Katy hears the news at lunchtime, when she checks her phone.
So sad to let you all know that Jarrod passed away in the early hours of the morning. He had a massive brain haemorrhage. Unfortunately, nothing could be done to save his life. I’ll send funeral details as soon as I know.
Xx Grace
Jarrod is dead? Tears of shock prick her eyes and the screen blurs. She rushes from the staffroom, down the long corridor to the closest exit. Outside, students swill around her as she gulps warm air: it’s well over thirty degrees today.
Jarrod is dead. She never imagined this outcome, never imagined a scenario where he wouldn’t wake up and be perfectly fine, because isn’t that what generally happens with people like him? The attractive and popular people, who invariably bounce back from whatever misfortune befalls them, luck and fate unreservedly on their side. Oh God, is she somehow responsible for this? Did it happen because of her stupid notions about having a reunion and an updated yearbook? Did she unwittingly spark something in someone, a vicious desire for revenge? Would Jarrod still be alive if she hadn’t been so fixated on having this reunion and proving to everyone just how much she’s changed?
No, no, no. The assault on Jarrod could have been the result of a business dispute. Nothing has been proved. But, oh God, what a terrible thing to happen. Annabel and the children ... Katy can imagine their horror and shock. The father of one of her students died suddenly last year. The family was devastated, still are. The effect on the whole school community was profound.
‘There you are!’ It’s Nina. She must be on supervising duty. Her eyes narrow in scrutiny. ‘Is something wrong?’
Katy tries to tell her. About Jarrod. About Robbie, Mike and the detective. About her sneaking suspicion that she’s somehow responsible for this awful, awful tragedy. Everything comes out in a wail that causes students to pause and stare.
‘I think you need to go home,’ Nina says, taking her firmly by the arm. ‘You’ve had a bad shock. Come on, let’s get a substitute sorted.’
It’s worse at home, not better. There’s more time to think. More time to blame herself. More time to feel scared. Mike has called twice since her chat with the detective. He seems to be extraordinarily persistent. Has the detective checked him out? Was he married to Brigette? What about his son, Toby, whom she met so briefly? Is he Brigette’s child, or the child of some other woman? Is Mike genuine or fake?
How could you be so stupid, Katy? So trusting of someone who contacted you through Facebook?
But what about Robbie? What’s his part in all this? Has he been motivated by unrequited love, as the detective suggested, or something altogether more sinister?
He followed you, Katy. Stood outside your home.
Now she has gone from scared to petrified. She jumps up, runs to the window, and frantically scans the street outside. The only person out there is a woman with a pram. Would Robbie stand in full view of her window? Wouldn’t he be more discreet? She yanks up the lower section of the window and sticks her head out, scouring potential screening offered by trees or bushes. No one there. At least not that she can see.
She slams the window shut and her thoughts jerk around before randomly settling on David Hooper, one of the few students she couldn’t track down. Why has he come into her head so suddenly? Is her subconscious trying to tell her something? Did David have some personal issues that she can’t remember? Were his school years unhappy? Did they leave behind a residue of bitterness and a desire for revenge? All Katy can recall is that he was very good at French and used to spend lunchtimes in the library.
She’s on her way to the bedroom, to look up David in the yearbook, when there’s a loud knock on the door, rattling her nerves even further. Who would be calling this time of day, when she’s not even meant to be home? How did they get through the security door downstairs? She tiptoes to the door and peers through the peekhole to see a magnified image of Jim’s weather-beaten face.
‘Just me,’ he says as she opens the door. ‘Noticed you were home early. Just popping down to the shops and wondered if you wanted anything?’
Katy knows she is losing her grip then because she experiences a dart of pure, electrifying fear. Jim, her next-door neighbour. The man who knows her exact movements, day in and out. The man who has a spare key to her apartment, who could have easily used her laptop and accessed all sorts of information. It makes no sense why he would send terrifying notes to people he hasn’t met, but that logic does absolutely nothing to curb her terror.
‘I’m fine,’ she yelps and closes the door in his face.
She doesn’t know how to stop the fear now it has taken hold. Jim, Mike, Robbie, David Hooper: their faces rotate in her head, their expressions increasingly menacing. She hates feeling like this. The fear is a mockery of her coveted independence, of what she preaches to her students about being brave and taking on the world.
It’s 5 p.m. The evening stretches out in front of her, full of unspecified terror. What if Mike phones again? Or Jim knocks on the door for the second time? Robbie could be on his way here to take up watch. She can’t be alone tonight. She picks up her phone.
‘Hey, Luke, it’s me ...’
Luke comes with a bottle of wine in each hand and Aaron carries a plastic bag filled with take-away containers. Katy has never been so happy to see them.
They sit at the kitchen table, devouring the food, slugging the wine, talking about Jarrod. How deeply shocked they are, even though it’s been twenty-odd years since he’s been part of their lives. Jarrod was the first to get his driver’s licence, driving his father’s Toyota Camry to school every day, skidding into the unsealed car park in a billow of dust. One afternoon, Luke decided to sit on the bonnet as Jarrod reversed out of his space, and they were spotted by Mr Rowland, the principal.
‘We got detention and had to write an eight-hundred-word essay on road safety. Jarrod was furious because he missed rugby training.’
Both of Luke’s bottles are empty. The alcohol has done its job. Katy feels fuzzy, affectionate, quite sheepish.
‘I’m so glad you’re both here,’ she blurts out, cutting Luke off mid-sentence. ‘I was so scared. Seems so silly now.’
Luke’s face is flushed; his glass has been refilled more often than hers. The truth is, he drinks too much. Another truth is that he can be incredibly selfish at times. Luke is far from perfect and yet she still loves him and has never felt the urge to catalogue his faults the way she does with other men. Why is that?
‘I love you,’ she says, then turns to Aaron. ‘You too, buddy.’
Luke and Aaron share an indecipherable look.
‘Tell her,’ Aaron says quietly.
‘Tell me what?’ she demands, looking from one to the other.
Luke takes her hand in his. ‘Aaron and I have talked about it ...’
‘Talked about what? Are you getting married?’
He laughs and throws another enigmatic glance at Aaron. ‘No, not that. But I’ll do it ... I’ll have a baby with you.’