to have absolutely doused the cake – or slice – in oil.

You don’t think Stitchwell would have noticed a piece of cake with most of a bottle of oil in it?

It would have slid off the plate.

Priya

Hmmmm.

These are both good (bad) things.

Perhaps we need to look at the liquids.

Although your constitution point applies there too.

Surely Stitchwell would notice tea/wine/water swimming in a bottle of oil.

Al

Yup.

Bloody hell.

This detective thing is hard.

Priya

Wait till they start shooting at you.

Al

I dunno.

I’ve had every bodily fluid chucked at me and then some.

Priya

What you and Naomi do in your private time. . .

Al

Ha!

Chance would be a fine thing.

I’m not sure we’ve been in the same room for the past six months.

Priya

You guys okay?

Al

I’ll tell you if we see each other!

It’ll be fine.

I just miss her.

And work.

I REALLY miss work.

Being there today reminded me how much I love it.

Priya

Oh babe.

I hear you.

I would never have left the force through choice.

Al

You were obviously a great copper.

Priya

And you a great nurse.

I can throw some warm piss at you to make you feel better ?

Al

You say the sweetest things.

Priya

TALK TO YOUR WIFE!

I’m sure she’ll understand.

All the kids are at school now.

Perhaps there’s another way?

Al

Perhaps.

But I’d miss them too.

Devil and the deep blue sea. . .

Priya

Welcome to every mother’s dilemma since Eve decided to open an apple shop. . .

Al

I honestly don’t know how you’ve done it all on your own.

Priya

‘Complete absence of any alternative’ was a big motivator.

I gave Anya’s dad the option to be a father.

And he took it.

But with his wife and kids.

So it’s always just been her and me.

Al

Well you’ve done a fantastic job.

Anya’s absolutely awesome.

Priya

I think so.

But don’t tell her.

Al

It’ll be our secret.

What should we do about Tanya?

With the report, I mean.

Priya

I think you were right not to tell her.

There’s nothing there that will make her feel better.

Let’s see how things play out for a while.

The groundnut oil bottle is with the police.

That might shed some light.

Al

Okay.

Thanks babe.

Priya

Anytime.

And Al?

Al

Yup?

Priya

TALK TO YOUR BLOODY WIFE!!!

PARENTCHAT

Clearer Community Communication

ST NONNATUS CE PRIMARY

Ora et labora

Monday 21 November

Mrs Marcia [email protected]

To: Whole School

Re: Week commencing 21 Nov

Dear Parental Responsibility Providers,*

We hope this finds you really well and getting your brains buzzing for our annual Family Quiz Night on Friday! This is always a real highlight of the St Nonn’s social calendar and our enormous thanks as always to the PTA volunteers who work so tirelessly to pull it all together. We’re really looking forward to a fun and friendly night. In that spirit, we remind you that the adjudicator’s scores are final and that we would appreciate no disputing of the results on the night, in the car park afterwards or during class assembly in the coming weeks.

We also remind you that we will be offering flu immunisations next month for those who wish for their child to be vaccinated – you can find more information and give your consent for these in the link below. We remind you that these are offered by the local health authority, so any concerns about safety, efficacy or potential monitoring by extra-terrestrial lifeforms will need to be taken up with them.

We’re delighted to report that we have recruited a new teacher for the Tigers – Ms Rose Sild. Some of you might remember Miss Sild when she did her student placement with us last year (and those of you with even longer memories might remember her from her time as a pupil at St Nonn’s!) – she is now fully qualified and very excited to be starting her first teaching post with our lovely Tigers.

I’m sorry to say that the issue with inconsiderate parking continues and so you might have noticed that we have placed cones along the zigzags outside the school gates and around our neighbours’ driveways. To be clear, these are for the prevention of parking in these areas, not reservation. We will continue to remove any names attached to the cones, which, I must also point out, are not hats.

I leave you with the words of Jeremy Paxman: ‘And it’s goodbye from me. Goodbye.’

Best wishes,

Mrs Marcia Cox

Office Manager

St Nonnatus Primary School

* In response to further feedback about our terminologies, we have once again changed our policy as many felt strongly that the term ‘guardians’ excluded those with biological and legal care duties towards their children, as well as confusing children who thought this meant their parents now had moral obligations to defend the galaxy. We continue to listen.