Kate had to get out of the house, away from the phone that would ring and tell her what was going to happen next and when and where. They’ll be in touch, that’s what Mr Reynolds said when she was called in to the school to meet the accusing stares of Kyle’s parents, Leonie and Buddy Blake. ‘We’ll be in touch soon, Mrs Groome. The sooner we can get things sorted, the better for all concerned.’
The better for whom? Kate thought as she saw the smug satisfaction on Leonie’s face. The better for Leonie, for Buddy Blake, without a doubt. Buddy, one of those men whose nicknames follow them from school and into the golf club and the bar after work. Better for Kyle Blake. And, of course, the better for the school. God forbid that even a whiff of scandal taint those exclusive halls.
But what about the Groomes?
‘Perhaps you should keep Noah at home for a few days. Not a formal suspension, mind you. We wouldn’t want that on his record, would we?’
‘No, no, of course. Of course not,’ Kate said, picking up her bag, stumbling to the door. Avoiding Leonie’s stare. Not looking at Buddy’s face. Wishing Dominic had been able to leave work and come with her.
She’s sitting outside a café now, watching the gentle swell of the sea, the holiday makers dipping into the waves and out of the heat. She should move out of the scorching sun, but she can’t summon the energy. Her coffee has gone cold, her hands are bunched tight in her lap. Relax, she tells herself. Breathe. Think. Mr Reynolds has set the ball rolling and Kate doesn’t know how to stop it.
She and Dominic need to talk. ‘Let me get more details, Kate, find out what they plan to do next and then we’ll work things out.’ That’s what he promised her last night.
Kate wishes now that she’d been quicker. Sharper. Replies churning in her head, the put-downs you never think of until it’s too late. But what about your son, Leonie? Buddy? I hear Kyle and his friends torment my son endlessly.
‘Not just Noah, Mom,’ Noah’s sister, Maddie said the night before, eyes blazing, her small frame bristling with frustration. ‘They pick on other kids too.’
So yes, ‘What about the bullies in your school, Mr Reynolds?’ That’s what she should have asked.
Too late now. The Blakes are out for blood. They’ve reported Noah to the police and are even threatening to press charges. Nothing Kate can say about how this is the first time Noah has been involved in an altercation like this is going to make any difference. She feels it in every worrying memory of Noah mumbling under his breath and tapping his fingers. There are the notes sent home from school – ‘Noah’s constant tardiness disrupts the class’; ‘Noah’s behaviour is a distraction’ – and all the visits they have already made, to the school counsellor, to one therapist after another, the meds they’ve prescribed, their inability to get to the root of Noah’s anxiety, his behaviour.
His medical records will probably be examined for proof of an ongoing ‘condition’. For proof of the fact that Noah has a ‘problem’.
Kate imagines Leonie Blake nodding sanctimoniously. What she wouldn’t give to have Leonie sitting opposite her right now. Or maybe not. One assault against the Blake family is enough.
‘Kate?’ The voice is familiar, friendly.
Kate looks up. It’s Monica Ryan, another wife, another school mother.
‘Are you okay?’
Kate wonders if she should ask the same. Monica’s hair is uncombed, her pink sweatshirt stained. But before she has time to notice anything further, Monica has sat down.
‘You don’t mind if I join you, do you?’
Kate can’t say no; that she’d rather be left alone, away from the silence of the house, away from the phone waiting to ring to deliver the next instalment of bad news.
Monica catches the waitress’s eye. ‘Another one for you, Kate?’
All Kate can do is nod, unknot her fingers and lay her hands on the table. Unlike Monica’s, they aren’t shaking. In fact, everything about Monica looks shaky, grey-skinned and tired. She leans closer and Kate catches a tell-tale whiff. She wonders how much Monica drank the night before, whether she started the day with vodka in her coffee. Or cane. Cane’s not supposed to leave a smell, and there isn’t one, just a slight sourness.
‘I’m so sorry, Kate,’ Monica’s saying now, and Kate looks up and meets her gaze.
‘You’re sorry?’
She knows what Monica’s talking about, what they’re all talking about.
‘Someone was saying the Blakes want to take it further.’
‘Further?’ Kate looks at her blankly.
‘Lily said they were talking about it yesterday. All the mothers in the—’
‘The car park?’ Kate’s voice is resigned.
‘Are you okay, Kate?’ Monica is concerned. ‘When Juliet had to go away, it was hard, especially for Lily. She worships her sister. And now it looks like she’s going back there. Back to Greenhills.’
Kate isn’t listening as Monica talks about Juliet and Lily. She’s latched onto two ominous words: Go away. Then she remembers that Monica’s daughter had been in some sort of clinic, and more than once.
She knows she should be asking about Juliet, but all she can manage is, ‘Go away?’