2019
I woke up the morning after my date with Danny with a slight hangover and a fizzing, excited feeling inside. It reminded me of waking up on my birthday when I was a kid and knowing something good was about to happen. It was Saturday and I didn’t have to get up, so I lay in bed – alone – and stretched out, wriggling my toes. It had been a very nice evening. Fun, just like I’d told Paula I wanted. Danny was funny and smart, he obviously adored little Cara, and he was really interested in Esther Watkins and whatever her story was.
‘Let me know what you find out about her,’ he’d said as we neared Elm Heath in our cab home.
‘I don’t suppose you could call in a few favours and help us win?’ I’d said. I was joking but Danny had looked startled.
‘In what way?’
‘I thought you financed public sector projects?’
Danny had started to explain how his job worked earlier in the evening, but then never finished because the waiter had interrupted us and we’d gone on to chat about something else.
But in the cab he’d nodded. ‘Well, not me personally, but yes. We find private investors for public sector projects.’
‘So you must know people at Blyton Council?’
He’d smiled. ‘I do know people,’ he’d said. ‘And if I can help, I will. Keep me posted and I’ll see what I can do.’
I’d felt a bit odd in the taxi home, remembering Uber trips with Grant back from nights out. When we went out, back when our lives were still fun, I always sat in the middle so we could hold hands in the back, or more often than not after a party, so I could rest my head on his shoulder and doze off. Danny and I had each sat by a window, an empty seat in between us, and the space seemed enormous. When the cab had pulled up at my house, he’d got out and come round to where I stood on the pavement, hands in pockets and my jacket pulled round me against the evening chill. He’d paid the driver and told him he’d walk from here and then he’d looked at me.
‘I had a really nice time,’ he’d said. ‘I’d like to do it again.’
I’d smiled up at him, noticing how his eyes twinkled in the streetlights as though he was planning something mischievous. I’d twinkled back at him – it was infectious.
‘I’ll see if I can fit you in. I’m very busy doing head-teacher things.’
‘Surely you’ve got a few spare evenings in among moulding young minds and saving Elm Heath Primary?’
I had nudged him with my shoulder. ‘I reckon so,’ I’d said.
There was the tiniest, awkward pause as I’d wondered whether I should invite him in for coffee. But though I’d enjoyed our meal together I wasn’t ready to take things further. Not yet. Luckily Danny had realised I was hesitating and took charge.
‘I’d better go because Cara is a devil for the early mornings,’ he’d said, kissing me on the cheek. ‘Night then.’
He’d sauntered off down the road towards his house, without looking back, and I’d let myself in to my little cottage feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time.
Now though, the morning after, I knew I’d done the right thing. If – and it was a very big if – this thing with Danny was going to go anywhere, then I had to take it really slow. Not to mention the fact that Elm Heath was a small place and if Danny had so much as stepped foot across my doorstep it would have been all round the village by lunchtime that the new headmistress was inviting dads round for late-night shenanigans. That would hardly be professional.
I stretched again, then got out of bed and went downstairs in search of caffeine and my laptop. Then I took my coffee and the computer back to bed and fired up Google.
‘Come on then, Esther Watkins,’ I said to myself. ‘What’s your story?’
It took me a while and various different searches, but I found her eventually in a photograph. It was a picture of a row of women, marching along a road. They were all nicely dressed – one even had a fur stole round her shoulders – and wearing rather fetching hats. Each had a sandwich board across her front and back, some carrying the details of a meeting taking place on the Strand in November 1909, and others simply saying Votes for Women. The women’s names were listed in the caption of the photograph and there, third in line, was Esther Watkins.
‘Gotcha,’ I said, delighted. I zoomed in on her face in the photograph and compared it with the portrait that hung on my wall – I’d snapped it on my phone the other day. She was younger in the picture in my office, but it was definitely her. Esther Watkins had been a suffragette.
‘Clever girl, Cara,’ I murmured as I screen-grabbed Esther and her Votes for Women placard. ‘Clever, clever girl.’
I carried on searching and found Esther’s photograph again. This time, though, she was standing at the back of rows of small children alongside two other women a similar age and one very stern-looking older woman. The caption read: ‘Trinity Primary School, Wandsworth. 1909/10.’
I rummaged in the duvet for my phone, and rang Paula.
‘I’ve found her,’ I said when she answered. ‘I’ve found Esther and she’s fabulous.’
‘Fabulous enough to save Elm Heath?’
I chewed my lip. ‘Not sure yet,’ I said. ‘But she’s definitely an interesting character. She was a suffragette and she was a teacher in London before she came here.’
‘Just like you,’ Paula said, sounding pleased. ‘I wonder what brought her to Elm Heath?’
‘No idea,’ I said cheerfully. ‘But I reckon we can find out. There’s loads of stuff online about the suffragettes. We just need to do a bit of digging. And Danny even said he might be able to help.’
Paula scoffed. ‘What does he know about the suffragettes?’
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. ‘He knows people at the council.’
‘How was your date?’ Paula said the word “date” like she was putting air quotes round it.
‘It was lovely, thank you.’ I was deliberately misunderstanding what she wanted to know. ‘We went for Thai in Blyton and the chicken satay was delicious. There was some footballer from Blyton Town, who I didn’t recognise but Danny did.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing, it was just a nice evening. I told you, not that it’s any of your business, that I’m not in the market for romance.’
‘Okay.’ Paula sounded prickly.
‘I know you were Isabelle’s friend …’
‘I was.’
‘Like Chris said, people make mistakes. Everyone deserves a second chance.’
‘Except Grant?’
‘I gave Grant a second, third and fourth chance and he blew them all,’ I said. ‘I just think Danny’s not as bad as you and Sophie think he is. He knows he was shitty to Isabelle and he’s sorry. He even seems keen to help with Elm Heath Primary and I think we should welcome his involvement.’
‘Just be careful,’ Paula said and I sighed loudly.
‘If my experience with Grant has taught me anything it’s to trust no one,’ I said. Though as I said it, I felt uncomfortable, like I was lying.
Paula was silent for a moment. ‘What shall we do with this Esther knowledge then?’ she said, obviously realising she was getting nowhere warning me off Danny.
Suddenly deflated, I looked at the photograph on my laptop screen. ‘Nothing, I suppose. What can we do? It’s really cool that she was a suffragette but I’m not sure it’s relevant to the school, is it? I can’t imagine the bean counters at Blyton Borough Council suddenly finding extra cash, just because Esther believed women should have the vote.’
‘Don’t give up yet,’ Paula said. ‘Maybe we need to focus on why she ended up in Elm Heath, starting a school. Perhaps there’s something in that?’
‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘Actually, perhaps this is where Danny could help? Maybe someone at the council knows more about the history of the school? He could introduce us.’
‘Worth a try,’ Paula said. ‘Just …’
‘I know, I will be careful.’
I ended the call and typed a message to Danny. ‘Thanks for last night,’ I began, hoping I was showing the right amount of casual interest. Enough to make him realise I liked spending time with him but not so much that he’d think I wanted to jump straight into a relationship. It was a long time since I’d dated anyone so it was a tricky business to choose the right words. ‘I enjoyed it,’ I added, then deleted it because it sounded formal and forced.
Instead I launched straight into my Esther news, saying she had definitely been a suffragette and did he know anyone at the council who could help us find out the history of the school? At the end I wrote: ‘See you soon?’ and then finished with an L and a kiss. I sent it before I could change my mind and then I got out of bed and went for a shower, leaving my phone in the bedroom so I couldn’t keep checking for a reply.
‘Loser,’ I told myself as I got dressed. When I eventually allowed myself to look at my phone my heart jumped as I saw Danny’s name on the screen.
‘Leave it with me,’ he’d written. ‘Can you bunk off school early on Monday afternoon to go to the council office?’
‘No worries,’ I replied. ‘The headmistress is a pushover.’
‘Three p.m. at the council?’
‘See you there.’
I sent my final reply and then scrolled back through the messages, rereading them and checking for any hidden meaning, but I couldn’t find any.
Sighing, I threw my phone into my bag and then grabbed my car keys. If I was going to see important people at the council – and yes, Danny too – then I probably needed a new outfit.