SHORT STORY

At a private girls' school, an English teacher fond of shoplifting and married men stages a cursed play linked to a centuries-old ghost story

Previous Parts

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Thirty years ago

I stood at my father's grave, tears falling freely. To die from a brain aneurysm, during of all things a fire drill in his London office, seemed ignominious and cruel. My father deserved better. He deserved to live so much longer. I was angry. Angry at a God I didn't believe in, but my mother desperately tried to take comfort from. At the same time, I wanted to believe there was something after death. I wanted to believe in the supernatural. I wanted the chance that my father's spirit could return and guide me through life. Losing my father at twelve, when I needed him most, was the most painful experience of my entire life.

My mother hugged me, holding me close beneath the grey November skies. Others who had stood at the graveside paying their respects — mostly former colleagues — began to melt away in the distance. But I remained, shivering in the frosty air.

Some of my school friends complained that their fathers were never there for them, but mine always had been. He'd never been a workaholic. He worked hard during office hours but was always back to read a bedtime story, always there to play with at weekends, always took me on walks, or out for ice cream, or to the cinema, and on many other outings. He was my closest confidant and had always encouraged me to follow my dreams, whatever they might be. He didn't think I should follow him into "something boring like being a stockbroker", as he put it. Unless of course, it had been my passion. When my passion turned out to be books, he'd read me many classics and captivated my imagination.

Now, he was gone.

'Daddy,' I whispered, staring at the grave. 'Please don't be gone. I need you.'

My mother turned away, sobbing. My eyes wandered to the nearby silver birch trees. I imagined my father standing there, smiling. I wanted to be haunted.

A couple of silent minutes passed.

'Sweetheart, are you ready to go?'

My mother's teeth were starting to chatter, but I wasn't ready.

'I need a bit longer.'

'Are you sure? I don't want you getting a cold.'

'I won't. I just need another minute.'

My mother nodded. 'I'll wait in the car, over there. Don't be too long.'

I remained at the graveside as she walked away. I don't know why I wanted to stand in the bitter cold. Perhaps I hoped it would freeze my pain, numbing the loss.

Presently, a tall, thin man in jeans and a tatty denim jacket strode up to the graveside. He looked in his mid-thirties and had a pale, scowling demeanour. I wondered if this was another of my father's colleagues. He shot me a dark glare as he stood next to me. Then, to my astonishment, he spat on the grave.

'Why did you do that?' I stammered, fresh tears welling up in my eyes.

'Because he was a bastard. I promised myself I'd spit on his grave when he died, and now I have.'

Outraged, I unleashed a torrent of swear words at this unwelcome individual, telling him exactly what to go and do with himself. He didn't seem fazed at being yelled at by a twelve-year-old girl, so I adopted my most venomous glare and stared him down. But he just glared back and shrugged.

'Are you a family member? His daughter?'

I didn't reply.

'Well, that figures. You don't know what he did. You don't know what he stole. He ruined me. He should have gone to prison for what he did to the company where I worked. Insider trading. I don't suppose you know what that is?'

'I'm not stupid.'

'Yeah, well thanks to your father, the company was taken over and half the staff were laid off, including me. I couldn't get another job. I had a wife and two kids to support. She left me, went back to her parents, and now she's met someone else. It's all your father's fault. He destroyed my life. Of course, they couldn't prove anything against him, and the case was dropped. But he's the one who ruined me. I hope he burns in hell for it.'

'There's no such place. Now piss off!'

'Oh, I'll be pissing, all right. I'm coming back later to piss on his grave.'

Evidently, my mother had seen me talking to this man, because she rushed back over having seen the aggressive body language on display from us both.

'Are you all right, sweetheart?'

I adopted a tearful and traumatised expression, which wasn't difficult. 'This man tried to get me to go with him to his car, to undress me. He said it would be our little secret.'

The man looked horrified. 'No! No, I didn't say that.'

'Get away from my daughter, you bastard!' cried my mother.

The blood drained from the man's face. He stumbled backwards. My mother kept advancing and yelled after him as he strode away.

'Come near my daughter again, and I swear to God, I'll kill you!'

Whilst my mother's back was turned, I smiled. At that moment, I felt something warm on my shoulder, as though my father stood there, placing his approving hand on me. I pretended it was real, feeling slightly comforted.

Present Day

The following day it was raining, so I decided to drive to school. Once inside, I headed for my office, but heard voices from along one of the upstairs corridors. I was quite early, and not many students were inside yet, but I recognised the voice of Matilda Andrews talking to Penelope Parker and Anita King; two girls who essentially acted as Matilda's entourage. I knew they were responsible for some nasty bullying but could never provide the proof. However, on this occasion, the proof was presented to me, as I overheard them whisper together near their lockers, conspiring to spread lies about Nicole Ingram.

'We could say she made a pass at Mr Roberts to try and improve her school report,' Matilda said.

'Are you sure?' said Penelope. 'That could seriously backfire if Mr Roberts gets into trouble.'

'He won't. We'll say he acted professional and rejected her advances.'

'But won't people just go right back to Nicole and ask her if it's true?' said Anita.

'Of course they won't. They won't have the nerve. But the important thing is that they shut her out. Nicole needs to be excluded for a while. It'll teach her a good lesson for being such a shit actress. With any luck, she'll go to pieces on the night of the performance.'

'Why are you still so upset Nicole got that role in the play?' said Penelope.

'She only got the role because of who her parents are.'

'But why didn't you audition?'

'You bloody well know why. That bitch of a teacher, Miss Ellis. She hates me. There was no point.'

'Yeah, I suppose.'

'So, we're agreed,' said Matilda. 'We put this plan into operation today, right?'

Penelope and Anita fell into line with their Queen Bee and agreed. I listened as they left their lockers and headed off along the corridor, before continuing to my office. Once inside, I had a little think on this nugget of information, and how best to proceed.

My first thought was to do nothing. Matilda's bullying could have a devastating effect. Girls that age could be pure evil when it came to social exclusion, and it could make Nicole snap and quit the role. I just wish Matilda had come up with her bullying idea a little sooner, as that would have given me a chance to recast the lead role with someone half-decent. I might even have cast Matilda, despite her apparent loathing of me. I loathed her too, in fairness, but at least she could act.

However, it was too late to recast. I couldn't let the play fall apart like this, as it would reflect extremely poorly on me. Besides, after what happened yesterday, I wanted to make sure the banishment ritual was performed in a theatre full of enthusiastic participants. I didn't fancy another encounter with Rachael's ghost. But how could I thwart Matilda's plan?

After a bit more thinking, I came up with a scheme that was risky, but if anyone had the skills to pull it off, I did. It required nerve, but I knew I'd be above suspicion.

To put this scheme in motion, I headed for the staff room, where teachers were beginning to congregate, ahead of the day's lessons. I chatted a little with some of them, including Wally Roberts, the history teacher. Since Matilda's scheme involved casting him in a distasteful and inappropriate teacher-student interaction, it seemed appropriate that her comeuppance should involve him.

Knowing Wally taught Matilda in her first lesson of the day, and that I was in that same classroom for the second lesson, also with Matilda, my plan was set. The first thing I did was pick Wally's pocket, removing his wallet. The sleight of hand proved easy enough, and Wally was none the wiser as he headed off to teach. With any luck, he wouldn't notice his wallet was missing until the second lesson.

Luck, it seemed, was on my side. Sure enough, during the second lesson of the day, Wally burst into our classroom shortly after the lesson started. Seeming a little flustered, he apologised for the interruption, then spoke to me in an undertone, indicating that he might have left his wallet in the classroom.

At this point, I addressed Matilda Andrews in front of the entire class.

'Matilda, please empty the contents of your bag onto your desk.'

Bemused, Matilda's eyes widened. 'Why?'

'Please do as you are told.'

Mr Roberts looked confused, but I indicated for him to go with it. Predictably, Matilda folded her arms and adopted a defiant posture.

'You've got to be joking. I'm not doing that. My bag is private.'

'I can assure you I am not joking, young lady, and that you are in very serious trouble indeed.'

Matilda glanced and Penelope and Anita then scoffed. 'I don't think so.'

'Do it immediately, if you want to avoid expulsion.'

I wasn't bluffing, and Matilda could see it. But she maintained her bravado.

'God, you're going to be in so much trouble when I tell my parents about this.'

The rest of the class were riveted as Matilda sighed, then slowly emptied the contents of her bag onto her desk. I moved forward to examine the items, plucking Wally's wallet from the pile the moment it fell.

Matilda stared at the wallet in shock.

'Wait… What's that?'

'That's my wallet!' said Wally. 'What are you doing with this?'

'I'm afraid there's a rather unpleasant story behind that, Mr Roberts. One that I think is best heard behind closed doors, with Mrs Harrison.'

Bewildered, Matilda began to protest. 'I didn't take it!'

'Then what is it doing in your bag?'

'Someone must have put it there.'

'I see. What motive might someone have for stealing Mr Roberts's wallet, and putting it in your bag to frame you?'

Matilda's eyes narrowed. 'You put it there.'

I feigned shock. 'You're accusing me of stealing Mr Roberts's wallet, and planting it in your bag? How could I possibly do that? It's been with you the entire time.'

Matilda gaped, apparently having no answer.

'You know perfectly well what really happened, Matilda. Although you didn't see me earlier this morning, I overheard you by the lockers, discussing this idea with Penelope and Anita. Quite sensibly, they tried to talk you out of it, and at the time you seemed to agree. But when Mr Roberts came in here saying he'd lost his wallet, I knew straight away that you'd gone through with your wicked little plan.'

Now it was the turn of Penelope and Anita to look bewildered. But I knew they'd keep their silence. If they told the truth, they'd be in just as much trouble as Matilda.

'That's not true!' cried Matilda. 'We were talking about…'

'Yes, Matilda? What were you talking about?'

Matilda paused, temporarily lost for words.

'I think you'd better come with Mr Roberts and me to Mrs Harrison's office, young lady. The rest of you, start reading the next chapter of Great Expectations. We'll discuss it when I return. I shan't be long.'

I suppressed a grin upon hearing the shocked murmur that broke out as we left the classroom.

A few minutes later, I relayed the fictional version of what I'd overheard to Janet Harrison, St Hilda's rather buttoned-up headmistress, whose pinched, austere face practically screamed middle-aged disappointment. Sitting up straighter than a Maypole, she adjusted her cardigan and fiddled with her hair bun, a tic that preceded only the most severe of pronouncements.

'Have you anything to say for yourself, young lady?'

Tears were now welling in Matilda's eyes. It was immensely gratifying.

'It isn't true! None of it is true!'

'Why would Miss Ellis lie about a thing like this? How else could she have possibly known you had Mr Roberts's wallet in your possession? Did you seriously think you could get away with this? Stealing his wallet, and planting… What was it? Nude images of Nicole Ingram that you'd secretly taken in the changing rooms, and forged love letters from Nicole. Do you realise what accusations of this kind can do to a teacher's career?'

Wally said nothing, but his expression was one of utter fury. I could see him imagining the horrifying scenarios that would have ensued, had this really been Matilda's plan.

Matilda continued to stammer incredulously. 'It's… It's a lie! Miss Ellis… She's making it all up!'

Mrs Harrison wasn't buying it.

'I shall, of course, have no choice but to contact your parents regarding this matter, Matilda. I don't know what you could possibly have against Nicole Ingram to make you do something this appalling, though I understand jealousy at her role in the school play may have had something to do with it. I can only say I'm relieved that Miss Ellis overheard your diabolical plan, otherwise an innocent teacher, Mr Roberts, could well have lost his job and career.'

Matilda burst into tears. Unmoved, Mrs Harrison continued.

'Although your actions warrant severe punishment, I think, on the whole, you should be thankful. Had Mr Roberts been falsely accused, this could well have ended up as a police matter, and you could have been prosecuted. As it stands, I hope you will reflect long and hard on the horrendous behaviour you have exhibited today. I'm thoroughly ashamed of you, and I no longer wish to have you in my sight. Please wait outside in the corridor whilst we contact your parents.'

Bewildered and tearful, Matilda left the office. No matter what she said now, however much she protested, and even if she told the truth, no one would believe her.

'Thank God you overheard her,' said Mr Roberts, who looked thoroughly shaken by the entire incident. 'Maeve, I owe you big time.'

I smiled at the poor man. 'Someone up there evidently likes you.'

'I think I need a stiff drink.'

'I think we all do,' said Mrs Harrison. 'I've dealt with some unpleasantness in my time as a teacher, but I'm astounded by the sheer vindictiveness of this. We're definitely looking at suspension, and if she doesn't admit the truth, expulsion. Matilda must have really wanted that lead role. Did she audition?'

I shook my head. 'No. She thinks I hate her, so didn't bother. Actually, under different circumstances, I might have cast her.'

I fixed Mrs Harrison with a stare. She looked uncomfortable, doubtless because she had leant on me to cast Nicole Ingram in the first place.

'Yes, well, I think it's best if you leave matters with me, now. You'd both better get back to your classes.'

'I heard you got that little bitch Matilda Andrews suspended,' Paul said in an undertone amid a busy staff room, later that day. 'Nice work.'

I shrugged. 'I was just doing my job.'

'Well, I'm still impressed. Wally told me the whole story. I can just imagine his expression throughout the entire thing. He's massively in your debt.'

'No, he isn't. But I'm really glad he didn't get dragged through the mud over this.'

'Indeed. Anyway, I've got a surprise for you. I've decided to help you with your little research project and got lucky. Today, I had some spare time and managed to track down a Mrs Lucy Bainbridge, granddaughter of the late Eleanor Bainbridge, who was headmistress of St Hilda's at the time when The Witch of Abbendon was due to be performed. Guess what she was able to show me?'

'Her grandmother's private diary?'

'Exactly. It's a family heirloom, so she didn't want to lend it to me, understandably. But she accompanied me to the library where we made some photocopies of the relevant sections. I thought I might bring them over tonight and show them to you.'

'Couldn't you just tell me what the diary said?'

'Not here.'

'Is it that sensitive?'

'Lucy Bainbridge made me swear to keep the matter to as few people as possible. These walls have ears. Personally, I think it's a lot of fuss about nothing, considering Eleanor Bainbridge is long dead and gone, but…'

'Yes, all right,' I said, knowing damn well that Paul had an ulterior motive. 'But don't come over too late.'

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