2019
I was strolling round the tiny Tesco in the village after school the next day, when I saw Danny and Cara.
‘Hello, Miss Armstrong,’ Cara said. ‘We’re buying biscuits for Brownies.’
‘You should buy them brownies,’ I said.
Cara frowned. ‘I’m bringing biscuits. My name was on the list.’
Behind her, Danny laughed. The sound made my heart lift a little bit.
‘You must never deviate from the Brownies list,’ he said.
I was absurdly pleased to see him. ‘Have you learned that to your cost?’
He leaned forward and checked behind him before he spoke, secret-agent-style. ‘Once, we made small cakes instead of one big cake for the teddy bears’ picnic. That’s not a mistake I’ll be making again.’
I laughed. ‘So what’s on your calendar for this evening?’ he said, peering into my basket. ‘Got a busy night planned?’
I was embarrassed. I had a bottle of wine, some more chocolate hobnobs, and a packet of stir-fry vegetables.
Danny looked up and met my eyes. ‘I’m not sure this is a balanced meal,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we need to go out for dinner?’
Cara bounced up and down. ‘Can we go to Nando’s?’
Danny pulled one of her wonky bunches gently. ‘You’re going to Brownies to eat biscuits,’ he said.
‘And I have work to do,’ I added, genuinely regretful.
‘Really?’
I made a face. ‘Really.’ I tapped Cara on the shoulder. ‘Cara, I’ve forgotten to get milk. Could you run and get me a small carton of the one with the green lid, please?’
‘That’s called semi-skimmed,’ she said.
I hid my amusement. ‘Is it?’ I said. ‘Then please could you get me a small carton of semi-skimmed?’
She skipped off and I pulled Danny to one side of the aisle so we couldn’t be overheard.
‘The council are making a final decision about Elm Heath Primary in March,’ I said.
‘Jesus.’
‘Apparently there are already developers sniffing round.’ A thought struck me. ‘Could you find out what’s going on? Use some of your contacts again? You must know people who do property stuff?’
Danny looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, yes, but I’m not sure …’
‘Just if you hear anything,’ I said, not wanting to put him on the spot.
‘So what’s happening now?’
‘We’re launching a campaign to save the school,’ I said quickly. ‘We’re going to follow in the footsteps of Esther Watkins and the other suffragettes. Deeds not words.’
‘Okaaaay.’
Cara was coming back.
‘I’ll fill you in another time,’ I said. ‘Over a drink, perhaps?’
Danny grinned. ‘Thursday? Cara’s with Sophie.’
‘Sounds great.’
He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. I breathed in the smell of him, enjoying his closeness.
‘Daddy, Brownies is starting now,’ Cara said.
‘So let’s go.’
He gave me a last grin over his shoulder and let Cara lead him away towards the checkout, while I was left behind with a pint of milk I didn’t need, feeling slightly deflated.
The feeling of mild disappointment stayed with me at home, while I made my sad stir-fry and drank a glass of wine. I did some school admin and flicked through Netflix without finding anything I wanted to watch. When my doorbell rang, I jumped to answer it, hoping it was Danny. But it was Nate.
‘Sorry to bother you,’ he said. ‘I wondered if I could show you some ideas I’ve had for the rally? There never seems to be a good time at school.’
‘Of course.’ I stood back to let him into the hall and showed him into the living room.
‘This is cute,’ he said.
I felt a tiny swell of pride in my little – rented – cottage and nodded. ‘I like it,’ I agreed. ‘Glass of wine?’
I poured us both a glass and we sat together on the sofa. Nate pulled out a folder and launched into an excited spiel about what he had planned.
‘Like I said, I think the thing to do is win hearts and minds,’ he said, his words tumbling over each other in his enthusiasm. ‘If we can do that, get everyone on our side – locally and further afield – then the council won’t want the bad publicity that will come from selling the building.’
‘Perhaps. But times are tough, Nate. If they can get a load of cash for it …’
He waved away my concerns. ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I really think this could work.’
I shrugged. ‘I’ve got nothing else to offer, so go for it.’
With a grin, he opened his folder. ‘I’m thinking a march round the village,’ he said. ‘Led by the kids, but we’ll try to get everyone involved. We can make banners like the ones the suffragettes carried, and wear sashes.’
‘Sashes?’
He showed me a beautiful drawing of a little girl – who looked a bit like Cara – wearing a green and purple sash.
‘Marc drew this,’ he said proudly. ‘It’s based on the Votes for Women sashes you see in the photos of suffragettes, but instead of Votes for Women they say Save Elm Heath.’
‘Okaaay,’ I said.
‘So we’ll all march to the park and we’ll have stalls and an old-fashioned fair, and maybe games and stuff, and you can do a speech.’
‘Nate, it’s going to be cold and probably raining,’ I said.
‘My dad’s mate is going to sort us out with a load of marquees and tents. It’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘We’ll all wear coats. And if we do it at the beginning of March it’ll be warmer anyway.’
I registered what else he’d said. ‘A speech?’
‘About how important the school is and talking about the history and about Esther and what she wanted from Elm Heath.’
I made a face. ‘I still don’t know.’
‘You’ll find out though. You’re not exactly someone who gives up at the first sign of trouble, are you?’
I looked at him curiously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You had a rotten time of it, with your husband and that, didn’t you?’
I couldn’t argue with that. I nodded, still not sure where he was going.
‘But you just picked yourself up and kept going.’
From where I was sitting, it looked like I’d run away and hidden, but I supposed to some people it could seem as though I’d kept going.
‘Nate,’ I began, but he wasn’t finished.
‘We all think you’re brilliant,’ he said. ‘And we reckon if anyone can do this, you can.’
There was nothing like a bit of flattery to win a woman over. I smiled, despite my misgivings.
‘I suppose it’s worth a try.’
Nate clapped his hands. ‘It’s definitely worth a try. We’ve got nothing to lose.’ He paused. ‘I will sort the rally,’ he said. ‘I’ll do all the organisation and drumming up the support and stuff, if you …’
‘Yes?’ I was suspicious about what he wanted.
‘If you get your husband to use his contacts and get us some publicity.’
‘Ex-husband.’
‘He owes you,’ Nate said. ‘Pippa was right about that.’
‘It’s awkward.’
Nate’s expression softened. ‘I know.’ He reached out and patted my hand gently. ‘But we really need you to do this. It could make all the difference. The kids from Elm Heath will be so grateful.’
‘Ooh that’s cheap,’ I said. ‘Using the kids as leverage.’
‘I’m shameless,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But you know I’m right.’
I winced. He was right. The kids were more important than my wounded pride.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll email him and see if he can help.’
Nate shut his folder with a snap and drained his wine glass. ‘Then we’re good to go,’ he said.
Feeling a bit browbeaten, I showed him out, and then thinking I had to do it before I changed my mind I found my laptop and emailed Grant.
I wrote a quick explanation of the school (‘so welcoming,’ I gushed) and the problems it was facing (‘the usual perfect storm of budget cuts and falling pupil numbers,’ I wrote airily as though it was no biggie). Then I outlined the ‘amazing and incredibly inspiring’ history of Esther Watkins and how she’d founded the school, and I wrote a bit about what we had planned to fight for Elm Heath.
‘We need publicity for this to really make a difference,’ I typed. ‘Can you help?’
I paused, tapping my fingers lightly on the keys as I thought about how to write ‘you owe me, you lying sod’, without actually writing ‘you owe me, you lying sod’.
‘I’m so pleased that with all the water that’s gone under the bridge, we can still be there for each other,’ I wrote. Then I changed the bit about being there to ‘help each other out’. That was better – less emotionally charged, I thought.
‘Hope all is good with you,’ I added, finishing with an L and a kiss. Which I also deleted. He didn’t deserve my kisses, virtual or not. But I didn’t send the message – not yet. I still wanted to make sure it was absolutely the right thing to do. So instead, I saved it into my draft folder. I’d send it in the next couple of days, I thought.
To distract myself I checked my Facebook messages and with a thrill realised Fiona Willoughby had replied.
‘Happy to help,’ she’d written. ‘I have some boxes of papers, and other bits and pieces that belonged to Agnes. Would you like to come and have a look?’
Grinning to myself, I replied that I would love to visit if possible, and gave her my phone number so we could arrange it.
With a sense of achievement I put the wine glasses in the dishwasher and turned it on, then I went upstairs to bed, thinking perhaps all was not lost after all.