2020
I welcomed 2020 with a thumping hangover and an absolute inability to move from my sofa. Danny had gone back to Sophie’s after our midnight kiss, saying he had to get back for Cara. Giddy with the feeling of his lips on mine – and too much Prosecco – I’d carried on partying with Nate and the others until the small hours, then staggered back to my little cottage and collapsed fully clothed on the bed and slept until lunchtime.
At about six p.m., I finally dragged myself downstairs with my duvet, made beans on toast, and stayed hunched under the blankets watching rubbish telly and going over my notes for the council meeting the next day.
It was hard to prepare because I didn’t really know what was going to be discussed. Denise had said it was a preliminary meeting. I decided to write some notes about how important Elm Heath was to the community – referring to the publicity we’d had obviously, and mentioning all the things we’d put in place, like the after-school club, the plans we had for the afternoon teas, and using quotes from Esther’s letter about the need for a local school in Elm Heath.
I’d not heard from Danny, except a message sent while I was still asleep to say he and Cara were off to catch up with some friends and go for a walk on the beach to blow away the cobwebs. I had no idea which beach. He finished with a kiss, which I liked. I replied, simply saying: ‘Have fun!’ grateful he’d managed to avoid any morning-after weirdness.
The next day was Thursday, back-to-school day and council meeting day. I woke up – thankfully – without any trace of lingering hangover, and bounced out of bed, eager to greet the kids as they arrived and then race to Blyton for the meeting.
I got to school super-early and rewrote all the notes I’d written the day before, making them snappier, more confident and adding details, and putting them all into a presentation so I could show everyone at the meeting – I wasn’t exactly sure who would be there – just what we’d achieved in only a term.
Nate, bless him, had emailed me his own notes about the rally he was planning, so I added those in, along with clips from The One Show, and some of the things I’d learned about Esther Watkins.
‘Esther wasn’t from Elm Heath, but she fell in love with the area,’ I wrote. ‘She saw there was a real need for a community school and she made it happen. That need still exists, and as someone who has also fallen in love with Elm Heath, I am determined to keep this school open.’
Was that too bolshie? I read it over again. No, I didn’t think so. I felt like we needed to play hard ball if this was going to work.
‘All set?’ Paula appeared in my office, clutching two mugs of tea. She handed me one and I wrapped my hands round it. The school was cold first thing in the morning.
‘Nervous.’
‘Not surprised. Do you want to go over what you’re saying?’
I nodded and she sat down, looking at me expectantly. ‘Hit me.’
‘My name is Lizzie Armstrong and I’m the head teacher of Elm Heath Primary,’ I began.
My presentation lasted four minutes – Paula timed it – not including a three-minute clip from The One Show.
‘Is it too long?’ I asked, worried everyone would zone out.
Paula looked thoughtful. ‘Ordinarily, I’d say yes, but the clip is great with all the kids talking and that nice chap who was on Strictly summing it all up at the end. And your bit is very good.’
‘Really?’
She grinned. ‘Really.’
I started gathering all my notes together and putting them and my laptop in my bag. ‘I’m going to see all the children arrive, and then head off,’ I said. ‘The meeting’s at ten and I don’t want to be late.’
‘Make sure you take your phone and ring me as soon as you’re done,’ Paula said.
I felt in my trouser pocket for my phone and pulled it out. ‘Urgh, it’s only on ten per cent,’ I said.
‘Take your charger.’
‘I’ve not got it.’
Paula rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll see if I’ve got mine. Or run home and get yours?’
But already I could hear kids’ voices outside as the playground filled up.
‘No time,’ I said, draining my tea. ‘It’s fine. There might be one in my car, or I’m sure someone at the meeting will have a charger.’
I spent a happy fifteen minutes greeting all the children, and listening as they told me all about their Christmas presents, their excited chatter creating little puffs of breath in the cold air.
When the bell rang I waved to Paula, who was seeing them all inside, and headed off to my car to drive to Blyton.
The traffic wasn’t bad – I guessed lots of people with normal jobs had decided to take today and tomorrow off and start back on Monday, lucky sods – so I got to the council offices early. I parked and decided to read through my notes one last time before I went inside.
As I got to the bit about the rally, my phone rang. I found it, tucked inside one of my folders in my bag, and was pleased to see it was Danny.
‘Wish me luck,’ I said as I answered. ‘It’s the big council meeting this morning. I’m just waiting in the car park. Hello, by the way.’
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘And good luck.’ He sounded amused and something else that I couldn’t quite identify. His voice was odd.
‘Are you driving?’ I said. ‘Are you on hands free?’
‘I am.’
Maybe that was it. He sounded distant.
‘Listen, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘I need to—’
My phone went dead. I took it away from my ear and looked at the screen. The battery had gone flat.
‘Bugger,’ I said. Oh well, at least he’d called. I’d catch up with him afterwards, once I’d found a charger. Time was ticking on, so I took a deep breath, shoved my laptop and my dead phone in my bag, and went inside.
Denise came to meet me from reception. She was wearing a suit and had her hair pulled back and she looked like something out of The Good Wife. Her heels clicked on the council-issued hard floor as we walked to the lifts. I was wearing black trousers, flat ankle boots – I’d learned the hard way not to wear heels when I was on my feet all day at work – and a green fine-knit jumper. I suddenly felt under-dressed, like a sixth-former on work experience.
‘Who’s going to be at the meeting?’ I asked, walking into the lift and waiting for Denise to press the floor. My voice was a little trembly and I suddenly realised that was how Danny had sounded – he’d sounded nervous. Bless him, I thought, being nervous about calling me. What a sweetheart.
Denise was reeling off job titles and names.
‘And the developer, and I think their finance bod,’ she added.
I blinked. ‘The developer?’
‘You’ve done an amazing job,’ she said quickly watching the floor numbers light up as we rose up. ‘The profile of the school has never been higher, and there’s no denying the bigwigs are worried about closing it and losing all that goodwill.’
‘But?’
She sighed. ‘But the building is old and knackered, and expensive to run. It’s on prime land and the council’s been running a loss for years. They could make a lot of money if they sell it. Even more money if they sell it with planning approved already.’
I was shocked. ‘Are they allowed to do that?’
She shrugged as the lift dinged and the doors opened. ‘I guess we’ll find out in the meeting.’
‘But there won’t be a decision today?’
She shook her head, opening the door to a large meeting room where about five middle-aged men in suits were helping themselves to coffee and pastries from a trolley.
‘Ah, Denise,’ one of them said. ‘Come on in.’
‘This is Lizzie Armstrong,’ she said. ‘Head teacher of Elm Heath.’
The man regarded me with what I thought looked like pity, and then stuck out his hand and introduced himself. The others followed, though I didn’t completely keep up with all the job titles. Someone was from the education department, someone else from finance, another from policy.
I refused a pastry because I didn’t want to get bits of croissant stuck in my teeth, but accepted a coffee and sat down.
‘We’ll get going in a few minutes, just waiting for one or two more to arrive,’ the man who’d welcomed us said. He seemed to be in charge and I knew I should have paid more attention to his name. I was just so nervous; all I could think about was making a good job of my presentation. He smiled at me kindly. ‘We take any potential closure of a school very seriously,’ he said. ‘It’s not something we do on a whim, and we have to make sure it’s the correct decision for everyone involved.’
I nodded.
‘Today’s meeting is just so we can all hear where things stand at the moment, ahead of the final meeting in March. It helps us keep track.’
I nodded again.
‘Once everyone’s here, I’ll do a quick welcome, then I’ll hear from you, Miss Armstrong, and the representative from the developer.’
‘It’s Ms,’ I said.
He looked at me blankly.
I swallowed. My mouth felt dry with nerves so I took a swig of coffee.
‘And I believe Maurice has a quick presentation too,’ the man carried on.
Maurice – one of the suited chaps to my right – nodded. ‘I’ve got a breakdown of school places across the district, a few budget bits, and some other figures,’ he said. I groaned inwardly. Not only did that sound terribly dull, they were the sort of stone-cold facts that could finish Elm Heath. All the hearts and flowers and Esther Watkins stuff was lovely, but could it compete with statistics? I wasn’t sure.
Behind me, the door to the meeting room opened.
‘Good,’ said the chairman. ‘Here are the developers now. Lizzie, this is Vanessa Morgan from the council’s favoured contractors, Texo.’
Vanessa? I turned in my chair to see a well-groomed older woman, in her fifties. And behind her …
‘And she’s brought along her financial consultant today from Vanir Investments. This is Daniel Kinsella.’
… behind her was Danny.