* * *
She had to admit that she was rather attracted to the new head, and just a little excited about the party. She had pretended not to listen to his address in that first assembly back in the autumn; in reality, she had been mesmerized by his quiet but charismatic basso profundo voice, and the way that he spoke in perfectly formed sentences. His words had been like silk, his soft phrases a drug, a charm, a conjuration.
The day before the party, she found herself alone in the staffroom with Chuck Steadman, who had also applied for the headship. He had quickly overcome his disappointment and was making himself indispensable to the new man.
‘What do you really think of him?’ Lisa asked, fixing Chuck with her blue-grey eyes and twisting her hair around her index finger. Men always listened when she did that.
‘Edward is an only child,’ Chuck replied, ‘that says a lot about him. He told me he was once destined for the church. Don’t you think he would have made a good bishop?’
‘Oh, I see what you mean: Scott Fitzgerald’s “spoiled priest”. Yes, I see exactly what you mean. He speaks in a very reverential way. He’s shy underneath all that intellect and brilliance. But he’s certainly tough. He’s made a great start in turning this place around. Not an easy feat.’
‘Aha, you gotta hand it to him. He’s Mr God round here. Did you ever meet Mrs God?’
‘Not yet. She doesn’t come here very often, does she? I’m hoping she’ll be at the party tomorrow. I’ve heard she’s very posh, what do they say, very Edinburgh. She’s Scottish, isn’t she? I overheard one of my indiscreet sixth-formers saying that one Sunday night he’d been passing that old block of flats where the head lives, and he’d seen him stuffing a busty blonde holding a cat basket into a car. That must have been her. Not what I’d imagined he’d go for.’
‘Well, as a red-blooded Southerner, I approve of the Baywatch type. Why, look at my Milly!’
‘Very funny. Your wife’s the most gamine, chic Audrey Hepburn doppelgänger I’ve ever seen.’
‘Moira’s more of a Marilyn.’
‘Whatever. God knows how you persuaded Milly to marry a deadbeat like you!’
‘My American charm and charisma, no doubt. English women love American guys because they’re forthright and honest. Not like your English gentlemen, still in love with Nanny.’
‘Chuck, we are not living in Brideshead Revisited. You do make me laugh. Anyway, you seem to hero worship Edward. You’re never away from him. You still after his job?’
‘Of course I am! First I can be his wing man and then I can take his place. Seriously, though. I’m fed up teaching. I fancy a bit of admin responsibility. That’s why I had a shot at the headship myself, even though I knew I didn’t stand a chance. Look, I like him. He’s a nice guy. A good leader. He makes you want to be part of his winning team. That’s your trouble, Lisa. You don’t want to be part of any club that might accept you.’
* * *
Pete had refused to come to the staff party, though Lisa hardly pressed the issue. She was too selfish to look after him at a party. So she was alone and slightly nervous. To be honest, a little out of her depth. She didn’t usually mingle with the other staff, preferring to teach her classes, get into her Mini, and head home to work on ideas for her second book.
She looked around the room and saw a fascinating scenario unfolding. There were two beautiful, long-haired young women deep in conversation. One was a teacher at the school, the other a sixth-former. The teacher, Maia Riddell, filled the wine glass of the student. The student didn’t thank her. Lisa saw with instant clarity that they were lovers. It was simply impossible that a student would not thank her teacher. Now the evening was getting interesting.
Edward was watching her. She could feel it. But his wife was in the room, so he was being careful. He was biding his time. During a lull in the music, he approached and asked her to dance. She felt for his wife. But she wanted to dance: Lisa loved to dance. She had an odd feeling that Edward had orchestrated the evening so that it would end like this. They danced to k. d. lang’s ‘Constant Craving’. His wife’s eyes were boring into them, though she was pretending not to notice. Lisa told Edward about the lesbians.
‘Please be careful, Edward. I think this could blow up.’
‘No, no,’ he protested, ‘you’ve got this wrong. Maia Riddell is an exemplary teacher. She would never, ever hit on a student. But, Lisa, I thank you for your concern.’
‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ she laughed.
* * *
There is always a green-light moment in every relationship, especially in a clandestine one. The moment when a couple can make a decision, stop what they’re doing, or just go ahead anyway. Lisa was no strict moralist when it came to relationships; she’d always had a loose notion of fidelity, but she wouldn’t go any further if there were children involved.
Edward and Lisa met for a drink in the local pub after work one day. He asked if she had children. ‘No,’ she said, ‘had my bellyful looking after my siblings thank you, to ever romanticize the idea of raising a family. I’d rather concentrate on my career. How about you?’
‘No. We’ve been married for seven years, and we have never wanted children. In fact, we left out the prayer for children in our marriage ceremony. We’re happy with our cat, Tabitha. I think my mother is disappointed. I don’t see Moira as the maternal type. And she’s quite paranoid about needles and childbirth.’
‘Well, who can blame her? My mother had six, and it was no picnic.’
‘Six? Are you serious? Such a large family. Where are you in the pecking order?’
‘Third daughter. Says a lot about my character. My parents were desperate for a boy. He came after me. Spoilt rotten, as you can imagine. But don’t get me wrong, I love being part of a big family. You learn from a very early age that life is basically unfair. You also learn not to take yourself too seriously. How about you?’
‘I’m an only child.’
‘Ah.’
‘And by the way, Lisa, you were right about the lesbian lovers. The school is facing a law suit.’
He paused, and then said, ‘By the way, I’ve been sent a couple of free tickets for a play over in Manchester. You know my wife lives down south. Would you fancy coming? Sounds a bit experimental, but that might be your kind of thing.’
‘Why not?’ she replied.
It was only when they were halfway to Manchester, Edward driving his black BMW very distractedly, that he mentioned that the show in question was a production of Richard III. She knew that he loved Shakespeare, and so did she, so this was no surprise. ‘Apparently it’s got wolf and boar masks, and dancing, movement, physical theatre stuff – probably more your vibe than mine,’ he said, then he paused. ‘And it’s in Romanian.’
Silence. ‘I’m not sure whether there are surtitles.’
* * *
She loved the show. And she loved that he loved it. On the surface, he was so English, so Oxford, potentially a right stuffed shirt, but underneath, he was mischievous, a bit radical, full of surprises. Ever so slightly dangerous. Afterwards he offered her a drink in his flat.
She had parked her precious Mini at the school, and she didn’t want to leave it there overnight – the radio would be sure to be nicked. ‘Can we swing by the school, and I’ll follow you in my car?’
Later, and for many years later, he would tell her how he had looked into his rear mirror only to glimpse her terrified eyes.
She