The Rumor, page 11
“Kay, that would be amazing. Thank you so much.”
But she doesn’t respond. She’s lost in a reverie, gazing at Alfie. Poor Kay. She must really miss her grandchildren.
22
KAY SURE CAME THROUGH WITH the costume. Here we are, October 31 already and for once, Alfie can’t wait to get to school. He’d have happily gone in yesterday if it hadn’t been a teacher training day. And with Michael off again on another of his fact-finding missions, I’m relieved that Alfie is distracted by Halloween, otherwise he’d be asking me a whole bunch of questions about when Daddy’s coming back.
“Have you seen the funny picture on the bulletin board?” Fatima says as she meets us on our way across the playground. “It’s really good. Someone has photoshopped the first-grade class photo for Halloween. Made all the kids look like zombies and skeletons. Miss Williams has a pair of devil’s horns.”
She laughs. “I can see by your face, Joanna, that you’re not a great fan of Halloween.”
I lower my voice. “It’s the thought of spending this evening at Debbie’s house with fourteen six-year-old boys high as kites on too much food coloring and sugar. Then we have to tramp around in the cold knocking on people’s doors. I can’t wait.”
Fatima laughs again.
“Come on, then, Alfie,” I say. “Let’s go and see what you look like as a zombie.”
The hall has that smell peculiar to elementary schools everywhere. Sneaker soles and modeling clay. School lunches and glue. The musty reek of all those little bodies. Alfie tugs me toward the L-shaped area outside Mr. Matthews’s office. There’s a small crowd clustered in front of the bulletin board, pointing and laughing. We wait till there’s space to squeeze in, and take a look.
Good grief. They’ve really gone to town with all this. The normally professional head shots of each member of staff have been doctored to include witches’ hats and hideous warts and bloodstained fangs. Mr. Matthews, the principal, has had his eyes whited out, but he still manages to look as sexy as ever. I’m sure I’m not the only mom to have had the occasional fantasy about getting summoned to his office for being naughty.
Alfie is pointing to his class photo and shrieking with laughter. “Look, Mommy. Look!”
“Oh my goodness!” I say. Someone must have spent ages doing this. Each child’s uniform has been replaced with some kind of Halloween outfit. My eyes scan all the little zombies and vampires and skeletons for Alfie. Normally, it’s easy to pick him out, with his distinctive frizzy hair, but their faces have been altered to make them look paler and more ghoulish. If my memory serves me right he’s in the second-from-the-back row over to the left.
“There I am!” he shouts excitedly. “Can you see me, Mommy? Can you see me?”
At last, my eyes pick him out, and my heart stops. My breath freezes in the back of my throat. I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. No skeleton costume or zombie suit for Alfie. He’s still in his school uniform, but his white shirt is splattered with blood and there’s a knife sticking out of his chest.
I try to swallow but can’t. I make myself look at every child in the photo, work my way systematically along each row to see whether any of the others have knives sticking out of them, but none does. A tight pressure spreads across my chest like a band. My heart races. Why has he been singled out like this? Why is Alfie the only one with a knife sticking out of him? What kind of school would put something like this up on their bulletin board?
Alfie has started staggering like a zombie with his fists clenched around an imaginary knife in his chest. The other kids are copying him and laughing.
“Who did this?” I ask one of the dads standing next to me. My voice comes out shrill and accusing, and I’m aware of my entire upper body stiffening in rage. “Who made this photo? Was it one of the teachers?”
He gives me an odd look. “Why? What’s wrong with it? It’s only a joke, right?”
I hear a muttering behind me. The phrase “one of the PC brigade” reaches my ears and I swing around, furious. “So you think it’s perfectly acceptable for my son to be shown with a knife sticking out of his chest, do you?”
“Now, hold on a minute, honey. No need to go nuts over it. It’s only Halloween. It’s not like it’s real. Jeez, some people.”
The door to Mr. Matthews’s office swings open and Mrs. Haynes, the school secretary, comes out. “Everything all right here?” she says.
“No, it isn’t all right. I want to speak to the principal.”
She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again. “Why don’t you come and sit down and tell me what the problem is.”
People are staring at me. They’re gathering around as if I’m some kind of spectator sport. Alfie’s lurching around with a couple of boys, in a world of his own. He’s still pretending to be a zombie, oblivious to the scene I’m causing. I grab his arm and pull him to my side. My jaw tightens and I look Mrs. Haynes in the eye, keep my voice as low and calm as I can.
“I need to speak to Mr. Matthews. About that photo on the bulletin board. It’s very important.”
Mrs. Haynes presses her lips together. I see her glance at someone beyond my shoulder and I know she’s weighing up her options and deciding that, actually, it’d be better for everyone concerned if she just took me straight to Mr. Matthews before this all gets out of hand.
Tears have started to pool in my eyes.
“Of course,” she says. “If you wait here for a moment, I’ll let him know you’d like to see him.”
She’s using that slow, deliberate tone of voice people use in tense situations. What she really means is, I’ll just let him know that a hysterical mother wants to come and rant at him. She’s probably taken one of those courses: How to Deal with Angry Parents.
While I’m waiting for her to come back Teri appears at my side, a worried look on her face. “What’s going on, Joanna? What’s happened?”
I tell her about the photo and she charges off to look at it. She stands in front of it for a while before walking slowly back to my side, but by this time Mr. Matthews has come out of his office and is speaking to me in that low, well-modulated voice of his.
“Mrs. Critchley, would you like to come into my office? Do you want a cup of coffee or something?”
“No,” I say. “No, thank you. And it’s Miss Critchley. Not Mrs.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I catch the fleeting look that passes between him and Teri.
“Joanna, shall I wait with Alfie outside?” Teri asks. “I’ve got a PTA meeting at eight so if you’re not back by then, I’ll take Alfie to his classroom for you, okay?”
“Yes, yes, please,” I say, and I watch her leading him away. He looks back at me over his shoulder as if to say, What’s happening, Mommy?, but I’m too upset to reassure him right now.
Mr. Matthews’s office smells of coffee and aftershave. He gestures for me to sit down and closes the door behind us.
“That photo,” I say. “I need you to explain.”
Mr. Matthews rests his fingertips on the desk in front of him and takes a breath.
“Celebrating Halloween can be a divisive topic,” he says, and pauses. He looks like he’s trying to think of something diplomatic to say. He must think I disapprove of it on religious grounds.
“No, you don’t understand. I’m not anti-Halloween. But I’m strongly opposed to you singling out my son in that hideous way.”
Mr. Matthews frowns. “Excuse me a moment. Let me go and get the photo in question.”
While I’m waiting for him to return my breathing slows. What am I doing in here? Am I overreacting? Letting my imagination run away with me again? If it weren’t for all this business about Sally McGowan and all the things I’ve been reading about her—those stupid tweets—I wouldn’t even be giving this a second thought.
Maybe I didn’t look closely enough. Maybe there were more children with gruesome Photoshop additions. Maybe in my shock, my eyes skimmed over them, seeing only Alfie in that horrible, blood-spattered shirt. That knife. Maybe there were other children still wearing their recognizable school uniforms, just like Alfie, with blood splatter on their shirts. No knives in their chest, but even so. It’s just a horrible coincidence. A random click of a button on a computer.
It’s not as if Alfie was in the least bit upset about it. He loved it, didn’t he? The way he was staggering around like a zombie in the hall with the other boys. And now I’ve made a complete fool of myself. Ruined his moment of gory glory.
Mr. Matthews returns a few moments later with the photo and sits down to give it his full attention. I watch his eyebrows move closer, see the lines on his forehead deepen in a frown. He’s figuring out what to say to me. He looks up then and places the photo on the desk between us. I close my eyes, mortified with embarrassment. I’ll have to apologize for making a scene and get out of here as soon as possible.
And then Mr. Matthews begins to speak. “I’m extremely sorry about this, Miss Critchley. I can see exactly why you’re so distressed about it. The thing is, nobody actually knows who did this. Mrs. Haynes said she found it under the office door when she came in this morning and assumed one of the parents had left it there as a joke. She showed it to the other staff before assembly and they all thought it was really clever. None of them noticed the…”
He pauses and looks down at the photo. “None of them noticed how Alfie was made to look so…different from everyone else.”
He leans back in his chair and sighs. “This should never have been put on the bulletin board. I can only apologize.”
It takes a moment or two for his words to register in my brain. So it wasn’t created by a staff member. Mrs. Haynes found it slipped under the door this morning. Which means they have no idea where this picture came from.
My mouth goes dry. I can barely swallow. Mr. Matthews doesn’t think I’m making a fuss over nothing. He isn’t just trying to placate an overprotective mother. He’s visibly disturbed at what he’s seen. Because someone has singled Alfie out.
The knot in my stomach twists tight. Out of a class of thirty children, someone has deliberately chosen to depict my son with a knife plunged into his chest.
23
“BUT I WANT TO TELL Jake and Liam about my Darth Vader costume,” Alfie wails, tugging at my arm to slow me down.
How typical that the first morning he’s shown any kind of enthusiasm for going to school, here I am hauling him back home again.
“Sorry, darling, but we’ve got to do something else today.”
I’m walking too fast for his little legs. He’s almost having to run to keep up with me, but I won’t slow down. I can’t. Not till I get us safely home.
“But you said if I don’t go to school, the police will come.” His voice is high and wobbly. He’s on the verge of tears.
“You’re right, I did say that, and if you stay at home every day, then I will get into trouble, but this is just for one day, Alfie. I’ve forgotten something very important I have to do.”
“What, Mommy?”
I wrack my brain, trying to think of something. I hate lying to him, but there’s no way I’m going home without him; I’d be worried sick. Whoever brought that photo in walked into the school unchallenged. Which means it must have been somebody dropping off a child, or someone who works there. A teacher? Mrs. Haynes or her assistant? A janitor? It could have been anyone. How can I leave him there on his own when I don’t know who is doing this, or what they’re capable of?
You think your children are safe at school, but are they? Are they really?
“I can still go to Liam’s party, can’t I? Can’t I, Mommy?”
Oh hell. The party. I can’t keep him away from that, not when he’s so excited and Kay’s gone to all the trouble of making his costume.
“Don’t worry about the party, Alfie. I’ll figure something out, I promise.”
By the time we get home Alfie is sobbing. What kind of mother am I, not letting him go to school with his new friends, practically dragging him along the street in my haste to get home? It’s a good fifteen minutes before I manage to calm him down, and even then he’s sulky and withdrawn.
“I want Daddy,” he says, his lower lip jutting out.
“Daddy had to go into the city today to do some work. You know he did. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I want Grandma, then.”
I sigh. “If you’re a good boy and play quietly for a little while, we’ll give Grandma a call and see if she wants to come over. Okay?”
Alfie nods. His bottom lip has started to quiver.
I pull him onto my lap and give him a big hug. “And of course you can go to Liam’s party.”
Alfie leaps onto the floor and does a silly dance. I’m forgiven. At last.
I exhale slowly and go into the kitchen to make some coffee and call in to work. Dave says not to worry when I lie to him about having to take Alfie to the doctor’s, but he can’t be thrilled about me taking the day off. I feel dreadful letting him down, but what choice do I have? I promise him I’ll make the time up as soon as I can.
The doorbell startles me. For a couple of seconds, I consider ignoring it. I’m not expecting anyone, so it’s probably a door-to-door salesperson. They’ll go away in a minute. But Alfie is already peeking through the mail slot and shouting for me to come and answer the door.
My relief when I see Kay standing on the doorstep with a red lightsaber in her hand is so overwhelming that I dissolve into nervous giggles.
She steps inside, waving it about. “Every Sith Lord needs his own lightsaber,” she says, passing it into Alfie’s eager little hands. “But you need to be careful with it. Because this one is made out of cardboard tubes, duct tape, and contact paper.”
Alfie runs upstairs with it, making lightsaber humming noises.
Kay follows me into the kitchen, laughing. “I thought he’d be at school.”
I’m about to tell her the same lie I told Dave, but before I know what’s happening my eyes have filled up with tears and I’m telling her everything.
“Now, look here,” she says, when I’ve finished. “Whoever created that photo isn’t Sally McGowan. It can’t be.” She takes the pot of coffee from my hands and starts pouring it into the mugs. “From everything I’ve read about her, she’s a reformed character now. A woman trying to put her past behind her and get on with her life.”
I let her get the milk from the fridge. The state I’m in, I’d probably slosh it all over the counter.
“But what if she isn’t? What if she’s somehow wangled a job at the school?”
Kay stirs the coffee. “They do police checks, honey. That could never happen.”
“Yes, it could. If she’s changed her identity, she won’t be showing up on FBI records, will she?”
A frown furrows Kay’s brow. “I’m no expert on these things, honey, but I’m sure she wouldn’t be allowed to get a job in a school. In any case, it was a long time ago. She was just a child.”
We go into the living room and sit down with our coffees.
“You’re right. I mean, why would she put herself at risk just because of a rumor?”
I put my mug on the table between us. “But the fact remains that somebody did make that horrible photo. Somebody chose to show my son with a knife sticking out of his chest. And maybe whoever it is is also the person who’s following me on Twitter.”
Kay frowns again. “What do you mean?”
I pull my phone from my bag. “Someone called Sally Mac is following me. She tweets quotes about rumors.”
Kay pulls a puzzled face. “Sally Mac?”
I nod and click on my followers, hoping she won’t still be there, that I was right about it being a random coincidence and that Sally Mac, whoever she is, has realized I’m not going to follow her back and has unfollowed me and moved on to someone else. Someone who enjoys reading her silly quotes.
No such luck. There she is, although her tweets seem to have dried up. There aren’t any new ones, as far as I can see.
Kay peers at my phone. “Let’s get this into perspective,” she says. “I don’t do Twitter, but as far as I can see someone’s trying to scare you. Think about it, Joanna. It’s Halloween tonight. This is just someone’s idea of a sick joke. Maybe it’s one of the other mothers. You know what they’re like.”
I shake my head. “Surely they wouldn’t do something like this. I mean, the Twitter thing I can just about understand, but that photo…it was horrible.”
Kay presses her lips together and sighs through her nose. “I wasn’t going to say anything about this, but…”
“Say anything about what?”
She clears her throat. “Fatima had a really hard time last year.”
“Why? What happened?”
Her lips twist. “Debbie Barton said some nasty stuff. Slightly, you know…racist.”
“Oh God, really?”
“It only happened once, and Fatima challenged her about it. So did I.” She gives a wry laugh. “Of course, Debbie acted all upset and offended. Said she’d only been joking around and Fatima had gotten it all wrong. It all blew over in the end. They’re friendly with each other now. After a fashion.” Kay sips her coffee. “Although they’ve never babysat for each other.”
“Are you saying that Debbie might deliberately be trying to freak me out because she’s a racist and I’ve got a mixed-race son?”
Kay wrinkles her nose. “I’m not pointing the finger at anyone in particular. I’m just saying that it’s more likely to be something ignorant like that, rather than…well, rather than anything else.”
