Sleepwalkers (11 page)

‘The way to resolve this is to keep that woman away from my son.’

Anna glanced at Mrs Mayhew. She was clearly embarrassed by her husband’s behaviour, fiddling with something in her handbag.

The Undertaker took a sip of his coffee, his expression never deviating from its affected thoughtfulness.

‘I don’t wish to punish Miss Price for what I believe is a genuine error of judgement …’

‘How many times are you going to use that phrase. Are we in court or something?’

‘… but I also recognise that you are justifiably upset, Mr Mayhew.’

He could run the United Nations, Anna thought. Boutros Boutros Benton. She watched him sigh. Here it came.

‘I’ll move Toby into Miss Gilbert’s English class. If he cannot keep up with the course work, then we should all meet again and reconsider the situation. In the meantime, Miss Price will make sure that she limits her contact with Toby wherever possible. Miss Price?’

All eyes were on her. She managed a nod.

‘Good. Mr Mayhew, Mrs Mayhew, is this satisfactory?’

‘Fine.’ Toby’s father stood, and his mother was there in his slipstream.

Anna stood too. She was flushed, and stared angrily at the floor to hide any more emotion from slipping out.

‘Thank you for your understanding, Mr Mayhew,’ said the headmaster, shaking both parents’ hands. ‘I’m glad you were able to help us sort this out.’

‘Sure.’

There was an awkward pause as Anna realised that she too was expected to shake hands. She put her hand out, and her voice cracked as she spoke.

‘Thank you.’

Michael smiled at her discomfort. He’d played his cards close to his chest until then, but now there was a nasty glint in his smile, betraying his previous anger as a performance. He held Anna’s hand for a fraction longer than he needed to.

‘Alright then,’ he said with a voice that was suddenly generous and relaxed. He turned and walked his wife out of the room. Benton took another reasonable sip of his coffee and placed it back on the saucer. Anna walked away. The bell rang and pupils rushed around her. She wished one of them
would jolt her so she could punish them, but even the kids wouldn’t behave properly.

She walked along the corridor, wrapped in a storm. She entered the class and taught Year 9 with a bored coldness that the children noticed. It kept them quieter than usual, but their new-found attention didn’t soothe her rage. She glared at Year 7 and taught them without care or attention. She didn’t answer anyone’s questions and she talked over confused but well-meaning pupils.

At break she hid from the staffroom and went, instead, to a narrow windy alley between two prefabricated buildings where she smoked her way through three cigarettes. Kath found her here and, apart from a raised eyebrow, said nothing for a while, smoking a cigarette herself. Crisp packets and cans littered the ground.

‘He needed my help.’

‘Says who? The kid? Sounds to me like he’s got quite an imagination.’

Anna just smoked some more.

‘Oh cheer up,’ Kath said. ‘You could have lost your job. Benton might be a prick but at least he stopped you getting into more trouble.’

‘I guess.’

‘You guess. Have you thought of how a newspaper would twist this? Secret trysts in the back of your car, parents weeping for the childhood snatched from their son, the crimson whore who’s come to steal our children. You know what they do. The rules aren’t just there to protect the kids, Anna, they’re for us too.’

Still Anna didn’t respond.

‘Fine. Be like that. But it’s done now. Move on. Leave the kid alone.’

‘He’s scared of them, Kath.’

‘So go to the police.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? Anna?’

‘I just … I don’t know.’

‘No, you don’t. We’re just teachers. Leave the rest for someone else, they can be the bloody hero. If The Undertaker says stay away from him, you do it.’

Anna recognised the sense in Kath’s words, but she could not forget. Two pupils – a burly boy and a short-skirted girl – turned into the alley, holding hands, and were startled by the teachers’ presence. They had guilt written all over their faces and they glared at Kath and Anna to make up for it.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Lucy Evans because I know exactly what you and Matt Long are up to,’ barked Kath. ‘Go on, piss off.’

The kids slouched off, grumbling kiddy swearwords.

‘And use a condom, for crying out loud!’

The bell rang to signal the end of break time. Kath crushed her cigarette dead under her shoe.

‘Lucky gits,’ she said with a grin. Anna knew she’d said it to cheer her up, but she was still in her fug. ‘Jesus, here I am, stuck behind the bike sheds with Anna Price. Where did it all go wrong?’

But Anna was too angry to enjoy the joke. She walked back to her class, settled behind her desk and glowered at Year 8 as they wandered cheerfully in. She snapped her way through the lessons for the rest of the day like this. When Toby’s class
entered, she wiped her sleeve across her mouth and tried to keep her eyes away from his empty desk. But the maelstrom raged within, unstoppable.

*

Toby sat in Miss Gilbert’s class as she wrote up a series of quotations on the board.

‘Today, we’re going to discuss resonance within the text.’

Toby dutifully wrote the word down, then he felt a nudge from the boy sitting next to him. This was Jimmy Duthie – spiky hair, recurring acne, his tie always loose around his neck.

‘Oi, Toby,’ he whispered with a friendly, conspiratorial smile.

‘Hi, Jimmy.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Oh. Nothing. You know.’

‘Yeah, cos, we all thought you belonged with the mongs in Tiny Tits’ class.’

Jimmy’s eyes laughed at Toby.

‘Don’t talk about Miss Price like that,’ Toby replied.

‘Oh my God, are you banging her?’

Miss Gilbert glanced towards them, but she never bothered to get involved. She turned back to the blackboard and started to underline various phrases.

‘Are you? Are you?’

Toby didn’t reply, he just stared at the blackboard.

‘Is she noisy? Does she like it—’

‘No! Don’t!’ Toby’s voice came out too high, embarrassing him.

‘Don’t!’ mimicked Jimmy and one of his colleagues sniggered. ‘No, she might be minging but she’s not going to put out to you. So what’s going on?’

Toby kept his eyes on the blackboard. Why wouldn’t Miss Gilbert see this?

‘Tell you what, why don’t you explain it to me at break? Just you and me. How about that, eh?’

Don’t look at him.

‘Eh? Freak? Eh?’

Toby feigned a smile, as though something Miss Gilbert had said was suddenly interesting. But he could feel Jimmy’s hateful stare.

*

Anna patrolled the playground during afternoon break. She watched the girls jabbering together and imagined hurtful gossip and bile. She saw violence as the boys jostled for the ball. Across the playground, Toby stood alone, waiting for whatever was coming next. They caught each other’s eye and she offered him a forlorn smile. But then Mr Benton appeared and Toby turned away from her. Anna shouted something half-heartedly at a boy who wasn’t doing anything wrong and he was suitably indignant. As he moaned at her, she saw Jimmy Duthie and two friends walking across the playground towards Toby. Their intentions were clear. Toby saw them coming and froze. Then he glanced at Anna who, in turn looked at Benton. He coolly, coldly, returned her gaze. Jimmy put a hand on Toby’s shoulder, mock-friendly and the three boys led Toby away. Anna was rooted to the spot and a few seconds later, Toby and the boys were gone. Angry, she looked at Benton.

‘Well, you can do something! Jesus!’

Mr Benton just walked away. Job done. Anna was furious. Her fingers dug into her palms as she tried to calm herself.
But as she stared at the space where Toby once stood, so miserable and vulnerable, she made a promise to herself.

Later, when Michael Mayhew walked through the gates, he found himself a spot a few yards ahead of the other parents. No one went to speak to him and his position was deliberately aloof. Anna watched all of this from the staffroom . She hurried down to him but found Toby ahead of her, walking towards his father, slower than the rest of the children. He was still limping, but now his nose was swollen and his hair was covered in some sort of gunk – it was purple, sticky. Toby walked straight past his father, ready for the car. Michael didn’t seem bothered by Toby’s appearance or any lack of ‘hello’. He turned to follow him, but Anna stopped him.

‘Mr Mayhew.’

He saw her and smiled, supercilious.

‘Don’t smile at me,’ she hissed. ‘I know you’re hurting him.’

‘No, you don’t. You don’t know anything.’

‘Well, I’ll make sure I do. I’m going to get you … you … you fuck.’

The word exploded from her lips. It shocked her. Michael stiffened, surprised.

‘Well now,’ he said, looking her up and down a little more closely.

‘Whatever I said this morning, in front of the Head, forget it. I’m not stopping. I’m going to be everywhere he is. I’m going to find out exactly what you’re doing to him and I’m going to let everyone know and I won’t stop, I won’t ever stop. Have you got that?’

Anger flashed across his face for a moment. But then he shook his head, mock-weary, and walked off. He unlocked the
car with a click of the key and Toby bundled himself in. Anna followed, spoiling for a fight, but the driver’s door slammed shut and the central locking snapped down. The car shot off and Toby glanced up too late to catch Anna’s eye as the car drove away.

*

When Anna returned to her flat she dumped the bag of school books by the door, turned on the lights and poured herself a large glass of red wine from the carefully recorked bottle. She took three angry gulps, but it was too rich and she put it down, annoyed that she didn’t have it within herself to be a big drinker. A nice tidy blouse and skirt, neat brown suede shoes, a dull mackintosh to cover it all up. She ruffled her hair and it fell back into its unexceptional place.

Anna’s flat was small, acceptable, unfussy, in an unfashionable part of town. Partly this was down to her meagre teacher’s salary, but her heart always sank slightly when she entered and she knew she could do better, somehow. Framed posters of old foreign films she’d never seen adorned the walls. In the hallway was the answerphone. It blinked with a message. She went over, pressed play, then wandered back to the kitchen to get her glass of wine. A man spoke after a moment’s pause: throaty, sonorous, posh.

‘Anna. It’s the old man. I hope you’re well, it’s been … a while.’

She imagined her father sitting at the desk in his splendid study, toying with a paperweight or flicking through papers, wishing the call out of the way.

‘I was wondering if you’d call me when you have a moment. There are things to discuss. Goodbye, love.’

A pause, a moment’s hesitation, as though there was more he wished to say, and then the phone disconnected. Anna went to the answerphone and jammed her finger on the delete button. The call gave her the strength to down the glass and go for a refill.

In the kitchen she opened the fridge, took out some tupperware leftovers and placed them in the microwave. Irritated by the silence, she switched on the radio, but then switched it off again. She looked in at the dishes turning slowly and felt the tension of the day flowing back and forth across her, exhausting her. Then she headed back into the sitting room. She clicked on the TV, feeling the need to be doped tonight, and flicked through the channels, hoping she’d find something appropriate. In the kitchen, the microwave beeped. And as Anna turned to get her dinner, she noticed the television flicker for a moment. It was a fraction of a fraction of a second. But it stopped Anna dead.

The image on the screen was Anna. In the same clothes as she was wearing right then … holding the television’s remote control …

She stared at the screen, her throat suddenly dry. She swallowed and looked again, but the picture was normal now. A reality show. A couple giggled nervously at the prospect of buying their first home. The presenter winked at the camera and Anna switched the TV off. There was her reflection in the blank screen – her clothes, holding the remote. Was this what she had seen?

Anna Price knew herself as a sensible, normal woman. Too normal for her own liking, and not prone to flights of fancy. But still she hurried from the room and returned with her
small, orderly toolbox. She opened it, unplugged the TV, attached the right screwdriver piece for her needs, and then methodically began to unscrew the back of the set.

The phone rang again, but she ignored it and didn’t listen out for the message. Soon she was pulling wires out of the back, knowing that she would never be able to reassemble them. Her delicate fingers removed the guts of the television, dumping electronic bits onto the carpet. She ran her hands over circuit boards and wires that made no sense to her until she reached a long black wire that had a small black box at one end … and a tiny camera at the other, which was stuck to the inside of the television screen – pointing outwards. Anna held the camera up to the light, just to be sure. She fiddled with the black box, but it wouldn’t open. She sat back amid the detritus of the dismantled TV, holding the camera in cautious fingers as though it were a baby crocodile. She put it to her lips, whispered quietly into it.

‘What are you?’

And at that instant, the telephone rang again. Anna jumped. She looked at the thing in her hands and dropped it. Frightened of it. She went to the telephone – the answerphone was blinking again from the last message. She waited for it to pick up, but it didn’t, it just kept ringing and ringing and ringing. Unable to bear it, she picked up, her voice breathy.

‘Hello?’

No reply. Not even the sound of someone’s breathing.

‘Hello?’ Still nothing. A fault on the line, maybe. ‘Hello?’ she said again, more confidence in her voice this time. ‘Yeah, funny. Very funny.’ Still nothing. She listened as carefully as she could, scrunching her eyes closed to help her. Silence. ‘I’m
not scared, okay?’ she said into the receiver. She hung up. And immediately the phone rang again.