Литагент HarperCollins - Shadow Sister

A few dates later, I invested my feelings in him and six months later I invested my money in his company. We moved in together and two years after that we got married. Raoul’s business went well, particularly well, so that after we got married we could move into the chic Hillegersberg area, into a beautiful, spacious house with high ceilings and old wooden floors.

Raoul wanted me to be at home far more than I did – he didn’t want me to work, especially not in a teaching job. But I didn’t study education for four years to sit at home. His complaints got worse when Valerie was born. She’d been going to the crèche for two years, and was very happy there, when Raoul came home one evening and threw a letter down onto the work bench, where I was making pizza.

‘Look what I’ve got for you! An invitation to have a chat!’ His smile was broad.

‘Do you need to write me an invitation? Are things that bad between us?’ I joked.

He laughed and kissed my throat. ‘No, you idiot. There’s a vacancy in our PR department and it’s made for you.’

‘Public relations? Why would I want to do that?’

‘Don’t you like the idea? I think it would be perfect for you,’ Raoul said. ‘It’s a shared part-time job, you can choose between two or three days a week.’

‘Raoul, I’ve got a job.’

‘But you’re not going to be a teacher for the rest of your life.’ Raoul spread his fingers, a gesture that expressed his incomprehension.

‘Why not?’ I turned the oven to 200 degrees and took two purple placemats out of the cupboard. All the accessories in our home are purple; it’s my favourite colour.

‘Come on, Lydia! You don’t mean that Rotterdam College is your goal in life, do you?’

‘Any school is all right,’ I said, ‘as long as I’m making a difference for my students. And I don’t just mean in terms of their education. Do you get it?’

Raoul didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look like he got it. He stood there staring at me, his hands in his pockets.

‘So you’re not coming to work at Software International?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I know you don’t like Rotterdam College, but I’m happy there.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Raoul said. ‘You always look so tired. I’d rather you didn’t work at all.’

I smiled at him. ‘Darling, I am always tired, just like you. But I don’t suggest that you sell your company, do I?’

He didn’t buy it. ‘I just don’t think it’s good for Valerie.’

My smile disappeared. ‘I’m always home when she finishes school.’

‘But she has to have lunch at school four days a week.’

‘She really likes having lunch at school!’ I shouted. ‘Why are you pulling a face? You knew beforehand that I wanted to keep on working. I don’t understand why you keep complaining about it. Why don’t you resign from your job?’

We’re still having this kind of conversation. Raoul is a modern man who will help with the housework and believes in sharing the load equally. He likes modern women who work for a living and contribute to society, but it’s something he appreciates in other women, not me.

I drive into the school car park at twenty past seven. It’s still very empty. I don’t get out immediately; first I look around. There’s no one to be seen, the playground is deserted. The beautiful wisteria covering the fence is blossoming early this year.

I walk across the playground. The door is still closed to the students, but Dan, the caretaker, unlocks it for me.

‘You’re early!’ he says.

‘I just couldn’t wait any longer,’ I say with a weak smile.

‘I can imagine,’ Dan chuckles. ‘I find the silence at this time of the morning difficult too.’

‘It won’t last much longer.’ I glance at the clock in the corridor. ‘Shall I fetch us some coffee, Dan?’

‘Lots of milk, lots of sugar.’ Dan goes back to his caretaker’s office where the phone is ringing.

I watch him with affection. Dan Riemans could have retired long ago, but instead he’s still faithfully guarding his post. He’s a small, plump man with light blue eyes that usually sparkle with fun. He’s often telling jokes to the students; they like him. But if he’s angry, it thunders through the corridors. The students aren’t afraid of him, but they like him too much to want to cause trouble. With a few exceptions, of course.

‘If you want to skive off, you’ll have to do a better imitation of your mother’s voice, Ayesha,’ I hear him say as I bring our coffees back from the staffroom. ‘I’ll be expecting you at exactly five past eight. Bye, Ayesha, see you soon.’

He hangs up and smiles at me.

‘Thanks, lassie. Sit down and tell me what that was all about yesterday.’

‘Did you already hear about it?’

‘The school’s buzzing with it.’

Dan sinks into his comfortable chair from where, with a swivel, he can survey the corridor as well as the playground.

I sigh and blow onto my coffee, then tell him all. Dan listens in silence, shaking his head from time to time. I also tell him about my conversation with Jan. When I get to our disagreement about whether to go to the police, Dan looks up.

‘And? Did you go to the police?’

I shake my head and think I glimpse something of relief in Dan’s eyes.

We drink our coffee and gaze out at the playground where the first children are arriving on their bikes.

‘Assrouti won’t get in here anymore, don’t worry about that,’ Dan says.

‘Did Jan ask you to make sure?’

‘Yes, very clearly. You just go and teach, lass, and I’ll personally make sure that Bilal Assrouti doesn’t set a foot inside this school.’

I smile gratefully at him. Dan once had to face a student with a knife and I know that it made a deep impression on him. Bilal will have to use all his resourcefulness if he wants to force his way in.

At seven-forty-five I see Jasmine approaching. I finish my coffee, ready to leave, then pause in the doorway.

‘Dan?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Do you think I should have gone to the police?’

Dan looks at me. I’m expecting him to say ‘no’, but he doesn’t. ‘For you, personally, perhaps you should have.’ He pauses. ‘But I’m glad you didn’t for the school.’

I wait for Jasmine in the corridor and as we go to the staffroom I find myself talking about it again. I once read that people who have had a traumatic experience need to remember every detail of the event and find an explanation for it. Coming up with answers is a way of processing the trauma.

‘I hardly dared get out of my car once I’d parked,’ I tell her. ‘That’s bad, isn’t it? And I’m constantly looking at the playground. Do you think Bilal would have the nerve to simply show up, as though nothing had happened?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Jasmine says. ‘No, we won’t see him again, Lydia. Don’t be scared.’

I’m not scared, I want to say, not here with my colleagues in the staffroom where there’s a large cake box in the middle of the table. We arrive just in time to see people wishing Hans, an older colleague, a happy birthday. I join in, but before Hans has finished cutting his cake, I tell everyone about Bilal.

‘Hey you, can’t it wait?’ Jasmine says, but I won’t be deterred. It’s weighing down on me too much, it has to come out.

The atmosphere changes immediately. Not everyone knows about it yet and the consternation among my colleagues is great. Everyone is talking at once. Hans sits there with a plate of cake and a surly look. He’s one of the old guard on the staff. He’s not usually the most cheerful person, but now he looks like one of his test tubes has exploded and covered him in whatever type of acid corrodes a good mood.