The Furies: A Novel (26 page)

‘And those are the ones who killed her dad in the last play?’ Jono asked, squinting as though he were trying to identify a distant face. ‘Don’t roll your eyes, Alex, I’ve had a busy summer.’

‘You’ve still remembered it perfectly. So Electra hates living with her mum because she misses her dad, and she blames her mother for that. And she goes to lay an offering at her father’s tomb. And when Electra gets to the tomb, she finds someone else has already left offerings there. And that person turns out to be her brother Orestes. He’s been in exile since Agamemnon’s murder. But now he’s returned to avenge the death of his father.’

‘How’s he going to do that?’ asked Annika, her interest finally roused by the prospect of revenge against a parent.

‘Good question. Orestes has an impossible decision to make, which we know often happens to characters in Greek tragedy, right? He is honour-bound to kill the person who killed his father – an eye for an eye, and all that. But he’s also honour-bound not to harm his parents, like any good son. You remember last year, when we did
Oedipus
, how important it is that he’s killed his father, even by accident?’

‘Yes,’ said Mel.

Carly and Jono exchanged another glance. It took me a moment to identify the expression on Carly’s face, because I’d never seen contempt there before. I needed to add some more students to this class, and I needed to do it before the first new arrivals blew into the Unit over the next few weeks. Would it be possible to merge this class with the year below, or would Robert’s timetable implode under the pressure? I carried on, hoping that if I kept talking, the atmosphere wouldn’t deteriorate further.

‘Orestes is in a bind. His mother is his father’s killer. So what does he do? Does he do his duty to his father’s honour, and kill his mother, or does he decide he’d rather be a good son to his mother, and leave her alone? What do you think, Jono?’

‘He probably kills her, to be honest with you, Alex. Unless this play is a lot shorter than the others.’

‘He decides to kill someone else first.’

‘Aegisthus,’ said Mel. ‘Her boyfriend.’

‘Quite right, Mel. You must have been reading ahead over the holidays.’ She smiled and nodded. I wanted to reward her, but I kept my eyes on Jono instead.

‘So Orestes kills Aegisthus, because he has no qualms about doing that. This man helped to kill his father, after all.’

‘And he’s doing his mum,’ Jono added.

‘Well, yes. That adds an extra resonance, for sure. But then Orestes and Electra want to kill Clytemnestra, too, which is more problematic.’

The bell rang, and they picked up their bags with the weariness I’d grown used to over the past two terms. Even when they were bored, they considered the actual process of moving to a different classroom to be an exhaustion too far.

‘OK, for next time, you could read the play through for me. Those of you who haven’t already done so. And maybe you could each write me a side of A4 about Orestes’ decision. What should a character do when faced with two irreconcilable evils?’

‘Seriously, Alex? It’s the first day back.’ Jono believed the very idea of homework to be an infringement of the Geneva Convention.

‘You can refer to any video game you like in your essay. Tell me what your character chooses to do when there are only bad options available.’

3

DD,

My gran always says you should be careful what you wish for, which is just about the most depressing sentence anyone’s ever said. Shouldn’t wishes be one of the things you don’t worry about? Wishing isn’t like crossing the road, you don’t need to look both ways before you do it. But I spent the whole summer wishing I was back at Rankeillor, because not being there was so horrible. And now I’m back, it’s horrible there too.

For a start, we had a lecture from Robert on the first morning back, about new students arriving during the term. Only about half of us start the school year at Rankeillor. The rest get sent here once they’ve fucked up their chances everywhere else, so it’ll be a week at least before the first ones arrive, and then they’ll drip through all term. He gave us the whole you-were-new-here-once talk, about making new arrivals feel welcome and keeping an eye on them and all that bollocks. I could see Jono calculating how many phones he’d be able to swipe from the newbies when they turn up. He’s so predictable.

And Carly is still being weird. She’s going out with Jono now, apparently, even though she always said she thought he was an idiot. I don’t want to talk about it, though. I mean, who wants to know about kissing Jono?

And then there’s Annika. Something’s going on with her. She was caught stealing last term, you know. Carly told me. But that doesn’t explain why she’s barely speaking to any of us. And there’s more: I think she must have stolen Alex’s bag. I saw that Alex had a new one, and I was going to tell her I liked it, but as soon as she walked in to the classroom, she put it in her desk drawer. She didn’t say anything about it. But she looked straight at Annika as she shut the drawer and then she threw something in the bin. Annika didn’t notice any of this, because she was playing with her phone. But I saw it.

I waited for everyone to leave the classroom before me, and I swiped the paper out of the bin. It’s basically the least sincere apology anyone’s ever written. Typical Annika. I’m going to try and think of some way to get back at her.

On top of everything else this past week, my mum has gone absolutely bug-fucking mental. Seriously, there are people in asylums who are less demented than her. She spent the whole summer being all saintly because I was ill, and now the lunacy has arrived, right on cue. And it’s all down to my dad, who, it turns out, wanted to take me to Greece so that we could ‘have a serious talk’. Only we didn’t, because I was ill. So he decided to mail instead, because it’s just that bit less trouble than coming to see me to tell me that he’s getting married again. To someone I’ve never met, obviously. Which he’s sort of managed to make sound like it’s my fault: like if I hadn’t been ill, he could have introduced me to Lucy. Lucy is twenty-three. She’s seven years older than me. It’s beyond gross.

At least I don’t have to go to the wedding, because they’re getting married at Christmas in Bali. Where the fuck? And since when did my dad turn into the kind of person who does things like this?

So I told my mum, even though I knew what she’d do, which is to make it all about her, when it has nothing to do with her at all. She hardly even talks to him now. She hasn’t even seen him for two years, when she drove me down to stay with him when she was on her way to a conference somewhere and I wasn’t old enough to get the train yet – in her view, anyway. So, basically, she used to know my dad, but doesn’t now. Whereas he’s still my dad, so even though I don’t see him all that often, he’s my dad. So when he decides to just marry someone I’ve never even met, it’s a big deal to me.

But obviously it can’t be as big a deal as it is to my mum, who went completely fucking ballistic when I told her. How dare he, he’s so selfish, cradle-snatching dickhead, etc. Then she moved on to what does it say about her that she was ever involved with him, how is it possible he didn’t even mention this girl to me before, and so on. When she gets to the last bit, she gives me a filthy look, like I knew all along and just kept it from her out of spite. Like I’ve just made up this email for some mindfuck purpose of my own. And that’s when I lose it and tell her to go fuck herself, because really, she fucking can. I’ve had it up to here. It’s like dealing with a child.

It’s not like she hasn’t been seeing someone herself, either, because she’s been seeing that freak from her work for months now. Even though he’s a cunt who hates me because he blames me for being ill over the summer and keeping her away from him. Like I caught a major ear infection on purpose. I hate him. But it’s fine for her to have a thing with him, it’s just not fine for my dad to do the same, right? Talk about being a total hypocrite.

She’s so busy making it all about her that she doesn’t even think to ask how I feel about my dad getting married – and to someone who’s only a bit older than me, which is creepy as fuck. She doesn’t even ask. Anything he does has to be about her, because she can’t imagine that he might not think about her from one month to the next. Why would he? If he gave a shit about her, they wouldn’t be divorced, would they? She is completely fucking pathetic. Actually, they both are.

About two weeks after term began, once the Festival circus had left town and taken all the clowns, mimes, actors and jugglers with it, Robert took me out for dinner. The waiter at Ciao Roma looked pathetically grateful to see customers, now all the tourists had disappeared. I was still taking off my jacket when the bread appeared. Robert explained that we would need a few minutes before we’d be ready to order. But to keep the bored staff busy, he considered a Chianti, then settled on a Valpolicella, demanding black olives to accompany it.

‘Now, Alex,’ he said, after he’d tasted the first sip of the screw-top wine with an expression that suggested he was considering sending it back as corked. ‘Now, Alex.’ The cue was unmistakeable. I leaned in.

‘Did you have a good summer?’ he asked. ‘It was quite a strong year for the Festival, was it not?’

‘It was. Yes. I saw some good plays. Nothing earth-shattering, but plenty of good stuff.’

‘Were any of your acting chums in town?’

I hadn’t answered their texts, hadn’t gone to their shows. I’d avoided Bristo Square to avoid bumping into them. I had hidden from my old life, sticking with shows that had originated in other parts of the country, scurrying in at the last minute before the lights went down, and rushing out as soon as the cast had finished bowing. If I ever wanted to be a theatre critic, I’d polished all the necessary skills.

‘Yes, a few,’ I said. ‘Though we didn’t really manage to catch up.’ To my surprise, he didn’t start in with a lecture about keeping in touch with my friends and my former profession. If anything, he looked relieved.

‘Is it possible, Alex, that you are happier here, in Edinburgh, than you would be in London, where all your friends are?’

‘It’s more than possible. It’s true. I left London because I couldn’t face being there. But now, I don’t want to go back. It’s not that I can’t face it. I just don’t want to. I prefer being here.’

‘So you would consider a proposal that involved you staying here?’

‘What kind of proposal? Are you about to get down on one knee?’

‘Too late. I already have,’ he admitted, and smiled.

‘You and Jeff are getting married?’

He nodded, suddenly shy.

‘Congratulations.’ I reached over and squeezed his hand. ‘We should have ordered champagne.’

‘We still can.’ He summoned a waiter and asked for two glasses of Prosecco. ‘Near enough,’ he said. ‘It’s not like we’ll be doing a whole white-dress thing.’

‘When did this happen? I’m so pleased for you both.’

‘About a month ago.’

‘Why didn’t you…’ I tailed off. I knew exactly why he hadn’t mentioned it. I shook my head, and raised the glass which the waiter had just brought over. ‘To you and Jeff.’

‘To me and Jeff,’ he agreed, and our glasses clinked together.

‘Speaking of which, where is Jeff?’

‘He’s giving us space,’ Robert explained. ‘So I could talk to you.’

‘Oh, OK. Wait. What about?’ Jeff surely couldn’t think I wouldn’t be happy for him.

‘My retirement,’ he said, frowning.

‘Really?’

‘He won’t stop going on about it.’

‘So, you’re definitely going to leave?’

‘At the end of this academic year. I’ll leave next June.’

The room tilted slightly to one side. If Robert left, how could I carry on at Rankeillor? I was more than halfway through a one-year contract now, and his successor would want to bring in new people. Then what would I do? Could I get another job up here? I supposed Robert would write me a reference for something. Perhaps I could get a front-of-house job at the Traverse.

‘Alex?’ Robert was waiting for me to say something.

I started gabbling. ‘That’s great. It’s what Jeff wants, isn’t it? Will you travel?’

‘So I’ll need to find someone to take over from me at the Unit,’ he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. I couldn’t blame him.

‘OK.’ Perhaps he was going to ask me who I’d recommend. But I didn’t know anyone who would apply.

‘And I was wondering if that person might be you, Alex.’

‘Oh.’ Had I always been this bad at interpreting subtext? ‘But I’m not qualified.’

‘Nonetheless, I think you’d be the perfect candidate. And I think the governors might see things the same way. You have experience of working at our unit. You know the staff and the students. And unlike some, you don’t hold rancorous grudges against other colleagues.’

‘But I have no experience of running anything bigger than a cast of eight.’

‘But that’s not because you can’t, it’s because you haven’t. You’d be terrific, Alex. You like the kids we have at Rankeillor. And that’s the secret truth about education. Academics and think-tanks and God knows who else spend years of time and millions of pounds trying to work out how to keep children in schools, how to improve test scores. And the one thing they never stop to consider is: do the teachers like the kids? Do the kids trust the support staff? Does the head like his colleagues? You can announce as many directives as you wish, but in the end, it all comes down to this. I honestly believe it does. It’s as true at Rankeillor as it was at the University. It’s all about wanting people to succeed.’

I nodded, sipping the Prosecco, trying not to feel hopeful when there were so many obstacles in the path of Robert’s plan. ‘But the governors will want someone experienced, surely.’

‘They’ll want someone who wants the job. Rankeillor is not exactly Fettes, is it? They don’t have people hammering at the door to be allowed a chance to work with children who are often difficult and sometimes violent. They’ll want someone who knows the work of the Unit already, and they’ll want someone younger than I was, when I took over, so they don’t have to worry about anyone else retiring. They’re not going to want someone in their fifties again, are they?’