1394: Part 11

“You look like hell,” said Maxine as Kristina walked in to the café where they normally met. “Everything all right?”

Kristina dumped her bags forcefully on the floor, then sat down with a “thump” and exhaled, but she said nothing.

“That bad, huh?” said Maxine. “Sorry.”

“The inspectors are coming back,” said Kristina. “So yay, I get to be branded ‘unsatisfactory’ all over again.”

“Coming back?” asked Maxine. “Didn’t they just leave?”

“That’s what Special Measures means,” explained Kristina, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her head on her hands. “They keep coming back until we’re… not unsatisfactory, or whatever.”

“That sucks,” said Maxine. “And seems counter-productive.”

“Well, I sort of get it,” said Kristina. “I mean, being in Special Measures basically says that we fucked up and we need to shape up or shut down. And them coming back is a way of checking that we’re, you know, shaping up. But, ugh, everyone’s really stressed about it again, particularly as they come at such short notice.”

“Sorry,” said Maxine, laying a hand on Kristina’s arm. “Wish I could help more.”

“Just listen to me rant every so often,” said Kristina. “That’ll do me.”

One of the baristas came over and brought two large lattes.

“I ordered for you,” said Maxine with a smile. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Kristina chuckled weakly. “No, not at all,” she said. “I feel like I need this.” She picked up the heavy glass and took a sip of the coffee, giving an exaggerated gasp after she swallowed. “So what’s new with you? Are you feeling better after… the other day?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Maxine cheerfully. “It was all a misunderstanding. We talked about it at work and sorted it out. It’s all fine.”

Kristina raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t quite what she expected to hear.

“Really? Are you… sure?”

“Yeah,” said Maxine. “I was just overreacting. It’s all good. We’re seeing each other again later tonight, actually.”

Kristina frowned, but didn’t say anything. She took another sip of her coffee.

Something felt off about all this. Maxine had been so upset the other day, and now everything was fine? She didn’t say anything, though; she felt she was in no position to give her thoughts on her friend’s love life, what with her own lack of experience in that department. Sometimes she was grateful for that lack of experience; at others, she wished she had more experience to draw on to be able to give advice. Now was one of the latter times.

“What are you going to do this time?” she said. She instantly regretted adding the “this time”, but Maxine didn’t seem to notice — or care.

“He’s going to cook me a meal,” Maxine said. “He’s quite a chef, apparently.”

Was that a hint of uneasiness in her voice? Kristina couldn’t quite tell, but she didn’t feel happy about this.

“You’re going to his house?” she said. She couldn’t stop herself. There was a slight pause — not a long one, but noticeable.

“Yes,” said Maxine.

 

*  *  *  *

Kristina had brought some of the paperwork home with her to try and sort. Not all of it, but she reckoned she had about half of it. After finishing her dinner — a microwave curry tonight; not at all bad — she heaved the box of papers onto her dining table and started drawing them out one by one, a binbag by her side ready to discard useless or irrelevant items into.

First was a copy of the school newsletter; she never read these, as they were largely aimed at parents. Into the binbag it went. Then came a stack of letters home to parents explaining the results of the inspection and what “Special Measures” meant. Since Kristina didn’t have a tutor group, she wasn’t sure why she’d been provided with a stack of these; into the binbag they went.

Beneath that was a form from the school’s special educational needs unit asking for feedback on Edward. She was apparently supposed to track his behaviour in the lessons he attended, then submit the report to the SEN department so they knew how he was getting on — whether he was successfully integrating into the school or whether he was going to be even more of a problem than he had been in the past. She put that to one side; although she had neglected to fill it in earlier, she made a mental note to focus on that and remember it for the future.

Then there was a pile of worksheets from Martin — she’d made her own for the lesson they covered, so into the binbag they went, although she kept one just in case she wanted to use it in future — and a note from the Head reminding everyone that was a Governors’ meeting two weeks ago; binbag.

Her phone rang at this point; she fumbled around in her dressing gown robe pocket for it and clumsily dropped it face-down on the table in her rush to answer it. She picked it up and saw that it was Maxine calling her; wasn’t she supposed to be on her date with Mark? She slid her finger across the screen and answered.

“Hello?” she said uneasily. There was no response from the other end, but she could hear something; she wasn’t sure what. Had Maxine pocket-dialled her?

There was a rustling sound, and mumbling in the background, though she couldn’t hear what was being said. There were two voices — she assumed they were Maxine and Mark. They sounded like they were talking normally.

“Maxine?” Kristina said, a little louder than she would normally speak. “Maxine, are you there? I think you pocket-dialled me. Hello?”

No response. The voices in the background sounded a little louder. She couldn’t tell if they were closer or actually louder. Then there was more rustling. What was going on? Kristina was morbidly curious, although she knew that she was intruding on what was probably quite a private moment right now.

Mark said something, and Maxine responded in what Kristina recognised as her “girl power” tone; an assertive voice that made it clear she was in charge. But it sounded like Mark was persisting. Kristina still couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded as if they were disagreeing on something. She considered speaking up again, but against her better judgement she didn’t want either of them noticing her “presence” and hanging up just yet.

She could feel a knot in her stomach forming; she had a feeling something bad was going to happen. And yet she didn’t hang up, nor did she do anything about it; she just listened.

Mark sounded like he was raising his voice now, and Maxine’s voice sounded less assertive. There was a loud “thump,” and what sounded like a yelp from Maxine. What was going on? She had a feeling she already knew, but she didn’t want to admit it to herself; she also felt guilty at the fact she was listening in and wasn’t able to do anything to help her friend.

“Maxine!” she cried as loud as she could. There was the rustling sound again, louder this time, and then the line went dead with the usual “beep, beep beep.”

“Shit,” said Kristina, the knot in her stomach tightening by the moment. She tried to call her back, but it simply went straight to voicemail; one or the other of them — she had a feeling she knew who — had turned her phone off.

What should she do? She could feel herself starting to panic. Should she call the police? But what should she tell them? She didn’t know where Mark lived and thus didn’t know where Maxine was, and with her phone off, they wouldn’t be able to track where she was — and anyway, she wasn’t sure if they could even do that. She didn’t know Mark’s full name or any other details; there was nothing she could do.

Flailing around, she knocked the box of papers off the table. They scattered onto the floor, and some went under the sofa, but she didn’t care right now; she was now utterly convinced that her friend was in trouble and didn’t know what to do. Actually, she did: nothing. There was nothing she could do, and the feeling of helplessness was making her panic even more.

She flipped to the messages app on her phone, and chose the conversation thread with Sian.

Sian, she typed. I need help. I really need help. What do I do? 

She just sat and stared at her phone for several minutes. Eventually, a response came back.

What’s wrong? came the reply. Simple but to the point.

Kristina took a deep breath, closed her eyes, exhaled sharply, then started to type.

You remember my friend that I told you about? she wrote. Well, after what happened with the guy she went on a date with the other day, she’s back seeing him again tonight. At his house. And I’m worried that he’s doing something bad to her. I don’t know what, but she pocket-dialled me and it sounded like something was going on. Am I overreacting? I think I’m overreacting. Sorry, you don’t need to hear all this.

Kristina could see that Sian started typing immediately after her message arrived.

It’s okay. It’s all right, said the message. Sian started typing again immediately afterwards.

You’re not overreacting, came a second message shortly afterwards. Your friend would probably be glad to know you’re worried about her.

But I don’t know how to help her, Kristina typed back. If he’s doing something, what can I do?

There was a long pause. Kristina’s house suddenly felt like time had stopped, and all sound had simply ceased. She knew that she was putting a lot of pressure on Sian here — pressure that she really didn’t deserve — but she also felt terrified of being alone right now. And, in acknowledging that, she felt guilty for putting her own concerns above those of Maxine.

But Maxine might be fine, she told herself. She said it was all a misunderstanding, that they’d cleared it all up.

The sound of the muffled, mumbling voices becoming increasingly agitated and louder echoed in her head.

“Oh, God,” she said to herself, putting her head in her hands. She felt like she was about to cry.

I’m sorry, said Sian. I really don’t know what to suggest. It doesn’t sound like there’s much you can do. I know that’s not what you probably want to hear, but it’s the truth. If you’re worried, you should keep trying to contact her, and make sure you see how she is tomorrow.

Kristina felt a tear rolling down her face. How had this young girl gotten to be so wise at her age? How is it a sixteen-year-old was able to keep her cool, while she — a grown woman and a qualified teacher — was falling apart like this?

The most frustrating thing is that she knew Sian was right. She knew that she was talking sense, that she was simply confirming everything she had already thought. But that didn’t make it any easier. It wouldn’t make it any easier to sleep tonight; in fact, Kristina felt that there was a distinct possibility she wouldn’t be sleeping at all tonight.

I’m sorry about all this, Sian, she typed back to her young friend. I’ll leave you alone now. I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. Thank you for listening, though.

You’re welcome, came a response a moment later. Please take care of yourself.