The Hiding Place(58)
Instead I say, “Then I suppose you had better enlighten me.”
“Prior to taking the position with us here at Arnhill you worked at Stockford Academy.”
“That’s right.”
“You supplied a reference from your former head—Miss Coombes?”
I can feel sweat starting to dampen my underarms. “Yes.”
“Except that’s not entirely true, is it?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Miss Coombes did not supply that reference.”
“She didn’t?”
“She denies any knowledge of it.”
“Well, I think there may have been some miscommunication.”
“I doubt it. Miss Coombes was quite clear—you left Stockford Academy suddenly, not long after a substantial amount of money went missing from the school safe.”
“That money was recovered.”
Hurst can’t contain himself any longer. “Apparently, you like to play cards, Joe?”
I turn. “Why—fancy a game of Liar? And what exactly does any of this have to do with you?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m on the board of governors. When it is brought to my attention that one of the teachers here is not fit for the job—”
“Sorry—‘brought to your attention.’ By whom?”
His lips purse. And then it comes to me. Simon Saunders. He was in the Fox the night I ran into Hurst. He knows him. (Doesn’t everyone in Arnhill?) Why go running to Harry when he could go over his head and tell all to someone on the board of governors? Someone who already hates my guts. Get Hurst on his side and maybe store up some favors for himself. Two birds—one poisonous little toad.
“You should be careful who you listen to,” I say.
“You’re not denying it then?”
“I would say that the version presented here bears only a vague resemblance to the truth. Something which I would prefer to discuss with my superior in private.”
Hurst’s eyes flash. “The truth is that you accepted this position under false pretenses and you left your previous position under a cloud. This, on top of the fact that you have some vendetta against my son, no doubt based upon your imagined prior history with me. Your demeanor and performance as a teacher are entirely unsuitable. Oh, and you stink of booze.”
He straightens his tie and sits back triumphantly. Harry stares at me wearily from across the desk.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Thorne. This will go before the board. You are entitled to union representation, but in the light of these revelations—”
“Accusations. Unproven for the most part.”
“Still, I have no choice but to temporarily suspend you from teaching duties while we come to a decision about your future with the academy.”
“I understand.”
I stand, trying to contain the trembling in my body. Partly the hangover, mostly anger. I mustn’t let it show. Mustn’t let Hurst know he has gotten to me. Always keep the game face on.
“I’ll just collect my things.”
I walk toward the door. And stop. You also need to let them know you still hold the winning card. I glance at Hurst.
“Nice tie, by the way.”
The look on his face is all I need.
—
I don't return to the cafeteria. I gather my coat and satchel from the staff room—which is mercifully empty—and head out of the school. I don’t trust myself to face Simon again. Even though I am already under suspension, an assault charge isn’t something I particularly want to add to my CV.
When I reach reception I pause. Miss Grayson is not in her usual place in her small glass cubicle. Instead, a younger clone—short dark hair, glasses, although no hairy mole—is sitting in her seat, tapping at a computer.
“Excuse me, where’s Miss Grayson?”
“She has a cold.”
“Oh.”
“Did you need to speak with her?”
“Well, I’m leaving, and I was hoping to say goodbye. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Right. Thanks for your help.”
I start to turn.
“Oh, Mr. Thorne—”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Price requested you hand in your front-door pass when you leave.”
My pass. The pass that allows me to enter the school. Harry really isn’t taking any chances.
“Worried I might sneak back in and steal the school lunch money?”
She doesn’t smile. I wonder how much she knows. How much they all know.
“Fine.” I take it out of my pocket and just about manage not to slam it on her desk.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And pass on my regards to Miss Grayson.”
“Of course.”
She offers an efficient smile. Then she picks up the pass and, as if I was in any doubt about my suspension being temporary, produces a pair of scissors, cuts it neatly in half and drops it in the bin.
—
The cottage eyes me resentfully upon my return, its one good window glowering darkly. Look, it seems to hiss from between the splintered wood of the front door. Look what you have done. Are you happy yet?