Afterwards

On the pew beside me I saw that Maisie’s face was pale with an expression I’d never seen before.

‘That man should never have been allowed near our children,’ she said vehemently. And I saw that she loathed him, hated him even – gentle Maisie who’s usually so quick to be kind.

* * *

‘It was a clear threat,’ you say to DI Baker. ‘A violent one. You could see how much he hated the headmistress. All of us.’

‘But at the time you didn’t think it worrying enough to report it?’ asks DI Baker, his tone blandly scornful.

‘At the time I underestimated his capacity for violence. We all did. Otherwise this never would have happened. So you’ll arrest him?’

More a statement than a question.

‘We already spoke to Mr Hyman, last night,’ DI Baker retorts, sounding irritated.

‘So you were suspicious enough to question him already?’ you ask.

‘We would have spoken to anyone who may have had a grudge against the school straight away,’ Sarah says. ‘As a matter of course.’

DI Baker glares at her, not wanting her to give away state secrets. But Sarah continues, ‘The headmistress or a governor would have given us the information that he’d been fired, straight off the bat.’

‘Mr Hyman didn’t ask for a lawyer to be present. And he was happy to volunteer a sample of his DNA,’ DI Baker says. ‘In my experience, that is not the response of a guilty man.’

‘But surely-’

DI Baker interrupts you. ‘There is no reason to think Mr Hyman had anything to do with the fire. A scurrilous piece of inaccurate journalism doesn’t change that. And your account of his behaviour at prize-giving is interpretative rather than fact.

‘However, I do appreciate your anxiety, Mr Covey. And given what you are going through, and to put your mind at rest, I will get an update on our enquiry from one of my officers.’

He ostentatiously gets out his radio again, suggesting, without saying so, that you are putting him to unnecessary trouble.

‘I’ll be with my daughter,’ you say, standing up. ‘You can “update” me there.’

You leave the office, the cheap thin door banging shut behind you.

I follow you along the corridor. As I look at your broad back, I long for you to hold me; and I remember how excited I’d been about seeing you that evening at prize-giving – how long those three and a half weeks had felt.

When you first came into the church, and didn’t properly meet my eye, I’d hurriedly tried to remember if there were any of those bright, attractive BBC girls on your filming trip. I’d done that before, over the weeks you’d been gone. But I was pretty sure it was an all-male crew.

No, I didn’t suspect you. I just felt a little insecure, that’s all. I’d never have asked you or even articulated the niggling little concern. ‘Back in your box and stay there!’ bossy Nanny Voice said. Sometimes she has her uses.

When I came out of the church, I scanned the large group of parents, trying to find you. The father-crowd at the back had been first out of the church, most of them on their mobiles now, but in the dusk I couldn’t see you. The children weren’t out yet.

I was worried Adam had got into trouble, and how much he’d mind. I wanted to tell him how proud I was of him; that what he did took great courage. All around me was the hiss of gossip as the incident turned into anecdote.

Donald and Maisie were a few feet away. I thought for a moment that they were arguing, but their voices were low and quiet, so I realised I must be mistaken. Besides, Maisie says they never argue. ‘Sometimes I think we need a jolly good row, blow some cobwebs away, but Donald’s just too good-natured.’

Donald had a cigarette, dragging hard on it, making a fiery tip in the gloomy light. Maisie had never told me he smoked. He dropped the butt onto the ground, stubbing it out with his shoe, grinding it down.

I saw Adam coming towards me. His small face looked zoned out, trying to disconnect from the world around him. As he got closer, he passed Donald lighting another cigarette and flinched from the lighter’s flame.

‘It’s OK, young sir,’ Donald said. He clicked his lighter shut.

‘Are you alright, Ads?’ Maisie asked him.

He nodded and I put my arm around him. ‘Let’s find Dad.’

I was no longer looking for my husband but Adam’s father – our identity as parents always usurping the one of husband or wife.

I finally saw you standing away from the main group of parents. You took my hand and your other arm gave Adam a hug. ‘Hello, young cub.’

No mention of what he’d done. You saw that facial signal between parents over the head of their child when one isn’t doing something right.

‘You two go on home,’ you said, ignoring my sign. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’

We hadn’t even kissed hello and our disagreement about Adam exacerbated my frisson of insecurity at your homecoming.

‘I’ll be home as soon as I can,’ you said in a masculine, commanding way. I was glad you hadn’t had any pretty-bright-young-women filming with you, but the downside was that you’d been too long in an all-male environment; it usually takes you about the same amount of time to recover from sexism as jet-lag.

I was cooking a late supper when you arrived home. Adam had fallen asleep half an hour before.

You came up behind me and kissed me and I smelt beer on your breath. For a moment we met as a couple.

‘Jenny not here?’ you asked.

‘Daphne’s dad is driving her home now. He just called.’

‘Decent of him.’

You put your arms around me. ‘Sorry that took a while, but I wanted to do some damage limitation. Been in that wine bar by the church, schmoozing the teachers. Mrs Healey especially. I really could have done without that this evening.’

You didn’t see my face.

‘I asked her not to discipline him, but to let us handle it and she agreed.’

I turned and then we argued.

You thought Adam standing up for Mr Hyman wasn’t from loyalty and courage, but because of ‘some kind of brainwashing by that man.’ You thought Silas Hyman had an unnatural hold over Adam.

Then Jenny came into the kitchen, ending our row. We’ve never argued in front of the children, have we? Not when it matters. They are our cease-fire treaty.

‘Scrap the UN,’ you’d said once. ‘Warring countries should just get a teenage daughter in the room.’

We’ve arrived at the burns unit and you’re scrupulously washing your hands, following the diagrammed instructions to the letter. Sarah does the same. Then a nurse lets you in through the locked door.

As we reach Jenny’s side-ward I brace myself. You turn to Sarah.

‘It’s not the hate-mailer who did this to her.’

Your voice is furious and it startles her.

A nurse is taking the last of the dressings off Jenny’s face.

Her face is blistered beyond recognition, far worse than in A &E. I quickly turn away. Because I can’t bear to look at her. And because I’ll have to tell Jenny what I’ve seen, rather than just glimpsed, because surely you can withhold your knowledge of something if you’ve only just glimpsed it? And not made sure of it by looking again?

But you don’t look away.

The nurse sees your distress.

‘Blistering the day afterwards is quite normal,’ she says. ‘It doesn’t mean that her burns have got any