the staffroom with the rest of the staff. I’ve already told your –’
‘Was Rich at the meeting you’ve just had?’
‘I have no idea. I didn’t notice him.’
‘We keep hearing how happy the school is and how popular Mrs Gibson was…’ he said.
‘Ye-es.’ Her manner was jittery.
‘Thing is, she’s currently in a body bag, heading towards our morgue.’
Shari let out a gasp. Her eyes filled up. She took a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at them.
Dan felt Maya’s disapproving gaze on him. ‘Apologies. I’m Australian. I don’t have Detective Rahman’s British politeness.’ He avoided her glance. ‘Any trouble with gangs here?’
‘We have a couple but Mrs Gibson introduced a number of effective measures to combat them.’ Her voice was high and breathy.
‘Tell me about the language and literacy issues.’
‘They don’t apply to any one ethnic group. Many of our British students don’t have good literacy levels. Unfortunately, it can result in poor exam results and a low position for the school in league tables.’
‘I guess that’d mean reduced funding for the school, right?’ He’d been wondering whether money was involved with the head teacher’s murder ever since they learned about Linda’s deleted computer files.
‘Indirectly, yes. If league-table ranking drops too much it affects how many students apply for places here. And that affects funding. It’s a vicious cycle.’
‘I see.’ He tapped his biro on his notepad and sucked his cheeks in. ‘Did you get the impression Linda was well off?’
‘I’ve never considered it.’
‘And are you left- or right-handed?’
‘Right. I’ve told y—’
‘Are there any divisions at the school that might have resulted in bad feeling?’
‘There are some tensions between staff groups that we’ve been unable to overcome.’ Shari dabbed at her nose with a tissue. ‘We employ a lot of local people. Some of our staff aren’t happy about this.’
‘Why not?’ He fixed his eyes on hers. ‘Don’t they have the skills for the job?’
Shari seemed taken aback. ‘Yes, but some people complain that it’s positive discrimination. Bumping up minority ethnic quotas and all that nonsense.’ She fidgeted in her seat and tugged at her hijab.
‘Why’s it nonsense? Aren’t there guidelines about who the school is allowed to employ? In Australia the focus is on skills. That’s it.’
‘Yes, but guidelines don’t change how people feel. Linda, Neil, Roger and I all agreed that it’s important for our staff composition to reflect the ethnic mix of our students and community. Unfortunately, not everyone shares that view.’
The prejudices that Shari described mirrored many in Sydney. Dan’s family fought discrimination every day as a result of his wife’s Aboriginal heritage. The girls, at school. Aroona, in her work with the native communities.
‘When do these staff tensions arise most?’
Shari picked fluff off her jilbab while she thought what to say. ‘When we have Muslim speakers, some of the non-Muslim staff object to the hall being gender-segregated. And when we have celebrations, the non-Muslim staff want one thing and —’
‘Is that about alcohol?’ Dan cut in.
Shari blinked and looked at Maya, as though she were hoping for sympathy. ‘Among other things. At Christmas and end of year parties, many of the staff want wine and beer, and to go to the pub afterwards.’
‘And the Muslim staff object?’
‘Some mind less. But others refuse to go anywhere alcohol is available.’
‘Simple, surely? Separate it out?’
‘It’s not that easy. We’ve tried having non-halal food and alcoholic drinks in one room, and halal food and non-alcoholic drinks in another but we ended up with two separate parties. That defeats the object, to celebrate collective hard work and achievement. We then tried having all the food and drink in the staffroom at opposite ends. That worked better but the staff who don’t want to go anywhere where there is alcohol still refused to attend. Linda was convinced she’d find a solution but in the end we came to the conclusion that perhaps there is no way of resolving the situation. A case of necessary segregation for certain occasions.’
Dan could see her frustration. He didn’t know what the answer was either. But how the hell were these cultural tensions and literacy problems involved with Linda’s murder? And how did money come into it? At the back of his mind was a mental image of Linda, eyes bulging, her hands bound. And the Buddhist precept: I abstain from taking the ungiven. Was mousey, dithery Shari a fan of Linda’s or had she ducked out of the staffroom and squeezed the life out of her senior colleague?
The arrival of Roger Allen at the Morgan Arms set everyone on edge. Steve sensed that his colleagues, who had just begun to relax and talk freely, resented having to watch what they said in front of the senior manager who had been off sick all day.
After three pints of real ale, jet lag and the mother of all hangovers, when Steve arrived back at his sister’s flat, one desire eclipsed all others: to slide under the duvet and stay there. Shaky, and with a crushing pain expanding inside his head, he climbed the two flights of stairs to the top floor of Durkin House. Outside the flat door, he fumbled in his jeans pockets for his keys. Relief swept over him when he hit the dead lock: Jane was out.
Steve closed the flat door behind him. The place was hardly any warmer than outside. Never mind. He’d soon be under the covers. Then his gaze fell on his sister’s gym bag in the hall. ‘
‘Ah, bollocks.’ He’d left his messenger bag in the Morgan Arms. He’d get it tomorrow. He couldn’t face trekking back there now. Carrying a pint of water, he headed straight for the spare room at the end of the landing. This was home for the next few months until he could find a place of his own.
He took his mobile out of his jeans, rang the pub and asked them to hold on to his bag. Then he sat on the edge of the bed. On the floor his rucksack leaned against the wall and his attention fell to the key ring that Lucy had given him, with the letters NYC, when she’d first told him she wanted to return home to the USA.
He felt a dart of pain in his stomach. How long was it going to take until he could think about Lucy, and see things that reminded him of her, and not feel regret?
Just get into bed, you idiot. And stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve only got yourself to blame. Lucy gave you fair warning. Claiming indignation about her going home to the States was never going to cut it, and nursing your pride isn’t going to
