Not that school was a particularly difficult time for him either within his peer group, academically, or with his relationships with the teachers. Eric had sought to be, unwittingly at the time, the grey-man of his year group. Never one to draw attention to himself with the so-called look at me gene, he caused no trouble for staff or students alike. To be honest, his impact on the school must barely have left an imprint and yet here he was, sweating on setting foot inside and coming before the Head. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he never really applied himself to his studies, always feeling something of a fraud when he came home with an above average report card. Had he applied himself maybe he would have gone onto sixth form, university and a completely different career path. Unlikely, considering the domestic influences that shaped his life.
The headmaster hadn’t changed much, albeit he was greyer and shorter than Eric remembered; his name was Carl Hendry, or Demon Hendry as they used to call him, a play on a book title they all read once as part of the early years’ syllabus. Their interaction was interesting. He recalled Eric as a pupil which surprised him, commenting on how effective he was as a senior prefect. Eric didn’t think he did anything remarkable in the role but accepted the compliment with good grace. Hendry spoke to him as an equal. Another strange experience for the young man.
“Awful what happened to Holly. She’ll be greatly missed here at the school and our hearts go out to both Colin and Marie… and Madeleine, of course. We’ve set up counselling for any pupil who feels deeply affected. However, I’m not aware of how I can help with your investigation.”
“I’m gathering a bit of background on her. How she mixed with her peer group for example?”
“Interesting girl, I must say. Not what we would refer to as a chequered record exactly. We have more difficult children here at the school, but far from the example we would expect for a student of her roots.”
Eric found that comment irritating. Much more like the Demon Hendry he remembered, elitist, condescending. “Did she have any problems with teachers or classmates. Anything specific?” he asked, taking notes.
“With Holly, it was always a case of poor attitude and application. The girl was incredibly bright. Everyone thought so, but she couldn’t channel that into her academic work. If she had, then her father’s dream of her attending medical school would have been a foregone conclusion.”
“Her father’s dream, you say?” he asked. Hendry nodded. “But you think that was an… unrealistic goal to set for her?”
“I put Colin, her father, in touch with a former colleague of mine in Norwich, an exceptional educator, hoping to inspire her to fulfil her potential but… and I see no harm in saying this to you now, he didn’t rate her very highly. Not her ability you understand, but again, her application. As for her interaction with fellow pupils, you are best to speak with our head of pastoral care. She is much closer to these things than I am.”
The lady heading up the pastoral team was also responsible for special educational needs, and she was prickly. They’d never met and Eric was unfamiliar with her role. He didn’t recall a structure such as this during his schooling. Things must have changed since he left. Very much for the better, he thought. It made sense to him to have somebody responsible for overseeing the mental and social wellbeing of the pupils, a port of call for troubled children outside of the teaching structure. Eric had the impression she felt he was interviewing her in search of a sign she must have missed, something in Holly’s time at the school that resulted in her winding up dead. Nothing could be further from the truth. Unless of course, she had let her down in some way and knew more than Eric expected. That thought spurred him along a different line of questioning.
“Why do you think Holly struggled to interact with her peers. After all, she had few friends.”
“There was nothing to necessarily indicate she was struggling.” The woman was defensive, looking to slide away from any blame. Why she felt this was required, Eric could only guess at.
“So, you think she was struggling?”
The question cut through the mirage of deflection. Eric wished all the criminals he came across were as quick to fold. “Well, academically she was, without question. The teaching staff were exasperated with her attitude. They looked for all manner of reasons as to why they couldn’t get the best out of her. They were receiving pressure from…” She paused. Eric knew he’d sparked something. She wanted to get something off her chest but at the same time, wanted to avoid being quoted.
“You can speak freely,” he said, symbolically putting his pen and pad down. He had a good memory and could record it later.
“Holly’s parents were great contributors to the school. I know we’re not an independent school but funding is tight. This is an affluent area and pupil premium places are low in comparison to the national average.” Eric understood. State funding for schools with a higher than average number of pupils from low-income households stood to benefit from larger subsidies than those that didn’t. Educational funding was a political hot topic, always so when spending cuts were deemed necessary. “The last round of budget cuts has been tough. The school asks for contributions and the parents are truly wonderful. The Bettanys, in particular, are very generous.” Eric read between the lines.
“And in exchange for this, they wanted to see a return on their… investment?” He
