Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

‘He’s just become a father, for goodness’ sake!’

‘Maybe Ruth will appreciate him being at home for a while, then,’ Armour continued. ‘Look, Keith, we have to do our job. Have to be seen to do our job. We can’t take sides in this. Eric’ll have to be suspended. On full pay, of course. Let me talk to him, explain that we have no option. Give him time to sort out his response to the official inquiry team.’

‘What about the parents?’

‘Well, we can hardly tell them that we think their darling daughter is a scheming, conniving wee madam, can we? We have to play this fair for all concerned.’

‘How about suggesting the girl sees a doctor?’

‘To see if she’s virgo intacta ? That’s taking a bit of a risk, surely? I’ll bet loads of them in that year group have had it off. Even the ones in Eric’s Scripture Union group,’ Armour added to himself, hoping Manson couldn’t hear him.

‘I still think we’re overreacting,’ Manson replied, thumping the desk in front of him.

‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. The Donaldsons have got till tomorrow to put their complaint in writing. Maybe a heart-to-heart with their precious daughter will uncover the truth before then.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ Manson replied. ‘I bloody hope you’re right.’

‘But are you sure?’ Mary Donaldson asked for the umpteenth time, sitting side by side with her stepdaughter on the couch. Beside them a half-empty box of Kleenex gave testimony to the storm of weeping that had accompanied Julie’s story. Mary bit her lip. It was too late now, anyway. Frank had phoned the school, demanding to speak to the head teacher while Mary had watched Julie closely, looking for any sign that the girl was making the whole thing up. It was a classic case of attention seeking, she’d tried to tell Frank. An only child who was constantly vying for her father’s attention, Julie hadn’t been the easiest of stepdaughters over these last four years. Mary had tried hard, patiently giving her best and even succeeding at times, but Julie would never accept her as Mum. She would always be Mary. A nice person who had happened to marry her widowed father and make him happy and who didn’t cause too much friction between parent and child, that was all.

But something was gnawing away at Mary Donaldson even as she put an arm around Julie’s heaving shoulders, a doubt worming its insidious way into her thoughts. Had she been too lenient with this child, was that it? And if so, was she partly to blame for this ghastly situation? That Julie had had sex with a teacher was just too incredible to believe, yet Frank had swallowed it hook, line and sinker, raving on about filthy religious maniacs who preyed on innocent young girls. Her hand stroked Julie’s upper arm and she felt the girl’s sobs shuddering. But, try as she might, Mary couldn’t believe that the nice young man who had collected Julie in the school minibus had taken advantage of her stepdaughter in the graphic way she had described to them.

‘Eric, can I have a quick word?’

Eric looked up from the book-cupboard to see Jack Armour standing in the doorway of his classroom.

‘Sure, come on in.’ Eric waved a friendly hand and straightened up. A visit from the deputy head was nothing to excite his imagination but Jack had a sombre look on his face that made Eric wonder. ‘What’s up?’

Jack’s sigh and his pursed lips should have been signs that all was not well, but it was avoiding eye contact that made the first alarm bells begin to ring.

‘Jack, is there something wrong?’

‘Aye. I hate to spring this on you, but we’ve had a complaint about you from a parent.’

‘A complaint about me ?’ Eric laughed, stepping back in surprise. ‘What on earth-?’

‘It’s Mr Donaldson,’ the deputy head began. ‘He says you, you. . Julie told him that you and she. . Oh, God, it’s a load of nonsense of course but we have to follow the correct procedures. .’

‘Jack, what are you trying to tell me?’ Eric stood up, suddenly aware of the other man’s discomfiture.

‘Eric, Julie Donaldson told her parents that you sexually assaulted her at SU camp this summer.’

‘ What? But she can’t have!’ Eric’s jaw dropped and he stared, speechless, at the man who was obviously finding it difficult to meet his eyes.

‘I’m afraid she did. Look, we know it’s a load of bullshit, Eric, but that’s not the point. We have to be seen to be doing the correct thing, so. .’

‘So, what happens to me now?’ Eric’s voice came out in a whisper as he leaned against his desk, one hand gripping the edge.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to be suspended.’

It was odd, Eric thought, being in the car park and leaving school when inside the building his colleagues were working away. There was little noise at this time of the morning, even the playing fields were empty he saw, looking across at the expanse of grass and blaize, only the constant hum of traffic beyond the rows of grey tenements. The man paused, his fingers holding the ignition key. What would Ruth be doing right now? He thought back to those few precious days before term had begun, remembering how he’d helped with everyday chores: hanging out washing, shopping for groceries, cleaning the kitchen, never for a moment grudging time spent being useful to her. Maybe if he’d taken the two weeks’ paternity leave? But they’d discussed it, knowing how important the beginning of term was for the pupils. Ruth hadn’t minded in the least and now Eric wondered if she’d welcomed the chance to have time alone with Ashleigh. How would she feel when he came home now burdened with this news?

Coming to a decision, Eric turned the key and released the handbrake. He wouldn’t go home, not just yet. There were things he had to think about first, not least how he was going to tell Ruth about Julie.

Eric eased his car over the speedbumps that lay between the school and Dumbarton Road. The whole area had been traffic-calmed and now drivers had to weave in and out as ‘No Entry’ signs appeared at the mouth of every second street, slowing them down to a perpetual second gear. At last he spotted a gap in the traffic and signalled left, heading towards town, passing the entrance to the Western Infirmary then the Art Galleries at Kelvingrove. On a sudden impulse, Eric took a left and drove along Kelvin Way, the University of Glasgow towering high above him on one side. He’d been so happy there, following his dream of studying theology and then, of course, meeting Ruth. They’d grown up together, he mused, slowing down at the junction where the old student union curved around the end of University Avenue. And he felt that few people in this world understood him quite as well as the woman who had become his wife.

The Church was always open, even on a weekday morning. Although the main building dated back to Victorian times, there had been numerous additions tacked on to it, providing services like a daily nursery and a drop-in coffee bar. And it was outside one of those extensions that Eric parked his car. Posters on the door told of the many weekly activities: the Jam Gang, Men’s Fellowship, Anchor Boys, and Mothers and Toddlers, all brightly illustrated in primary colours. Inside he was faced with a row of tables, leaflets stacked up neatly below more posters depicting Christian Aid and a Mission to Malawi. A group of young African kids with shining eyes grinned shyly out of one of them, a dust-coloured hut behind them. In the centre a white man in a bush hat hunkered down, his arms around the two nearest children. Eric swallowed hard. That could have been him, if he’d made a different decision. The mission field had always held a fascination for him. It would have been a challenge. And I wouldn’t be in this situation now, he told himself.