Page 3 of Wild Horses

The drama hall buzzed with energy and excitement – their first full dress rehearsal of Hamlet . For Christy, watching her costumed students recite their lines brought with it a deep sense of fulfilment.

‘Miss Peacock?’ Sandra interrupted, just like she had a hundred times before. But this time her smirk made Christy more uneasy than usual. ‘The principal would like to see you in his office.’

Christy’s pulse quickened, her mind racing with potential reasons for the sudden summons. Had something happened to one of her students? Was there an issue with her lessons? She swallowed hard, pushing aside her anxiety and nodding at Sandra.

‘Of course.’ She turned to her class. ‘Take five, everyone. I’ll be right back.’

Sandra shook her head. ‘That won’t do. I’ve taken the liberty of asking Mr Dodds to take over your class.’

Boys groaned as the ancient maths teacher appeared in the doorway.

Christy couldn’t believe it. Albert Dodds didn’t have an artistic bone in his body. With a sigh she followed Sandra down the hall to the principal’s office.

‘Have a seat, Miss Peacock.’ Mr Bradshaw gestured to a chair opposite his desk.

His expression was sombre, and Christy’s apprehension grew.

Seated beside him were two stern-faced individuals – a middle-aged man and woman, their arms folded across their chests.

‘These people are Mr and Mrs Jacobs, Samuel’s parents. ’

‘What’s happened?’ Christy asked, forcing herself to maintain a calm demeanour. ‘Is he all right?’

‘Miss Peacock,’ the principal began, his voice heavy with concern. ‘We’ve received a very troubling accusation against you.’

‘An accusation?’ Christy’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’ll get straight to the point. Samuel’s mother found his diary.’ He slid the Moleskine journal that Christy had given the boy six weeks earlier across the table. ‘It details an intimate relationship between Samuel and an unnamed teacher at our school.’

It took a few moments for the penny to drop. ‘Surely you’re not suggesting that it’s me,’ Christy stammered, her heart hammering in her chest.

‘You are the only young female teacher at this college. And given the extra time you’ve devoted to Samuel .

.. well, it’s not unreasonable to assume you’re the teacher referred to in his diary.

’ Mr Bradshaw fiddled with a silver fountain pen, then put it down again.

‘According to Sandra Williams you’ve been meeting Samuel twice a week after class for, aah, extra tuition. Is this correct?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And these meetings have taken place in the privacy of the drama classroom with nobody else present?’

Samuel’s mother interjected, her voice cold and accusatory. ‘I’m not just Samuel’s mother. I’m also a member of the school board, and we cannot allow someone who preys on students to remain at this school.’

‘Preys on students?’ Christy’s face flushed with anger and disbelief. ‘I would never do that! My relationship with Samuel has always been appropriate and focused on helping him grow as a student and an actor.’

Everyone in the room stared at her, their expressions grim. Christy felt the ground crumbling beneath her feet. Her life, her career, everything she’d worked so hard to build was collapsing around her, based on nothing more than a false accusation and misguided assumptions.

Christy looked at their stony faces and saw no hint of sympathy. ‘Did Samuel say it was me?’ she asked in astonishment.

‘He refused to name the culprit,’ said Mr Bradshaw. ‘However, his parents fear their son is being silenced by a misplaced loyalty to you. Frankly, I’m inclined to agree. The boy is on his way here now. Hopefully he can clarify things for us.’

Samuel sat in the principal’s office, fidgeting with his tie. His eyes nervously darted around the room, taking in the serious faces of those who surrounded him. Christy sat in the corner, under strict instructions not to speak.

‘Samuel,’ said Mr Jacobs, his voice thick with anger and disappointment. ‘Is it Miss Peacock here that you refer to in your diary?’

‘It’s nobody. I made it all up.’

‘Nonsense,’ said his father. ‘The entries are too detailed to be imaginary. You won’t leave this room until you tell us the truth. What teacher does the diary refer to?’

Christy’s heart ached for the child she’d come to care so much about. She knew he must be feeling cornered, terrified even. But would he lie about something so serious?

‘I w-won’t say,’ stammered Samuel at last, staring at his shoes.

‘Do you deny it was this woman?’ asked the principal.

‘I won’t say,’ Samuel insisted stubbornly.

His father’s face darkened. ‘Answer me, dammit. Do you deny it was this woman?’

Samuel’s head hung even lower. ‘I don’t deny it,’ he whispered.

The room closed in as shock and disbelief washed over Christy. Her hands trembled at her sides, clenched into tight fists.

‘Samuel.’ Her voice quivered with emotion. ‘Our relationship has never been anything but professional. What could possibly make you say such a thing?’

He looked at her, his eyes filled with sadness and fear. ‘I ... I can’t tell you,’ he stammered. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’ Christy echoed, her voice catching in her throat. The weight of betrayal settled hard upon her shoulders, leaving her feeling stranded and alone. She searched the boy’s face for an explanation, some hint of a reason behind his lie, but found only a shutdown expression that broke her heart.

‘Samuel,’ she pleaded, trying to hold back tears. ‘You know it wasn’t me. Why are you doing this? Please, tell these people the truth.’

‘Miss Peacock,’ the principal interrupted sternly, ‘I think it’s best if you leave now and wait for me in the office next door. We’ll call you when we’re ready.’

Samuel looked away from Christy, his eyes filled with regret. Whatever secret he was keeping, it held so much power over him that he was willing to sacrifice her reputation and career for it.

With a heavy heart Christy left the room, feeling the cold grip of isolation and injustice tighten around her. She could barely believe how her life had been so suddenly shattered. Was there a way to piece it back together again?

The wait seemed interminable. Finally, the summons came and Christy was seated once more in Mr Bradshaw’s office, staring at her clasped hands. Samuel was gone.

‘Miss Peacock,’ said Mr Jacobs, his voice stern and unwavering, ‘we’ve raised our son with strong Christian values, and you’ve made a mockery of his upbringing. You’ve taken advantage of his vulnerability and corrupted him in the worst possible way.’

‘Sammy didn’t name me,’ she protested. ‘And there’s a good reason for that. It’s because it wasn’t me! I’ve only ever tried to help him.’

‘Samuel refused to name you, but he didn’t deny it either,’ countered the principal. ‘It leaves me in an impossible position.’

‘Your protests mean nothing,’ shouted Mrs Jacobs, her face contorted with outrage and disgust. ‘You took advantage of our son, and now you have the audacity to sit here and lie to us?’

Christy despaired at the righteousness etched onto their faces, their belief in their cause so strong that it left no room for doubt or reason.

Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, and she clenched her jaw, fighting the urge to shout back in defence of her innocence. Struggling to keep her composure.

‘Please. You must believe me.’ Her heart ached as she fought for the truth to be heard. ‘I love my job, and I care deeply for all my students. I would never do anything to harm them or betray the trust they – you all – place in me.’

The silence that followed was suffocating, the tension in the room palpable. Christy felt the weight of their judgement pressing down on her.

‘Miss Peacock,’ the principal finally said, his voice cold and impersonal, ‘we’ve heard enough. It’s clear that you won’t admit your guilt, and it’s also clear that Samuel won’t accuse you by name. Regardless, we cannot allow someone like you to remain in a position of authority over our students.’

Christy’s heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to find words, any words, that might convince them of her innocence.

‘Please,’ she breathed, the word barely audible as tears she’d fought so hard to check finally spilled over.

But as she looked into the faces of her accusers, she saw only contempt and conviction. Their decision was made.

‘I expect your resignation on my desk forthwith,’ said the principal. ‘Consider yourself fortunate, Miss Peacock. It’s only due to the forbearance of Mr and Mrs Jacobs that the police won’t be called in.’

Forbearance, my foot , thought Christy. They just don’t want a family scandal. Sweep the whole thing under the carpet and to hell with me and Samuel.

Christy left the room in a fog of confusion.

She turned to stare at the closed door of the principal’s office, nails biting into her palms as she tried to block out the disgust she’d seen in the eyes of her accusers.

But it was futile. Their voices, raised in judgement, haunted her as she stumbled off down the hallway, feeling dizzy and sick.

‘Christy, wait.’ A familiar voice pulled her back to the present. It was Andrew, his face etched with concern – and some other expression that she couldn’t read. He reached for her hand, but she shrank away and studied him more closely.

‘You know, don’t you. How?’

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again.

‘Sandra, right?’ said Christy. ‘No, you don’t have to tell me. In an hour or two the whole school will know, even the boys.’ Her voice was hoarse, choked with tears. ‘I didn’t do it. You believe me, right?’

‘Christy ...’ And then she saw it – the doubt clouding his eyes.

‘You think I’m guilty,’ she said, incredulously. ‘You think I abused the trust of a sensitive, fragile fifteen-year-old boy.’

‘Of course not.’ But his hesitation belied the truth of his statement. The seeds of suspicion had been planted and were already taking root.

‘Just go,’ Christy whispered. ‘I’m going to resign. There’s nothing left for me here.’

She’d hoped to hear him argue, hoped to hear him profess his faith in her, but Andrew remained silent.

Christy didn’t collect her things from the staff room.

She wanted nothing to remind her of this lost dream.

As she passed the drama hall she heard raucous laughter.

How she longed to say goodbye to her students, to take a memory snapshot of how they looked all dressed in their Shakespearean finery.

But she’d been forbidden any contact with the boys.

To do so risked a police report. Go directly to jail , she thought.

Do not pass go, do not collect $200. She’d certainly drawn the worst card in this game.

And with that, Christy walked away from the ruins of her life.