When You Know Page 3

  Marcus lifted his nose. “A couple? I only asked you for a drink to offer my friendly shoulder whilst you wallowed in your misfortune of being used and abused by the gorgeous, and I mean far too gorgeous for you, Jenna James. Plus I’ve decided to pursue Angel from the Black Bear anyway, so this ship has sailed, sweetheart.”

  “Out,” said Susan, pointing to the door.

  “It’s coming, it’s coming, yes, yes, yes … achoo!” Marcus sneezed all over Susan’s matte finish dashboard.

  “For goodness sake, Marcus! Get a tissue from the glove box.”

  Marcus fumbled with the panel, tilting his head backwards to stop the remains of his sneeze dripping down his moustache. “Where’s the handle?”

  “Just tap it,” said Susan, barely able to look at the scene.

  Marcus banged on the glove box, sending Susan’s two rubber dildos rolling onto his lap. “What in the name of great St Wilfred are these?” he gasped.

  Susan watched open mouthed as he picked one up between his thumb and forefinger. “They’re, they’re—”

  “They’re a misrepresentation of the male form!” said Marcus, wiping his nose on his sleeve instead. “As if the penis is even half this size; and it’s certainly not this wide!” He shook his head. “It’s no wonder lesbians loathe men if this is what they’re used to!”

  Susan pointed at the glove box. “Just put them back, please.”

  Marcus dangled one above his head and slid his glasses further down his nose, peering at it closely. “I mean this girth’s unfathomable.”

  “It’s a standard six-inch vibrator, Marcus. Now put it back.”

  Marcus lifted the second one from his lap. “And this one’s got buttons? Oh heavens above!” he squealed, as the blue one started to jolt up and down.

  “Put them away!”

  Marcus gently slapped it against his cheek. “Ooo, It generates quite a bit of power, doesn’t it?”

  Susan snatched the vibrators from his hands and pointed them towards the door. “Out! I mean it! Get out of my car.”

  “Be careful where you put those things, mon amie. You could cause someone an injury.”

  Susan banged them against the palm of her hand. “Out,” she ordered.

  Chapter Four

  Susan waited for Marcus to disappear into the staff entrance at the back of the school before stepping out of her car. She was flustered and embarrassed, but more than anything, she was cross. How dare Marcus question Jenna’s actions, and how dare he be so rude? Susan pressed the square key fob and heard her car lock behind her. She walked out of the car park the way she had driven in with the intention of entering the school through the grand entrance, hopefully avoiding any further contact with Marcus Ramsbottom. She crossed the gravel path and climbed the steps at the side of the building, giving her a perfect view out across the green acre. There were a few girls, wrapped up warm, kicking a ball around, and what looked like a couple of hockey players making their way back from the astro pitches on the other side of the road. Susan hugged her own shoulders. That was the one thing that Marcus had got right: his assessment of the weather. It was, in fact, colder than it had been up in the French Alps two weeks ago. Susan thought back to the way the sun had shone directly overhead, and the way Jenna had wrapped her arms around her from behind, planting small kisses up and down her neck. Susan paused her thought as she noticed little Daisy Button hobbling towards her on her crutches. Jenna had barely been gone an hour and already the daydreaming had begun. She smiled to herself. Who was she kidding? The daydreaming had begun the very first time she had laid eyes on her soon-to-be ski instructor at the French service station, and she had been re-living their first kiss, their first touch, ever since.

  Susan quickened her pace along the elevated path that ran the length of the imposing building. “How did you manage those, Daisy?” she said, pointing towards the grand entrance and the twenty or so wide stone steps that led up to the huge oak doors.

  “You always look happy now, Madam Quinn. You know that, right?” Daisy Button was looking up, trying to protect her pale eyes from the soft winter sun as she balanced one of her crutches under her arm.

  Susan blushed. “Thank you, Daisy. You look happy too. But how did you get down those steps? And how’s the leg in general?” Susan paused as the little girl with white hair and white skin continued to grin and nod in a knowing fashion. “How are things at home? And on that note, what’s a day girl like you doing here on a Saturday? Have you joined a team? No, of course you haven’t. You won’t be out of plaster for another … four weeks, is it?”

  “You’re funny, Madam Quinn.” Daisy was smiling from ear to ear. “You tell me why you’re happy and I’ll tell you why I’m happy.”

  Susan coughed and crouched down next to the little girl. “I’m happy that your leg’s healing nicely.”

  Daisy continued to smile as she pushed her large, round prescription glasses further up her nose, staring at her teacher with eyes the size of saucers. “No you’re not,” she said, “you’re happy because you’re in love with Jenna.”

  “Daisy!” Susan rocked slightly as a gust of wind whipped across the quad and hit her at full force.

  “You are! Everyone knows it and everyone’s happy for you. I’ve started a petition that I’m going to take to Principal Cavanagh asking if Jenna can do her training here.”

  “Daisy, really there’s no need. She’s already submitted her School Direct application form.”

  “Every little helps though. The principal loves it when we give her feedback on things, and she needs to know how kind Jenna is and how good she was in our drama club last week, and she definitely needs to know how easy she is to talk to and how good she is at giving advice. Plus old Bob loves her and I love Timmy, so if I get Jenna a job here then Bob will love me, and he’ll tell Timmy how nice I am too.”

  Susan frowned. “Timmy? Bob the groundsman’s grandson?”

  “He’s eleven like me. He helps with the planting at the weekends.” Daisy smiled even wider. “I think he likes me.”

  “So that’s why you’re here on a Saturday.”

  Daisy nodded enthusiastically. “I want to ask him out, but I’m scared he’ll say no. Some of the other girls like him and they said there’s no way he’d ever go out with an albino girl.” She shrugged her shoulders. “They said it would be like Justin Bieber going out with a bag of flour.”

  Susan shook her head. “A bag of flour? How ridiculous.”

  “Or Casper the Ghost. Sometimes they just call me Blizzard.”

  “Oh Daisy, you all got on so well in Morzine. Would you like me to report it, or try and sort it out?”

  “No, it’s some of the other girls. The smokers.”

  “Smokers!? You know that’s cause for instant suspension here at St Wilfred’s. Who are these girls? Where do they smoke? Tell me their—”

  “No, Madam Quinn, it’s fine. I talked to Jenna about it yesterday. She’s given me a plan and I’m sure it’ll work.”

  Susan stood back up and folded her arms. “No, I’m not happy about this. It’s cold. Shall we go inside and have a chat?”

  “No, I spoke to Jenna. I’m fine.”

  “Those girls will be in a lot of trouble if they get caught smoking, and it may make them think twice about their other silly behaviour.”

  “Please, Madam Quinn. It’s fine. I’m happy.” Daisy smiled. “Just like you’re happy.” She nodded towards the huge winding driveway. “And anyway, I’m off to help Timmy. He’s joining Bob in a bit and we’re planting some bulbs. He said my crutch would be good for poking holes in the soil.”

  Susan smiled. “That sounds great. But only if you’re sure, Daisy?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay. Have fun, and don’t let yourself get too cold.”

  Daisy grinned. “I won’t. Last time Timmy lent me his jacket.”

  “Oh Daisy, that does sound promising.”

  “I know, and with Jenna’s plan I’m su
re he’ll be asking me out in no time!”

  Susan nodded. “Right, well next time I talk to Jenna I’ll make sure she fills me in on this plan of hers.”

  “Bye, Madam Quinn,” said Daisy, repositioning her crutches and starting her long walk down the wide path.

  Susan shouted after her. “Do you want me to get my car and drive you down there?”

  “No,” said Daisy over her shoulder. “The cold air might put a bit of colour in my cheeks.”

  “Oh bless,” said Susan under her breath, smiling at the white glow that seemed to surround the little girl wherever she went.

  Daisy shouted one final time. “Your smile suits you.”

  “Yours too,” said Susan, turning around and walking as quickly as she could along the path. She had never been one of these teachers who ran frantically around the school site, no matter how late or cold she was. It had always been important to Susan to behave in a highly appropriate and somewhat standoffish manner in school, and this used to include her limited interactions with the girls. She had always felt respected, but never particularly well liked. The ski trip and influence of Jenna James had changed that completely and she had started to realise that the girls at St Wilfred’s liked, and actually needed, a more personal approach.

  Susan nodded to herself. A week of teaching had passed since the trip and nothing dreadful had happened. The girls weren’t rioting in her classes now they knew a little bit more about her private life. The teachers weren’t shunning her in the staffroom. There hadn’t been a drop in lesson productivity or pupil performance. She smiled to herself. There had just been a notable rise in the amount of personal interactions she had experienced and words of kindness she had received. Susan took a deep breath and gave herself one final nod as she passed under the huge stone pillars and pushed her way through the sturdy oak doors into the grand entrance of St Wilfred’s All-Girls School.

  “Ah, Susan, could we have a word, please?” The school’s new, yet well respected, principal, Ellen Cavanagh, was emerging from her office with her second in command, the very old and very uptight vice principal, Dorothy Brown.

  “It’s more than a word, isn’t it, Principal Cavanagh?” Dorothy Brown was frowning at the much younger woman who’d cheated her out of the job she’d spent forty years working towards. “I like to think of it as the implementation of an investigation.”

  Ellen Cavanagh smiled politely. “Dorothy, we’re merely fact finding, and please, I keep telling you to call me Ellen.”

  “I’ll do no such thing. Principal Jackson spent the last twenty years maintaining the school’s historic and celebrated tradition of appropriate etiquette and I’ll continue to do my part for my final few months,” she nodded, wobbling her jowls, “just as I’ve done for my forty years here at St Wilfred’s.”

  Susan stood still and smiled with slight worry. “How can I help?”

  “Let’s go to my office,” said Ellen.

  “No, I think we should go to mine,” said Dorothy, turning on her heels and marching down the wide oak corridor, past painting after painting of every school principal since Elizabeth Warwick, 1854–1861.

  Ellen Cavanagh and Susan Quinn followed the formidable woman as quickly as they could, both noticing the way her head was held high, as if saluting each of the portraits she passed.

  “Needs a polish,” said Dorothy Brown, tutting as she pointed her finger towards the large trophy cabinet, but not slowing her pace. She lifted her head back up and marched past the paintings of Edward Sears, 1922–1929, and Celia Monkton, 1929–1931, stopping momentarily to snap at a student on the other side of the corridor who was standing too close to the school’s impressive display of white marble busts. “Don’t touch!” she shouted.

  Susan kept up her pace, but noticed that Dorothy slowed as she approached the large painting of the school’s late principal, Richard Jackson, 1993–2013.

  She spotted the curtsey.

  Ellen turned to Susan and smiled. “I’m sitting for my portrait next week.”

  Dorothy Brown stopped abruptly and span back around. “I do hope you’re using the school’s resident painter and not some new-fangled art deco type?”

  “Yes, and I’m keeping with tradition. I’ll be painted in the Great Hall, just like all of the other principals.”

  Dorothy nodded and continued her walk, sniffing as she spoke. “I always pictured myself up here.”

  “You would have made a fantastic principal, Dorothy.”

  Dorothy Brown stopped her walk once again and stared at the younger woman. “If that were the case they wouldn’t have given the job to you. I maintain that sixty five is not too old to take the helm here at St Wilfred’s.”

  Ellen placed a friendly hand on Dorothy’s shoulder. “I’m honoured to have you as my second in command.”

  “Well, make the most of it. It’s only a matter of months until my forced retirement.” Dorothy shook her head. “But don’t you worry. I’ll be making damn sure I clean up as much as I can before they clear me out. This investigation will give a much needed warning signal to any members of staff who think they can get away with blue murder just because you’re new.” Dorothy Brown shook her head even harder. “And god-forbid what will happen if my replacement’s as young as you are.”

  “Dorothy. I’m thirty nine. This is my second post as principal and my second term here.”

  “Well I’ve been teaching at St Wilfred’s for forty years and in my day you chose a school and you stuck with it. There wasn’t any of this skipping around from post to post, using each educational establishment to better yourself. In my day we tried to better the educational establishment we worked in. The educational establishment we committed to. The educational establishment we dedicated our lives to.”

  “Dorothy, your passion is remarkable and, like you, I plan on staying here at St Wilfred’s for a very long time.”

  “Providing the place doesn’t crumble around you.”

  “Excuse me?” said Ellen.

  Dorothy threw her hands to her hips. “Principal Cavanagh, let me take the lead on this investigation. I’ll show you how it’s done. I’ve been watching you. You need to instil more fear in your staff. You need to show them who’s boss. You need to make them realise that behaviour like this, will simply not be tolerated.”

  Susan spoke quietly. “Should I be worried?”

  Chapter Five

  Susan looked around the old-fashioned office, quite unsure what to focus on. Dorothy Brown had taken the helm in her walnut and hide desk chair, which was clearly an antique in its own right, whilst Ellen Cavanagh had chosen to sit down on the wooden pew at the side of the room, as if distancing herself from the upcoming course of events. Susan glanced at the two uncomfortable looking chairs in front of Dorothy’s desk and wondered whether to take a seat, but thought better of it and looked out of the large sash window instead. The view over the acre was incredible. Susan spotted the same group of girls still kicking the ball around, and from her elevated position she could see over the trees and across the driveway to the four large astro pitches where two rival schools were pitting their skills against St Wilfred’s in games of hockey and lacrosse.

  “You may take a seat, Madam Quinn.” Dorothy Brown angled her nod towards Ellen, as if confirming the authority she still commanded with the staff.

  Susan stepped forwards and sat quickly, crossing her legs at the ankles and tucking them under her chair, suddenly more conscious of her causal weekend attire. “How can I help you, Vice Principal Brown?”

  Dorothy Brown glanced at Ellen again and nodded at the respect she’d been given. “I’m opening an investigation.”

  Susan knew better than to comment, so she sat still and held her breath, desperately trying to ignore all of the thoughts racing through her head. Was this about Jenna? About their relationship? Had a parent complained? Had she crossed the line with her openness? Had Jenna crossed the line? Had Jenna been too modern in her approach to the lessons she
’d helped out with? Was their relationship frowned upon? Was she about to get fired?

  “It’s Professor Ramsbottom.”

  “Marcus?” said Susan confused.

  Dorothy Brown nodded. “We’re investigating.”

  “We’re fact finding,” said Ellen from the other side of the room.

  “Principal Cavanagh. Please allow me to have my final triumph, my final moment at the helm, my final—”

  “Dorothy, you’re not retiring until the summer.”

  “Two terms.” Dorothy shook her head. “I have two terms in which to leave my legacy. Two terms to get this place back on the straight and narrow. Two terms to show you how things are done.” She coughed lightly, regaining control of herself for a moment. “I don’t mean any offence, Principal Cavanagh, but there’s so much tradition here that’s simply at risk.”

  Ellen Cavanagh stood from her seat and took the chair next to Susan. She lifted it up and walked to the side of Dorothy’s desk. “Dorothy, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again,” she glanced at Susan and smiled, “and I don’t mind other members of staff hearing this, because it can’t be said enough.” Ellen took a deep breath, betraying the fact that she felt like she’d already said it enough. “I am wholeheartedly committed to the values instilled and upheld by you and the wonderful teachers here at St Wilfred’s. From what I have heard, Principal Jackson was a magnificent man, and the two of you guided this school through many a successful year.” She smiled at Dorothy and sat down. “I value and respect the heritage here at St Wilfred’s and I intend on maintaining the long line of custom and tradition that this school holds dear—”

  “So let me get rid of that dreadful little man!”

  “Dorothy!”

  “I’m sorry, Principal Cavanagh, but he simply isn’t a good enough fit.”

  Ellen turned to Susan. “I do apologise. We’ve had a parental complaint about Marcus Ramsbottom and we need to iron out a couple of issues.”

  “No, we need to turn up the steam setting and slam that iron down, firing out the creases as we go.” Dorothy was banging her fist on the desk. “I’ve never liked him with his smart remarks and air of—”