The Loyal Servant (12 page)

15

Pam was towering over Caroline’s desk, coat buttoned, arms hugging her enormous bosom. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you to the bus stop.’

Caroline glanced at the clock: 6:02pm. Pam should have been long gone.

Pam reached over to Caroline’s computer. ‘Turn that thing off.’

Caroline hastily shielded the power button with her hand. ‘I don’t need babysitting, Pam.’

‘Jeremy’s asked me to keep an eye on you.’

‘He’s what?’ Caroline glanced at her boss’s office. It was empty. ‘Really Pam, I’m perfectly OK.’ She ran her fingers over the tiny rectangular bulge in her trouser pocket, checking the memory stick she’d borrowed from Dan was still there.

‘Jeremy thought you might be difficult to persuade.’

He did?

‘I’m under strict instructions not to take no for an answer.’

‘Please Pam.’

‘I’m not listening.’

‘I’ve got things to finish up.’
And documents to steal.

‘I’ll wait.’ Pam reached for a chair and wheeled it over next to Caroline’s.

‘OK then, maybe you can help.’ Caroline pulled a thick sheaf of papers from her in tray and offered them to Pam. ‘This lot shouldn’t take us more than a couple of hours – if we work at it together.

Pam’s eyes widened. She held up a hand. ‘I wouldn’t want to mess up your paperwork and ruin your system.’ She backed away from the desk. ‘Promise me you’ll leave before eight.’

She watched Pam scurry out of the office. She waited another few minutes, calculating how long it would take for the lift to arrive and carry Pam down to the ground floor.

Caroline had waited all day for the right moment, but every time she took the memory stick from her pocket, a colleague would wander over to her desk, or the phone would start ringing.

She glanced round the office, checking she was quite alone, and shoved the memory stick in the slot of her desktop PC. She stared at the little yellow light, flashing like a beacon, suddenly unsure about what she was about to do.

The previous evening she’d arrived home feeling grubby after her meeting with Angela Tate. The guilt crept over her like an itch. She couldn’t face Pete or the kids, convinced the confession she’d blurted out to the journalist would somehow show on her face. How could she ever have admitted it?
To a bloody journalist
.

The light on the stick stopped flashing and a new window popped up on her monitor. She took a deep breath, grabbed her mouse, opened up Explorer and quickly navigated to the academy division’s directory on the departmental network.

A sudden noise startled her. It took a moment to recognise the shrill ringtone of her phone. She exhaled and grabbed the bleeping mobile from her desk. It was Tate.

‘Is it done?’

Caroline glanced around the office again. ‘I’m doing it now.’ She hadn’t meant to whisper. She heard people shouting on the other end of the line. ‘Where are you? What’s going on there?’

‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.’

Caroline threw the phone into her bag. She double-clicked a folder in the branching tree structure displayed on her monitor and drilled down to the ‘expressions of interest’ documents. All the correspondence from business people, education trusts and religious organisations that had ever taken an interest in founding an academy was stored here. It was the first thing Tate had asked for. Caroline dragged the folder over to the memory stick’s window and watched the animated paper icon somersaulting across the screen. While it was copying, she moved on to all the specific documents relating to Fred Larson’s three academies. Tate must have known there would be sensitive financial information in those files, the sort of details a freedom of information request would never uncover. The sort of information Caroline could lose her job over. She dragged across the Larson folder and sat back. That much data would take a while to copy. She took a moment to concentrate on her breathing and tried her best to unlock the tangled muscles in her shoulders.

A metallic clank echoed through the stillness of the office. Caroline pushed back her chair and rushed towards the direction of the noise.

‘Hello?’ She hollered through the door leading out into the lobby. Her voice bounced back off the marble and glass. ‘Is there anyone there?’ No reply. She waited a moment longer then let go of the door and hurried back to her desk, relieved to find everything as she’d left it. Her palms were moist.

Keep it together.

The copying process finally completed. Caroline moved on to the next two items Tate had requested: the financials for the construction of every single academy and the accounts for each one in its first three years of operation. Hundreds of academies had opened in the last ten years. The information for each individual academy was located in a separate folder. She opened another branch in the directory, drilled down to the first academy and found the sub folder containing the financial records. She repeated the process for the next academy, and the one after that. It was public knowledge that most academy projects went over budget, some by millions of pounds. Tate’s request for a record of every balance sheet seemed a little extreme. Caroline scrolled down the list and decided there were just too many folders to drill down into each one. Instead, she dragged the folder containing the whole lot onto the stick. Tate could pick out the relevant documents herself.

Ten minutes later the last of the files copied over. Caroline rubbed her eyes. As far as she could remember, there were only two more items to find. One of them would be much harder to track down than the other.

Tate had asked for a list of nominations for honours going back five years. Nomination requests were handled by another division – not Caroline’s area of expertise at all. She wasn’t even sure she could get into that section of the network. In the last ten years no journalist had ever managed to establish an unequivocal link between academy sponsorship and the promise of knighthoods and peerages; it was unlikely Angela Tate could make anything stick, even with the information she’d asked for. Caroline decided to leave the nomination request until last and move on to the remaining item on Tate’s wish list: procurement.

A phone started ringing at the other end of the office and Caroline jumped. It stopped and another started up on the next bank of desks. The system had been set to automatically divert incoming calls. Eventually it would transfer to her section. She grabbed her handset and punched in a number to pick up the call. She made the standard department greeting and waited.

‘Hello?’

There was a crackle of static for a few moments followed by the dial tone.

What were they playing at?

Caroline checked her watch. It was much later than she thought. Ed Wallis would have started his rounds by now and could turn up at any moment. She hurriedly navigated through the directory to the procurement folder. Tate had asked for a list of all the companies who’d won academy contracts worth over £100,000, going right back to the beginning of the programme. Again, there was just too much information to sift through each folder individually, so she dragged the whole folder to the stick. The copying process would probably take at least five minutes to complete. Caroline settled back in her seat and watched the flying icon, still trying to relax and let her mind go blank as the little page spun across the screen.

Someone cleared their throat behind her. She closed her eyes.

She hadn’t been quick enough.

‘For God’s sake, Ed! How many times do I have to tell you?’ She spun round in her chair, ready to give the security guard an earful. But it wasn’t Ed.

‘Jeremy!’ She forced a smile.

Suddenly the noise of the hard drive chugging away behind her seemed deafening. How long had he been there?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you were someone else.’

‘Clearly.’ He was smiling, but the network of lines on his forehead bunched in a tangle between in his perfectly groomed eyebrows.

Caroline desperately wanted to glance back at her screen, to see what he could see, but didn’t dare.

‘Still burning the midnight oil, even in the run-up to an election?’ he said.

‘It’s not that late!’ There was an undisguisable tremor in her voice. ‘There’s still plenty to do.’

‘I told Pamela to keep an eye on you.’

‘She only left a little while ago. I practically had to shove her out the door.’

Prior lowered himself onto the edge of the desk behind hers and scrutinised her face. ‘Still no progress?’ He nodded towards her monitor.

‘I’m sorry?’ She felt a drip of sweat trickle between her breasts.

‘The missing CD-ROM, Caroline. It is meant to be your top priority.’

‘It is. That’s why I’m here now – catching up on my other work.’

‘It’s been two weeks.’ He folded his arms. ‘I have to say, I am rather disappointed by your lack of results.’

‘It’s not for the want of trying. We’ve interviewed everyone in the division. Most people didn’t even know it existed. There’s no way they’d have a clue where it is now.’

‘You can’t believe everything people tell you, Caroline. Not everyone is as honest as you.’ He smiled at her with one corner of his mouth. Or was it a sneer?

‘It’s really awkward,’ she said. ‘I feel like I’m interrogating my colleagues, accusing them of something. I’m sure none of them knows anything.’

‘Pamela doesn’t share your unstinting faith in human nature. She’s quite convinced someone has screwed up and is covering their tracks.’

‘But who would—?’

‘I tend to agree with her. You should interview everyone again. You need to be a little tougher with them this time.’

Caroline drew in a breath.

Tougher? Why don’t you interview them yourself
?

‘Whatever you think is best.’ She stood up, hoping to completely obscure her boss’s view of the computer monitor. ‘I’ll start first thing in the morning.’ She folded her arms, mirroring his pose. ‘I’m just about finished here.’

‘Don’t let me stop you.’ He made no attempt to move. He dropped his head to one side and pursed his lips. ‘Pamela’s certainly right about one thing – you are looking very tired. What about taking a couple of days off. Recharge your batteries?’

Cheeky bloody bastard.

‘I’m perfectly fine.’ She pointed at her face. ‘This is the result of three kids. It doesn’t get any better with a good night’s sleep, believe me.’

‘Only trying to help.’ He levered himself off the desk.

Please go.

‘Taking more work home with you?’ He nodded at the memory stick jutting out of the desktop computer, its little light flickering.

Caroline’s stomach lurched. Slowly, she followed his gaze, feigning incomprehension, playing for time.

‘Oh that.’ She hadn’t managed to sound as casual as she’d hoped. ‘Just copying something.’

‘Really? Not state secrets I hope?’

Her hands felt numb. She managed an unconvincing laugh. ‘Hardly.’

For Christ’s sake – think of something!

‘Tracy took some photos of the baby while she was here. We all had a little cuddle and said cheese. I’m just copying them onto a stick so I can show my mum. They’re too big to email.’

As he continued to stare at the stick, Caroline edged closer to her monitor, putting as much of herself between it and Prior as she could.

‘I’d like to see them.’ He took a step towards her.

‘Sure – not right now though, if you don’t mind. I really want to get going. Like you say – midnight oil and all that.’

He took another step and stopped, his face just inches away, his eyes burrowing into hers. ‘I’ll say goodnight then.’

‘Yes – cheerio, Jeremy. See you in the morning. I’ll come in early – make a start on that interviewing.’

She watched him walk slowly to his office. He threw her a look before he went inside. She let out a long, snagging breath.

Please God he didn’t see anything.

16

Caroline closed the front door behind her and leaned against it. She looked down at her hands – they were still shaking. Minty bounded through the kitchen door and leapt up at her. She grabbed the dog’s ears and pushed her back down.

‘Not now, girl.’

Minty whined a complaint.

‘Mum!’ Caroline threw her bag on the hall table and wriggled out of her jacket. ‘Claire?’ She hurried to the kitchen, the dog trailing behind her. An envelope was propped up against the kettle, Jean’s handwriting scrawled across the back.

Caroline
Left message with ditsy girl – Vera Vague? – in your office. Not convinced you’ll get it. Your mobile’s switched off... Last minute emergency flash mob call – I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.
Mum x

PS Ben @ Thomas’s for tea/Claire revising @ Louise’s/Dan – don’t know/Pete – yr guess as gd as.
PPS Minty prob needs walking

‘Great.’ Caroline yanked open the fridge and pulled a bottle of wine from the door. The dog yelped a non-committal bark. ‘Just you and me, girl.’ She poured herself a glass and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Drink first then W-A-L-K.’

Minty’s tail thumped the floor.

‘When did you learn to spell?’ She grabbed the dog’s ear and tugged it. ‘Clever girl.’

Caroline took a sip of wine. It was harsh and acidic on her tongue. ‘The first time I feel like getting properly drunk. Typical.’ She emptied the glass into the sink and watched the dog disappear into the hall. Minty came back seconds later carrying her lead in her mouth.

‘In a minute, Mint.’

She pulled the memory stick from her pocket and weighed it in her hand. It was warm. She placed it carefully on the table and pushed it away with an index finger. ‘It’s a big step I’ve taken, Mint.’ She shook her head. ‘A giant leap.’

The dog thumped her tail again in reply.

Caroline jumped up and fetched her handbag from the hall. She grabbed her mobile from the inner recesses and tapped in Angela Tate’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. Again. She’d tried her three or four times on her way home from the department. She just wanted to talk to someone. Why wasn’t Tate picking up?

‘Bigger fish to fry – eh Minty?’

The dog whined. Then she barked and scampered into the hall. The front door opened and slammed shut. Caroline heard the unmistakable tread of a fourteen-year-old boy trundling up the stairs.

‘Hello Dan!’ she hollered. ‘I’m in the kitchen.’

Dan grunted something back and carried on up the stairs. She heard his bedroom door crash against its frame.

‘And good evening to you too, dearest Mother.’ She checked her watch – not yet 8:30pm. It was the first time Dan had got home before 10pm all week.

Minty nudged her lead across the floor with her nose.

‘Later girl – I promise.’

Caroline left the dog in the kitchen, quickly climbed the stairs and stood outside Dan’s bedroom, listening for signs of life. She tapped lightly on the door and stepped back, staring at the
Keep Out
sign. Above it was a bright orange Hazchem symbol that had replaced the yellow and black radioactivity warning. Maybe she could find him a
Biohazard
sign to add to his collection. God only knew how many new forms of life were growing in the trainers at the bottom of his wardrobe. She knocked again, more forcefully.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me, Dan. Have you got a minute? Can I come in?’ She heard another grunt, not unlike one of Minty’s, and the door opened a crack.

‘What is it? I’m a bit busy.’

‘We haven’t really seen one another for ages. I suppose I just wanted some intelligent conversation.’

‘Isn’t that what Claire’s for?’

‘Claire’s out tonight.’

‘So I’m second best, am I?’

‘You know that’s not what I meant.’

‘Can’t you speak to Gran?’

‘Your Gran’s out… flash mobbing. Can I not talk to my number one son without a major inquisition?’

‘OK – as long as it’s quick.’ Dan walked away from the door but left it open. ‘And painless.’

‘Good grief, Dan. You make it sound like humane animal slaughter.’

‘Whatever.’

Caroline stepped gingerly into the room, trying not to judge, trying not to breathe in through her nose. She lowered herself tentatively onto the edge of his unmade bed, clasping her hands together to resist the urge to plump the pillow and straighten the duvet.

‘Are you OK?’ Dan asked.

‘Me? Course. I’m always OK.’

‘You look a bit weird.’

‘Thanks a lot.’ She looked down at her hands and untangled her fingers. ‘No. I’m great, me. I thought we could have a bite to eat together. What do you fancy?’

‘Not hungry.’

‘Well that’s got to be a first. I wish I had a tape recorder, get that down on record.’

‘If you’re going to take the p—, the mickey, maybe you should just leave.’

‘I’m sorry. You’re not hungry – fine. I’ll order pizza just for me then, shall I?’

Dan shrugged. ‘I’m going out, anyway.’

‘Out? You’ve only just got in. Where are you going?’

‘Just out.’

‘It’s a school night. You can’t go out again.’

Dan’s mobile started to flash and vibrate on his desk. He grabbed the phone, stabbed it silent and shoved it in a pocket.

‘Anyone important?’

‘Private.’

Caroline bit her lip. ‘Of course – I didn’t mean to intrude.’

Dan started swinging on his chair, the central spindle creaking with every partial rotation.

‘We should get some WD40 on that. I’ll tell your dad.’

‘Doesn’t bother me.’

After her confrontation with Prior, all Caroline wanted to do was reach out to another human being. Connect with someone. She was beginning to think Minty would have been a better bet. ‘So… what have you been up to? How’s school?’

He shrugged again, turned back to his laptop and tapped out an instant message. Caroline tried not to read it, but couldn’t stop herself peering over his shoulder anyway. He turned suddenly and caught her trying to make sense of the consonant-only words of textspeak. Her cheeks flushed instantly like someone turning on a two bar electric fire.

‘I’m not prying – it’s just a normal reaction, isn’t it? To read whatever’s in front of you.’ She had a sudden, awful memory of Jeremy Prior trying to look at her monitor in the office. She sucked in a quick breath and tried to recover. ‘The number of cereal packets I’ve read over the years while you ate your breakfast…’ She smiled. ‘I can tell you the mineral and vitamin contents of a Coco Pop, no trouble.’

Dan slammed shut the lid of his laptop.

‘I’m really sorry – I honestly didn’t see anything. I don’t want you to think…’ She sighed, the nervous energy she’d been trying to control finally leaking out of her. Her shoulders sagged.

‘You sure you’re OK?’ Dan said, and placed a hand on her arm.

She looked down at his bony knuckles. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d voluntarily touched her.

‘I’m completely fine. Just a bit stressed at work. The usual. Bor—ring!’ She got up, reckoning she shouldn’t outstay her welcome if she ever expected to gain entry to Dan’s room again. She knew a hug was out of the question, so she squeezed his shoulder as she walked past. He winced. She looked down at the small patch of flesh visible above the neckline of his baggy t-shirt. A purple and yellow bruise bloomed outwards from his neck.

‘What happened?’ she said, failing to keep the alarm from her voice.

‘S’nothing.’

‘Dan!’

‘A rugby tackle – no bigs.’

‘No what? And since when have you played rugby?’

He shrugged her hand away.

‘Dan!’

Her mobile started to ring downstairs.

‘Tell me how that happened.’

‘It was an accident. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘I thought you said it was a rugby tackle.’

‘It was… it is. God Mum, drop it, will you?’

She hesitated at his door.

‘If I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll…’

‘What?’

She stepped into the hall, desperate to get to the phone before her voicemail picked up the call. She had to speak to Tate.

‘I’ll take your laptop away.’

‘You can’t do that.’

‘Just watch me.’

Dan snatched his MacBook from the desk and wrapped his arms protectively around it. Caroline wagged a finger at him. ‘I mean it, Dan.’

She ran across the landing and threw herself down the stairs, holding onto the banister rail, her feet skimming the edges of each step. She snatched up the phone and jabbed the answer button.

‘Mrs Barber?’ A woman’s voice, but not one she recognised. Definitely not Tate.

‘Yes, speaking.’

‘Good evening, Mrs Barber. I’m calling from Mayflower Hospital.’

Caroline grabbed the back of a kitchen chair, her legs suddenly unable to support her bodyweight.

Please God let Ben and Claire be all right.

She swallowed. ‘What’s happened?’

‘It’s your mother, er… a Mrs Jean Henderson?’

Caroline closed her eyes.
Now what?

‘Hello… are you still there?’

‘Yes, yes I’m here.’

‘It’s really nothing to worry about. But we will be keeping her in overnight. We would have called you sooner, but we’ve had quite a few casualties to deal with.’

Caroline took a breath. ‘A few? I don’t understand. Has there been a bus crash or something?’

‘No – nothing like that.’

Caroline grabbed her bag and lifted the car key from the hook by the kitchen door. ‘Mayflower Hospital did you say? I don’t know it. Where are you?’

‘Goodmayes.’

Caroline was still none the wiser.

‘In Essex,’ the woman said.

Essex?

She ran into the hall and yanked her jacket from the stair post just as Dan was clattering down the stairs.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ she said.

‘I told you – out.’

‘You can take Minty for a walk, then you’re coming straight back.’

‘I’ve made arrangements.’

‘Well you can unmake them.’

‘Hello… Mrs Barber?’ Caroline had forgotten she was still connected.

‘I’m sorry. I’m still here.’

Dan opened the front door.

‘Hold it right there.’ Caroline shoved a hand against the door and shut it again. ‘Overnight, you said?’ Caroline slid between Dan and the door.

‘Yes – perhaps you could bring her some night things, nightdress, toiletries, that sort of thing?’

‘You still haven’t told me what happened.’

‘It’s not clear at present.’

‘But it’s bad enough that she has to spend a night in hospital?’

‘It’s just a precaution.’

‘Against what?’

Dan reached up a long arm for the door latch. Caroline waved her hand at him and mouthed the word ‘laptop’. He stepped away.

‘It’s normal procedure…’ The woman hesitated.

‘What aren’t you telling me?’

‘Really – there’s no need for you to worry. It’s just something we always do with head injuries.’