When she sees me, Vera comes over and gives me a hug. It feels odd because she’s so small, her head under my chin, the hair from her bun tickling my nose. Besides, we’re not really a staff that does physical contact. We get on well and we go out for end-of-term meals but we don’t do hugs, team bonding, talking about emotions. So it seems strange, standing there by the department noticeboard, with tiny Vera hugging me and Anoushka, who’s only twenty-five, sobbing in the background. Eventually Vera lets go and we sit on the sofa beside Alan. He’s not crying but his hands, holding an ‘Old Teachers Never Die’ mug, are shaking visibly.
‘What’s Tony going to do?’ he says to Rick. ‘Have a group therapy session?’ Alan is old school and doesn’t get on with Tony. His tone suggests that, whatever Tony does, it will be wrong.
‘He’s going to talk to the kids at assembly today,’ says Rick. ‘Counselling will be offered.’
‘Counselling!’ Alan snorts. But he liked Ella, I know. They shared lots of in-jokes and they also shared an open contempt for Tony and his new-age growth mindset culture.
‘I think it’s a good idea,’ says Anoushka. ‘The kids will be heartbroken. They loved Ella.’
‘We’re all heartbroken,’ says Rick. ‘But we’ve got to get through it somehow. Now, I’d like to introduce you to Don, who’ll be covering Ella’s classes this week. Don’s got a lot of experience and we’re lucky to have him.’
Don certainly looks as if he’s had a lot of experience and not all of it good. He’s probably in his fifties, with suspiciously dark, thinning hair and pouchy skin.
‘I’m sorry to be here in such sad circumstances,’ he says. He has a voice that the students will immediately classify as ‘posh’ and, most likely, ‘gay’ (however much I tell them that this is a sexuality and not an insult).
‘Clare,’ Rick turns to me. ‘I’m making you head of Key Stage 4 with immediate effect. We’ll meet later in the week to discuss GCSE predictions.’
Rick has already warned me about this so I don’t have to do more than nod. It’s a promotion really, but I certainly can’t feel pleased about it.
‘Vera will take over Key Stage 3,’ says Rick. ‘I know we’ll all pull together at this difficult time.’
‘Can we . . . you know . . . do something for Ella?’ asks Anoushka. ‘Plant a tree or establish a prize in her honour? Something to remember her by.’
‘Tony’s opening a book of condolence,’ says Rick. ‘Her parents want to hold her funeral here, in the chapel, so we can celebrate her life then. But it would be good to do something as a department. Let’s think about it.’
‘What about the play?’ says Vera.
Ella was always in charge of the Christmas production. This year it’s Little Shop of Horrors. Rick looks more wretched than ever.
‘I did think about cancelling it but Tony thinks we need something to raise morale. Clare, do you think you and Anoushka could take it over?’
Anoushka perks up slightly. ‘We’ll make it a wonderful show in Ella’s memory,’ she says. ‘Won’t we, Clare?’
Suddenly, as clear as day, I see Ella standing in front of me, hands on hips, hair over her face. ‘You’ve got my job,’ she says, ‘and you’ve got my play. Are you taking over my life?’ The vision is so clear that I have to rub my eyes to get rid of it.
‘Clare?’ Rick is looking at me.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Yes, we’ll put on the show in Ella’s memory.’
‘We’ll never forget her,’ says Vera. ‘She’ll always be with us.’
I’m starting to believe that this really might be true.
On the way out, Rick stops me. He looks terrible, I think: pale, red-eyed, a rash creeping up from his neck.
‘How are you doing?’ he asks.
‘Oh . . . you know . . .’ I’m always telling my Year 7s not to use ‘you know’ as punctuation but it comes in useful sometimes.
‘Have you spoken to the police?’
‘Yes, on Tuesday. They came to my house.’
‘Did they . . .’ Rick looks around the room as if he has been asked to mime the word ‘furtive’. ‘Did they mention Hythe?’
I stare at him. I can’t believe he’s asking this. ‘No,’ I say.
Rick runs his hand through his hair which is now standing up like a crest. ‘If they do, please don’t tell them about Ella and me. I know she confided in you. There were no secrets between you two, were there?’
Oh, there were plenty of secrets, I want to tell him. But, of course, I did know about the affair with Ella. If it can be described as such.
‘What happened between you and Ella is your business,’ I say. ‘I’ve never told anyone.’
‘Thank you,’ he says. And I’m embarrassed to see the relief in his face. ‘It’s just . . . Daisy’s very vulnerable at the moment.’
This strikes me as low, even for Rick.
‘It was over,’ he says. ‘It was over between me and Ella back in the summer.’
Back in the summer is not that long ago and, before that, Rick was telling me that he’d kill himself if I didn’t sleep with him. I’m surprised at the anger that suddenly surges through me.
‘If you say so,’ I say. ‘I have to get to assembly now.’
‘Clare . . .’ Rick stretches out a hand but I evade it. As I leave the room I can hear his ragged intake of breath. It sounds as if he is crying.
There’s nowhere in the school big enough for everyone to gather together so Tony speaks to the students in two separate assemblies. I go to the one for the Upper School, five hundred teenagers crammed together in the gymnasium with a basketball hoop hovering over Tony’s head like a halo.
He does it well. He says that we’ll never forget Ella and that our lives are better for having known her. He says that the way she died was tragic but we must remember the way she had lived and how she had brought light and laughter to the school. ‘As you start out on your journey through life,’ he says, ‘remember Miss Elphick and the values she represented.’ Next to me, Alan rolls his eyes at the word ‘values’ but a lot of the students are in tears and my own eyes are wet. As Years 9 to 11 file out, Alan says, ‘I’m so sick of everyone being on a fucking journey. Why does no one ever arrive these days?’
‘I thought it was OK,’ I say. ‘It’s a hard thing to do.’
Tony steps down from the hastily erected podium and comes towards us. He’s in his forties with a figure kept in check by constant exercise and dieting. Judging by the graffiti around the school, some of the students think he’s ‘hot’. There are also lots of plays on his surname ‘Sweetman’. But, for me, his eyes are too close together and he smiles too much. However, he’s not smiling now.