Haven't They Grown(87)

Lou answers on the second ring. ‘That’s so weird,’ she says. ‘I was just—’

‘I know. My husband told me. Has something happened?’

‘Kind of. I took a call today at school, from a woman calling herself Jeanette Cater.’

‘You mean Flora? I mean … the woman you know as Jeanette, with the English accent?’

‘No. That’s what was so odd. It sounded like someone putting on an English accent.’

‘Yanina, then?’

‘I think so. I’m almost positive.’

‘Go on.’

‘She was phoning to give notice for Thomas. He wasn’t in today, and apparently he won’t be coming back to school at all. And Emily, who was due to start with us in September, now won’t be coming.’

My heart is pounding. I lay my palm flat on my rib cage, as if that will make any difference. Why would this happen today of all days? What have they done to Thomas? Have they only taken him out of school, or have they done something worse?

‘Did you tell her that you knew she was lying? That you knew she wasn’t Jeanette Cater?’

‘No. I wasn’t sure letting her know that I knew was a good idea.’

If Yanina’s planning to harm those two kids …

This is all happening because of me, because I couldn’t leave things alone.

‘Beth, are you there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you okay?’

I’m not. I’m terrified that, by trying to protect Thomas and Emily Cater, I’ve placed them in greater danger. I take deep breaths and try to calm down.

‘What else did she tell you?’ I ask Lou.

‘That they’re leaving the country. Moving to America.’

‘When?’

‘In the summer. She didn’t say where they were going more specifically. Just said America.’

‘If they’re leaving in the summer, why take Thomas out of school now? Why not let him finish the term?’

‘Exactly. That’s what I thought,’ says Lou.

If Thomas remains at school, other people can observe his behaviour, and the behaviour of anyone who goes there to drop him off or collect him. And that’s the last thing they want.

‘There’s more,’ Lou says. ‘I told her – Yanina, assuming it was her – that she needed to talk to the head about something as important as that. I can’t just cancel school places and take children off lists without it going via the head. There’s all kinds of things to do with notice and fees that need to be dealt with. She said, okay, she’d ring the head. Then the phone rang again, straight away, and I answered it, and it was him: Mr Cater. “I believe you just spoke to my wife?” he said.’

‘Go on.’

‘He then tried to tell me the same thing. It was as if he thought it might work better if it came from him. I thought he was going to quibble about money and the notice period, try and save himself a term’s fees, but he didn’t.’

‘Why did you think he would?’

‘He’s complained about the fees before, many times – which got me thinking. Most parents pay as soon as they receive the bill, but some don’t. A handful always wait until we send our final demand. I’m talking every term. I don’t know what they think will happen. Maybe they hope that one day we’ll forget to chase them up about it.’

‘Are the Caters part of this late-paying group?’ I ask, trying not to spill Coke as I press the cold bottle against my forehead. It’s too bright. I can’t stay out here for much longer.

‘Yup,’ says Lou. ‘Anyway, I told Mr Cater the same as I’d told Yanina – that he’d need to speak to the head. Then I emailed the head and the bursar and told them what had happened, the nanny pretending to be Mrs Cater, and the bursar sent a reply saying exactly what I’d thought: that there would probably be some wrangling over the notice period in a last-ditch attempt to save some cash, and then she said something else – one line that leaped out at me.’

‘What line?’ I ask.

‘Let me get it up on my screen,’ Lou says. ‘Here it is: “I don’t know why the Caters complain about cost – it’s not like the money’s coming out of their accounts.”’

‘They don’t pay Thomas’s school fees? Then who does?’

‘That’s what I wondered. I emailed straight back and asked.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She had no idea. As long as the fees arrive, no one questions whose account they come from. Sometimes it’s a grandparent paying the fees. In this case … well, it doesn’t sound like that’s what’s going on here, given what you’ve told me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Thomas Cater’s school fees so far, and Emily’s deposit to reserve her a place, have all been paid from a bank account based in Florida.’

‘What’s the name of the account?’ I ask, thinking the answer to my own question at the same time.

As if she’s reading my mind, Lou says, ‘Lewis Braid.’



An hour later I’m sitting on the floor in the middle of my hotel room, waiting for my swirling thoughts to arrange themselves into some kind of recognisable order. The sun’s edging away from me inch by inch, as if it doesn’t want to get involved in whatever mess I’ve got myself embroiled in. There’s a hollow feeling in my stomach. I should probably order something to eat, but every time I try to think about where I might have put the room service menu, my brain slides back to what it prefers to think about.