Katy Carter Keeps a Secret (16 page)

I’m covering Ollie’s lessons? But why? He’s here! I’ve just seen him.

I gawp at her. “But isn’t Ol – I mean Mr Burrows here today? Why am I covering his classes?”

Carolyn Miles looks taken aback to have a lowly supply teacher demanding to know the ins and outs of the Assistant Head’s whereabouts.

“He and I are off timetable at Burrington Hall today.”

Every cell in my body freezes. Burrington Hall? As in the plush country house hotel just outside the city? Ollie’s going there for the day with Carolyn? He never mentioned it to me.

Trust, Katy, trust. Remember the photo? There’s bound to be an innocent explanation.

“Right,” I say, and it sounds as though I’ve been strangled.

“So if you don’t mind, maybe we could get going? Senior management inset days cost time and money and we can’t afford to wait around,” she barks. “It’s why you’re here, after all.”

“Oh! A training day! That’s OK then!” I follow her out of the room and into the corridor, full now of children fresh out of Mass and keen to let off steam. I need to get out of here and fast, but before I even have the chance to make an excuse, she clamps her hand onto my shoulder and steers me towards a classroom.

Shit! It’s Ollie’s classroom! And there he is on the other side of it (with his back to me, thank heavens), writing on the whiteboard. It’s only a matter of seconds before he turns around and sees me. Seconds I cannot waste.

I have to get out of here!

“Right, this is where you need to be. Lower fourth form war poetry. They should get on quietly,” Carolyn tells me. “I’ll let Mr Burrows explain what he needs you to do, but all the work is set and taped to the desk.”

“Actually, I’ve just realised that there’s somewhere else I need to be. Sorry!” I attempt to spin on my heel but that iron hand holds me so tightly I can hardly move, while another tortured Jesus gazes at me with sympathy from His position above the whiteboard. I know this is a Catholic school and everything, but I have absolutely no desire to confess everything at this moment in time.

If I don’t escape now I’ll have some serious explaining to do – and the worst of it is that even to
me
this all sounds insane, so goodness only knows what Ollie will think.

“Good God!” Carolyn roars, and I jump so hard that my feet leave the ground. “I’ve just spent the best part of twenty minutes looking for you. You’re not going anywhere! You’re here on supply and you’re going to teach this class. Now get on with it!”

Never mind the kids being scared of her.

I’m bloody terrified.

“I think I need a change of vocation!” I yank myself away and make a bolt for freedom. “I’ve just realised I don’t want to teach anymore! It’s not for me! Blame the Education Secretary. Blame the government, but I just can’t handle it. Too much stress! Sorry!”

Carolyn’s mouth is open and she’s frozen with disbelief, which is just the chance I need. Before she can come to her senses and grab me or, even worse, Ollie comes out of his classroom, I’m off as fast as my legs and high heels can carry me. Even when she shouts after me I don’t stop, and as soon as I’m across the courtyard and in the car park I kick off my shoes and start to run.

There’s no way I dare stick around. I’m out of here.

Chapter 13

This morning has been a total nightmare. I may be closer to proving my fears about Carolyn to be unfounded – at least on my boyfriend’s part – but in the process I could have caused Ollie a lot of embarrassment. And I should imagine that, thanks to me, St Jude’s senior leaders never got to have their relaxing day out of school. If Ollie ever finds out that the mad runaway supply teacher was me I don’t know what I’ll do. Die of humiliation probably.

As I sit in the kitchen trying to write another episode in the quite frankly knackering sex lives of Alexi and Lucinda, I’m feeling utterly despondent. Even Nicky’s tongue-in-cheek input doesn’t cheer me up, and neither does the big packet of chocolate biscuits Maddy’s brought round as a peace offering.

I can’t eat a chocolate biscuit? Things must be really serious. And anyway, it’s going to take her more than a packet of digestives to make up for this latest near miss.

“How many more times can I apologise?” Mads asks. “It seemed like a great idea at the time. How was I to know you’d be asked to cover Ollie’s lessons? I’m not a sodding psychic.”

It’s a fair point but I’m not willing to concede it yet. She needs to grovel a bit more first.

“Besides,” she continues, “I still think it was a good idea. At least you saw for yourself that there was nothing going on. I’d say that’s a bloody good result actually. You ought to be thanking me, not sulking.”

“Don’t push it,” I say.

“This might seem a really obvious point,” Nicky butts in, looking up from the chapter notes, “but speaking in my limited capacity as a guy, why on earth did you go to all this trouble rather than just talking to my brother?”

When Mads and I have recovered sufficiently from laughing at such a crazy notion Nicky adds, with all the wisdom of someone who’s been an adult for about fifteen minutes, “What you two need to know about blokes is that we’re not actually very complicated. There’s no subtext. Just ask us and we’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“That,” says Maddy sternly while I gnaw my thumbnail, “has to be the worst advice I’ve ever heard. If Katy had asked Ollie whether he’s boffing Carolyn, then he’d think she doesn’t trust him.”

“Well she doesn’t, does she?” remarks Nicky. “Not if she thinks he’d cheat. Next?”

Mads is stumped and I search for an answer. I mean, I do trust Ollie. Of course I do. It’s just that he’s been a bit weird lately. And I certainly don’t trust Carolyn. Why all the phone calls and late meetings and now even Saturday mornings in school?

“On the other hand,” Nicky adds, considering me through narrowed eyes, “I’d say that what you did this morning, Katy, is classic of a passive-aggressive female pattern of behaviour and even maybe borders on the psychotic. Have you ever seen a shrink?”

I lay my head on the table and groan. “Are you trying to make me feel even worse? And anyway, it wasn’t my idea: it was Maddy’s!”

He laughs. “Then you definitely need to see a shrink for listening to anything she says!”

“Oi, watch it, squirt,” Mads warns. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Free lesson,” says Nicky quickly. I strongly suspect this is a fib but I feel way too exhausted to push it. Besides, he’s doing a sterling job of knocking my latest chapter into shape.

“I’m only kidding,” Nicky says. “You don’t need a shrink, Katy. You’re just a typical complicated woman. Why ask my brother if he’s shagging somebody else – which he isn’t by the way – when you can go to all the effort of spying on him while he’s at work? For fuck’s sake! Just talk to him. Work it out. Communicate. Relationships are all about communication.”

“Are you the next Jeremy Kyle?” Mads asks. “What’s next? A lie-detector test? Or a DNA revelation? DNA! Now that’s a thought! That could prove everything.”

“Don’t even go there,” I warn. “Step away from my mess.”

“Spoilsport,” sighs Maddy, rising from the kitchen table and putting the kettle on. “I’m a vicar’s wife, remember? I have to get my fun somewhere.”

“What will I tell Ollie if he asks about today?” I wonder.

“Crazy notion, but how about the truth?” suggests Nicky. “Why don’t you ’fess up about this bloody book for a start? It’s not good to keep secrets.”

You’re telling me it isn’t, but own up about this book? Now I’ve seen first-hand just how weird they are at St Jude’s there’s no way I can burden Ollie with the knowledge that I’m writing for Throb. Apart from the fact that I’ve already given most of my advance to the local sparky and couldn’t pay it back even if I wanted to, I had a little peek at the contract earlier on and it didn’t make good reading. Although I’m no lawyer, it looks to me as though there’s a nasty little clause in it that suggests they can sue my ass should I back out. We struggle to pay the council tax, so we’d never afford a lawsuit. It’s official. I’m stuffed.

So, I can’t tell Ollie the truth – not when I know how much his career means to him. I’ll just have to carry on writing the book in secret. Or as much in secret as I can now that just about everyone else I know is in on it.

Besides, Ollie’s not been one hundred percent truthful with me either, has he? I had no idea he was off to Burrington Hall today and I still have a nagging feeling that there’s more he’s hiding. His mobile phone even has a PIN on it these days, and I guess I didn’t really need to call the psychic hotline to be told that this is a very bad sign indeed. To be honest I shouldn’t be calling the telephone psychics anyway, but they’re cheaper than counselling and, unlike my best friend, they don’t persuade me into pursuing ridiculous so-called master plans. So all in all, premium-rate phone charges aside, I’d say they’re excellent value for money.

While Maddy makes tea, I sink back into my chair and continue to chew my fingernails. Nicky taps away at the laptop, occasionally asking me for my opinion. To be honest I’m not really paying much attention, and before long he and Mads are having an in-depth discussion about washing lines versus duct tape, while I occupy myself with trying to find a way to ask Ollie exactly what’s going on. I’m so lost in thought that even when the top half of the kitchen door swings open and Britain’s favourite WAG pops her head through, I barely notice.

“Is this the house of sin and ill repute?” grins Tansy Topham, letting herself in and sashaying across the kitchen. Today her long extensions are piled high on her head like a blonde pineapple. She’s wearing sprayed-on skinny jeans and spike-heeled boots, and her famous chest is spilling out of a very tight vest top. When she bends over to kiss me, Nicky almost falls off his chair.

“More like the house of darkness and despair. But enough of me. What are you doing in Tregowan? You do know this isn’t the city?”

Tansy’s surgery-perfect nose crinkles. “Like, duh. I’ve just had to walk miles from the car park to get here, and in my Louboutins. Will the Lotus be safe parked there?”

I nod. “It’ll be covered in seagull crap but, yes, it’ll still have four wheels.”

“That’s the main thing. Tommy can always wash it or have it resprayed.” Tansy sits at the table, her heavily laden charm bracelet chinking on her twiggy arms. “Anyway, I had to come. You weren’t answering your phone.”

Ah yes. That’ll be the phone I switched off in order to avoid the irate calls from the supply agency. Looks like my change of career is coming faster than I’d anticipated.

“Katy’s had a rough morning,” Maddy explains, setting a mug of hot water and lemon in front of Tansy. Everyone knows Tansy doesn’t do caffeine.

“Yeah, she looks like shit,” Tansy agrees with her usual tact. Turning to me she says, “Babes, I’m afraid things might be about to get a whole lot worse. I’m a bit worried I
may
have put my foot in it.”

When Tansy says she
may
have done something there’s usually no
may
about it. I’m instantly alarmed.

“Tansy,” I say, “what have you done?”

She fiddles nervously with her bracelet. “I
might
have accidentally mentioned to a journalist that I don’t write my own books.”

Is that all? I mean, this is hardly going to come as a surprise to the general public. Still, I don’t want to hurt her feelings so I say gently, “I think people have already guessed that.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I promise.

“Phew,” says Tansy. “So if I’d said an English teacher from Tregowan wrote my books instead of me it wouldn’t be a problem?”

“I can’t imagine so. I’m not that exciting.”

“What about school?” Maddy asks.

“Tregowan Comp already know about the books,” I say slowly. “They’re not thrilled but it’ll be no surprise to them. Ollie’s school might not be too impressed, but since it’s my writing not his I really don’t think it’s going to be an issue.”

Tansy claps her hands. “That’s such a relief. I’d hate to drop you in it.”

“No, I think I’m more than capable of doing that myself,” I say bleakly.

While we drink tea and Nicky continues to stare at my visitor in disbelief, the conversation turns to BBs, Tansy’s new catering business – which she’s very excited about for a girl who seldom eats. Still deep in thought about what may or may not be going on with Ollie, I tune in and out of the conversation, letting it wash over me just like the waves washing up the beach beyond the harbour wall. Mads is nodding absently and Nicky’s asking whether there would be any part-time work for him. I can’t say that I’ve ever imagined him as a waiter, but anything that gets him out of bed and away from extorting funds from me can only be a good thing. Tansy certainly seems to think this is a possibility and takes his number.

“If either of you ever want to book with us I’ll give you a huge discount too,” Tansy is saying now. “I think you’ll love what we do.”

“Maybe Katy could book you for her next book launch?” says Maddy, grinning at me.

Very funny. I’m actually planning to be very far away indeed when
Kitchen of Correction
hits the shops. I hear the Mars mission might have spaces?

“I mean it,” insists Tansy. “Big discounts all around. Tell your friends!”

Tansy is nothing if not generous. Take the old beach bag she gave me last year, for instance. It only turned out to be a Louis Vuitton and worth more than our car. I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of her kindness, but it could be handy having a catering contact. My brain’s whirring already. Ollie’s mum is celebrating her sixtieth birthday later on this year and has been threatening – err, I mean talking about – spending it in Tregowan. Ann Burrows is very proper and I can’t help suspecting she thinks Ollie could have done better for himself. His wine-buff father, Geoff, is much easier to get along with, although I do wish he’d just drink the stuff rather than pontificating about it. He even described my father’s nettle wine as having a bouquet of “wild thyme and ambrosia”, which delighted Dad because most people think it smells like wee. It certainly looks like it.