The Classroom: A gripping and terrifying thriller which asks who you can trust in 2018

‘Oh, you can’t possibly drive after that!’ she exclaimed. ‘Kirsten will have to drive you.’

‘Kirsten is very busy,’ Kirsten said drily. ‘She has to drive her daughter to school and then go to work.’ Christ, she was thinking. Come on, Yvette, just give us some private family time, OK? Stop interfering. Maybe she was good-natured, but a good-natured busybody is still a busybody.

Kirsten turned to Harriet. ‘Come on, sweetie, let’s get you to school, hey? Sorry about this.’

She tried to hug Harriet to her in order to make the point, but Harriet refused to budge. Hugging her teddy bear seemed to be enough for her. Frankly, Kirsten felt the same – give her a day on the pavement hugging a soft toy over this mess.

Yvette then came out at her fake best. ‘Oh, of course, I quite understand. You are so busy. I don’t know how you do it. Let me drop Ian off then.’

‘But it’s miles out of your way!’ said Ian. ‘You can’t possibly do that. I’ll get a cab if you’re that worried.’

‘I was actually heading over your way to see someone about upholstery – so it’s right on track. Come on, hop in,’ she said, gesturing to the Audi. ‘And I can bring you home again too!’

Yvette has some kind of pretend job Kirsten has never understood. Interior design brokering services or something. It basically means everyone else does the work and Yvette is mentioned in lots of magazines, which she reads out to people over coffee.

‘Yvette, you know that’s unnecessary,’ Kirsten told her, voice low. But Ian was already walking (unsteadily) to the car. ‘Ian, tell her it’s fine,’ she pleaded with him. They’d squabbled, sure, but it was their marriage, right?

Yvette turned to Kirsten, allowing herself a little smile. ‘I know lots of things, Kirsten. Let me be the judge of what’s necessary.’

Her words chill Kirsten, even thinking back over them again now. I know lots of things, Kirsten. What did she mean by that? She’d moved in just after Harriet came along. Bought the house through a private sale, friend of a friend of their previous neighbour. Who, if Kirsten isn’t mistaken, didn’t know anything about what mattered.

‘Ian!’ Kirsten called to him. ‘I’m sorry, OK? We’ll talk this evening.’ She tried to muster up some tenderness that she didn’t feel. Never start the day in the middle of an argument, right? But he wouldn’t even look at her. She could feel her eyes tearing up – life was not meant to be like this, her marriage was not meant to turn into this – so she had to turn her attention back to Harriet.

She tried to persuade her into the Lexus with as little fuss as possible.

‘Let’s see if I’ve got any mini-cheddars, hey?’ Kirsten asked her, in her best sing-song voice.

Harriet looked momentarily interested. Kirsten rifled round in her handbag and found a rustling packet.

‘Ooh, ooh, this sounds promising!’ Kirsten said, hoping it wasn’t sanitary wear. She pulled out her spoils. Oh. Crisps. Not even kiddy ones – those posh Kettle Chip things, an emergency snack. ‘Oh sorry, sweetie, it’s not mini-cheddars. You can’t have these.’

But of course, Harriet reached out her hand. Kirsten gave her the crisps, and stooped down to wipe away her tears. Harriet wriggled her face away.

‘You’ll understand one day,’ Kirsten told her.

But Kirsten hoped she wouldn’t. She hoped Harriet would always be innocent. As innocent as she could be, anyway, considering.

They had the same problem getting into school. After a difficult car journey, Harriet was on strike. Once they arrived, Kirsten had to sit next to her in the back, reading her a story. Then sit on the pavement and coax her out with the bribe of chocolate for supper (hoping she’d have forgotten by then). Thankfully, Kirsten didn’t think any of the parents heard. Although, when she turned back to face the school, she saw Harriet’s new teacher standing there. She didn’t know what the teacher saw, but it couldn’t have been the worst. Kirsten waved to her, made a little grimace, but the teacher went back into the building. Harriet, suddenly willing again, ran after her and was gone before Kirsten even had time to kiss her on the head.

Suddenly Kirsten was alone, the surreal, chaotic whirlwind of the morning finally over. Until she looked at her watch and saw her first patient would be there in fifteen minutes.

And so it has been, non-stop, until this break that is nearly over.

At times Kirsten secretly wishes she could have nothing more to do with Ian and Harriet. That she could just not get the weekly shop in, which she does so that Ian and Harriet are always well supplied with their favourite foods. Not sort out paying the bills, so they continue to have a warm, light home. Not read the books at bedtime with Harriet, then listen to Ian de-stressing from his day. Not have to do the school run. Just walk away.

But of course, she never would. Because she loves Harriet too much to do anything like that to her. And Ian too. Of course she does. It’s just that – how is this her life now? How is it that, however hard she tries, she can’t get everything right? She doesn’t mean ‘anything’ – if she just had to get one thing right a day, that would fine. But to get it all right? Too much to ask.

Time was, she would have called her best friend and fellow former med student turned psychiatrist, Clare. They’d meet for a glass of wine, or if that was too difficult, they’d just chat on the phone while drinking their own. But she couldn’t do that anymore. It wasn’t that they’d drifted or got new best friends. Their friendship had become … compromised.

Chapter 9 (#ulink_45f5aed1-1fc6-5673-8ca4-f09d808f6eb6)

BECKY, 1 AUGUST 2012

Day one of the summer school. Everyone is congregated in the hall for a warm-up. It’s not Becky’s school; it’s a posher, bigger one. This is called the Main Hall, as though there are other ones. At the stage end, sitting with their legs swinging off the edge, are the cool girls. Caitlin is there in cut-off denim shorts, of course. She’s not the only one. Maybe there was a message – this is what we’re wearing today. Except Becky wasn’t on the thread.

She waves at Caitlin, expecting Caitlin to beckon her over. But no – she just gives a dismissive wave and carries on talking to Gwen Collins. Of course she does. They can flick their long blonde hair around together and share candy-cane lip gloss. Subtle? No. Effective? Probably.

Instead, Becky ties her cardigan round the waist of her (long) denim dungarees and waits for the session to start. No sign of Andy.

But then, a tap on the shoulder.

‘Hey,’ says a voice behind her.

It’s him. Andy. A little thrill caresses her spine as she turns to face him.

‘Hey,’ she says back.

‘So, you feeling all luvvie, then?’ he asks her.

Is this flirting? she wonders. If so, then maybe she should half-flirt back. You know, just in case he isn’t, but maybe he is.

‘I could—’ she starts.

But whatever her comeback was going to be, it’s cut off by the authoritarian clapping of hands at the front of the room.

‘Right, let’s make a start, shall we?’ It’s a man, casually dressed in a black top and black jeans. He’s in shape. His clothes fit well and he looks like a bona fide actor. Except then he introduces himself as a teacher.

‘I’ll be leading the course,’ he says. ‘First off, I want you to warm up your bodies and voices. Make space – reach out so your arm span is wide enough for you to just avoid touching fingertips with the person next to you.’

Andy and Becky reach out their arms. They manage to just not avoid touching fingertips, and Andy gives Becky a little smile as they both hold their pose. Becky looks down modestly at the floor. When she looks up, Caitlin is magically by her side, with Gwen. Looks like she wants to play the same game with Andy. Becky moves over. After all, the long legs and short shorts are bound to get Andy’s attention eventually.

But Andy leans in close to Becky, certainly not regulation distance away.

‘If they want us to be in pairs, we’re a couple,’ he whispers.

She smiles. Her lips may not be coated in candy gloss, but she hopes she makes up for it in genuine emotion.

‘OK,’ she whispers back.

Andy stays by her side through the warm-up exercises, until the leader announces they should sit down and take a break. Becky sits, hugging her knees to her chest. Andy, Caitlin and Gwen sit next to her. Becky notices some sweat darkening the underarms of Andy’s maroon T-shirt (and also, to her satisfaction, those of Gwen’s bubble-gum pink one).

‘So, you’ll all be wondering what performance we’re working up to this week. Well, we’re going classic musical.’ He waits to allow muted cheers/boos to subside. ‘I want a medley of Rodgers and Hammerstein – I’ve selected scenes from South Pacific, Oklahoma, a couple of others. There’s enough there to give you an intro to song, dance and some serious acting as well. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be doing auditions for those of you who want principal parts. The rest of you are very welcome to the chorus roles – but I’ll still be divvying up some lines of the score for all of you. Sound fair?’

Some nods.

Becky doesn’t nod or shake. She would rather just hide in a maths textbook. What was she doing signing up to this? The idea of singing in front of everyone – Andy, Gwen, Caitlin, and all the thirty or so others is mortifying.

‘Eurgh,’ she says, just as Gwen says loudly, ‘Well, I’ll be the girl who just can’t say no, then.’ Gwen then laughs loudly.