bed just after midnight when it was finished.
I wasn’t in court the next day so was able to head out early, memory stick in handbag, and a renewed feeling of optimism. If Amy wouldn’t answer her phone I knew exactly where she would be.
‘Visitor for Miss Otaru,’ I announced, thrown by the security measures at her London day school. Locked gates, intercoms and security booths: things were a little different from when I’d been at school.
The intercom crackled and after a pause a disembodied voice asked, ‘Is she expecting you?’
I hated lying so instead bleated, ‘I’m here on business,’ in a panicked tone, as if that salient fact would gain me access. ‘She will know what this is regarding,’ I said in my most formal courtroom voice.
Unbelievably the buzzer sounded and I pushed open the heavy gate with two hands. Walking down a stone path, a blue Astro Turf pitch on one side, netball courts on the other, I headed for the main building. ‘Reception’ announced a jade green wooden board and I made my way towards it. I had barely stepped inside when the receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a close cropped hairstyle and magenta pink lipstick, stood up and headed my way, thrusting a laminated badge in my direction. ‘Excellent. Welcome,’ she said. I marvelled at the efficiency. This had been easy!
‘Good morning. Where can one find Miss Otaru’s office?’ I asked in my politest voice.
‘Oh, she can take you there once you’re done, but the pupils are waiting in the hall for you now. Follow me.’
Still congratulating myself on gaining access I barely listened to what the receptionist had said as I followed her fast clacking walk down a corridor that smelt of bleach and was lined with various artworks by the children.
Sorry,’ I said, almost tripping in my haste. ‘Is she not in her office?’
‘She’ll be in the hall waiting.’
‘Right,’ I said distractedly.
‘I imagine they’ll all be very keen to hear what you have to say.’
‘Will they?’ I asked, confused now and wondering who ‘they’ were. I glanced down at my laminated badge and realised with a frown that my name wasn’t Jacinda Brown. For the first time an uneasy feeling stole over me as the receptionist paused in front of two wooden double doors, panes of glass showing the backs of heads of what must have been hundreds of teenagers.
‘Are you ready?’ she smiled.
The uneasy feeling intensified and I felt my hands grow clammy as I asked, ‘Ready for . . . ? Is Miss Otaru in there?’
‘She’ll be with the other teachers. They tend to sit on the stage.’
‘Right,’ I whispered.
Something definitely wasn’t right but everything had moved so quickly and if it was true that Amy was inside she could surely sort this mess out. Oh God, I didn’t want to make things worse. The whole point of coming here was to fix everything, not make her hate me more.
The receptionist was staring at me, her magenta pink lips puckered. ‘Well, go on then. And lots of luck!’ she added brightly.
Luck? Why would I need . . .
Holding open the double doors she beckoned for me to move inside. The million teenagers peered round, straining to see who was disrupting their morning. Up ahead on a stage lined with chairs sat various staff members. I frantically scanned the room for Amy’s face. When I did land upon it, I could see even from this distance the total confusion that drew her eyebrows together. She rose from her chair and then sat back down again. We must have been more than 100 yards away from each other and all the million teenagers had started to whisper. Holy actual shit, what had I walked in on?
I wanted to turn and run back through the double doors, thrust my laminated badge at the receptionist and clatter back down the path outside and into London where one million teenagers weren’t looking at me.
A middle-aged woman with shoulder-length brown hair approached me. ‘Jacinda, a pleasure, I’m Mrs McDonald, the head teacher here. I’ll show you to the stage.’
To my horror I was being led down the side of the room of millions of teenagers towards the stage, where an empty lectern stood in the middle. Amy was watching me, her mouth opening and shutting. I gave her a grimace and a small smile, torn between abject fear and pleasure at seeing her.
‘Does the technician need to help you set up?’
‘I made a memory stick,’ I whispered.
‘Lovely. Well, Mike