Haven't They Grown(65)
Eleven o’clock. It’s now ten to. Damn. I’m going to have to postpone another client, since it looks as if an important meeting has just added itself to my schedule.
‘You’re not going to lie and you’re not going to tell the truth,’ I say, passing Zannah a tissue from my bag. ‘Wipe your eyes. You’re going to sit quietly and let me do all the talking.’
Duncan Stevens remains seated behind his desk as Zannah and I walk into his office. It’s Camilla Hosmer who rises to greet us. She’s surprised to see me and not in a good way; she can’t hide it either. ‘Oh! Mrs Leeson.’ She manages to produce a polite smile eventually, but it takes her some time. ‘We only … I mean, there was no need for you to …’
‘You wanted Zannah on her own, I know. But I’ve got something to contribute, so here I am.’
‘That’s probably a good idea, Mrs Leeson,’ says Mr Stevens. ‘This is quite serious. Miss Hosmer, since you’re on your feet, can you pull over an extra chair for Mrs Leeson, please?’
‘There’s no need,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not staying long.’
‘I think it might take longer than you think,’ says the head. ‘I’m sure Suzannah has briefed you already, so … you’ll know, I imagine, that a serious incident has occurred.’ Behind him, all over his office wall, are framed photos of Bankside Park pupils looking like happy high-achievers: holding aloft trophies, cute rabbits, iced cakes, or with sports medals draped round their necks, or shaking hands with grateful-looking elderly women in wheelchairs.
I’d like to hit Miss Hosmer with a wheelchair. Even leaving today’s disaster aside, I’ve had a petty grudge against her for more than a year, ever since she invited me in to give a talk about my massage therapy business. It was part of a series of lectures she was organising at Bankside Park, designed to inspire the older girls to become the next generation of female entrepreneurs, rather than just the proud owners of cleavages rated ‘peng’ and ‘flames’ on Instagram by the upper school’s male population.
Part of my talk was about why I’d been unable to stay in my original career. I’d told the girls that I’d felt my true talents were wasted in my old job, and that, although leaving felt like a huge risk at the time, I was so glad I’d taken that risk. Then I went on to say that fear stops so many people from fulfilling their dreams and ambitions, and that bravery is required to overcome the fear. All pretty standard stuff, I thought. The girls seemed to like it; they all applauded. Some stared at me vacantly throughout, but others looked inspired. Miss Hosmer thanked me afterwards and I went home thinking it had gone well.
That afternoon, Ben came home from school red-faced with fury, having heard from one or two pupils in the older year groups that Miss Hosmer had used her afternoon registration period with her form group to undermine me. The girls, it seemed, had been a bit too inspired, and evidently this had annoyed her. ‘Please remember that Beth Leeson is extremely lucky that things have gone well for her, and she’s probably the exception, not the norm,’ Miss Hosmer had apparently told them. ‘She left a well-paid, secure job and started a business that happened to be successful, but that doesn’t mean it always works out that way. Job security is important too, and not everyone can be their own boss.’
‘But that makes no sense,’ Dom said when Ben told us. ‘Why would she bring you in for entrepreneurial inspiration and then say that?’
‘It makes perfect sense,’ I told him. ‘She’d love to resign from Bankside Park but she’s too scared to do it.’
None of this is relevant to what’s happened today, except that when I check the drawer of my benefit-of-the-doubt cabinet marked ‘Camilla Hosmer’, I find it empty.
‘I do know how serious it is, yes,’ I tell Mr Stevens.
‘Good, good. I’m surprised, because we’ve never had any trouble with Suzannah before, not in all the years she’s been here, but Miss Hosmer has described her behaviour this morning as disrespectful, disobedient and dishonest.’
As he speaks, Hosmer brings a chair over – the rigid, plastic one that’s clearly the least comfortable one in the room, and places it behind me, then gives it a little push so that the edge of the seat digs into the backs of my knees. Pointedly, I step away from it. ‘Disrespectful and disobedient, yes, but not dishonest,’ I say. ‘Zannah shouldn’t have brought her phone in to school, so there’s the disobedient bit. She spoke disrespectfully to Miss Hosmer, so a tick for that box too. And she did it because she doesn’t respect her. Neither do I.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ says Hosmer.
‘You heard.’ I turn to face her. ‘You made a racist assumption about Murad and it turned out to be wrong. Just because he’s got brown skin, that doesn’t give you the right to tell him he shouldn’t be eating bacon. If you saw a white kid eating chocolate during Lent, would you assume he came from a family of devout Christians and tell him he was letting his parents down, and Jesus?’
‘Miss Hosmer is adamant that she said no such thing to Murad, Mrs Leeson,’ says Stevens. ‘That’s where the dishonesty comes in.’
‘True, if you mean Miss Hosmer’s dishonesty,’ I say. ‘Before she grabbed Zannah’s phone out of her hand, Zannah had had the presence of mind to email me the film she’d recorded of the incident. Would you like me to play it for you now?’ I brandish my phone.