Ahead of his Time Page 7

  “Morning, Mr Apsley, cold again, isn’t it? I didn’t like all that snow we had at the weekend. They forecast more tonight; did you hear?”

  “Morning, Miss Colman,” I replied, not really in the mood for talking as I rummaged through my pigeon-hole yawning my head off.

  “Are we tired, Mr Apsley? That was a very big yawn,” she said, as she passed me a hand-delivered letter. The envelope just bore mine and the school names but no address. I gathered up the letter with some other school paperwork, shovelled it all in my briefcase, and headed off to the staff room. I was going to need copious amounts of coffee to get through the day.

  The morning lessons dragged. I set my students tasks that negated the need for much involvement from me, which was unfair to them, but hey, I was pooped and had nothing to offer them this morning. Whilst the class were reviewing an exercise just before lunch, I’d actually nodded off in my chair. As I slipped into a well-needed slumber, one of the students who sought some assistance with the exercise I’d set had come up to the front and nudged my shoulder. As I jolted awake, the inevitable happened as all thirty students fell about in hysterics. I was fully aware the incident would go around the school like wildfire. The only positive was this rather embarrassing episode couldn’t be posted on Instagram. Teachers in forty-years time, I imagine, had a much tougher time.

  I padded into the office just after noon.

  “I’m expecting a call from The Fairfield Chronicle between now and one. Can you put it through to the staff room when it comes through, please?” I asked Miss Colman.

  “Of course. Oh, Mr Apsley, is there a news item you’re reporting?”

  “What?” I shot Miss Colman a confused look.

  “Fairfield Chronicle … the call you said about?”

  “Oh, I see. No, my good friend, George, is a Type-Setter there.”

  “Oh, how exciting, working for a newspaper! He’ll get to see the stories before anyone else! Is there an exciting news item today?”

  “Yeah, very exciting. Sorry … I have no idea.” It didn’t take much for Miss Colman to get excited. She lived on her own, and I knew any snippet of gossip had her ears pricking up. I thought if she’d lived in my day, she would have loved all forms of social media, posting daily, and probably creating and updating her stories hourly.

  “By the way, don’t forget Mr Clark would like you to interview the two gentlemen this afternoon for the temporary caretaker role. The interviews are at one and two pm.”

  “Oh, bollocks,” I mumbled. Fortunately, Miss Colman didn’t hear me.

  “I do hope Mr Trosh soon recovers from his operation. He’s always so helpful, and the school just isn’t the same without him.”

  “Yes, Clive is a lovely man. I think, Miss Colman, you carry a torch for our dependable caretaker.” I swivelled and smirked at her, knowing full well I was right as she often conjured up jobs for Clive to do in the school office just so she could have him close by.

  “Mr Apsley! Really! I’ll have you know that I’m a respectable lady, and Mr Trosh is a gentleman!”

  “Quite.” I moved over to her desk, and had a quick glance left and right to check no one overheard us, which would have been impossible as we were the only two people in the office, but I seemed to have copied this manoeuvre from Miss Colman over the last few months. “Miss Colman, everyone knows you have a soft spot for Clive, and everyone also knows he would do anything for you. If I’ve learned anything over the last five months, if you get a second chance you have to take it. I suggest you get yourself up Fairfield General later today and see how Clive is. I know he’ll be over the moon to see you.”

  Miss Colman burned bright, the flush rising up her face akin to an unstoppable flow of red-hot lava. “Mr Apsley! I shall do no such thing!”

  “Yes, you will. Even if I have to take you up there myself.” I smiled as she shot her hand to her mouth. Her neck and face still burning bright, lighting up the room like a Belisha beacon.

  Miss Colman coughed, shuffled some papers, then drummed her fingers on the table. “Well, perhaps I could go and say hello. That would be a nice thing to do, wouldn’t it? Although, Mr Apsley, do you think it’s appropriate for a single lady to visit a gentleman in the hospital?”

  “Yes, I do. As I said, you’ll make Clive’s day.”

  “Really, do you think so?”

  “I know so. Take this opportunity, Miss Colman. If you don’t, I guarantee you’ll regret it.”

  Miss Colman looked excited and had developed a glow, no longer caused by embarrassment but the anticipation of seeing Clive. We all knew she held a candle for him, and we all knew that she was his siren. They just needed a nudge.

  I left the office and trotted off to the staff room, hoping George would call soon with an update on last night’s events. Flopping down on one of the armchairs, I lit a cigarette and closed my eyes, although quickly realising I was close to nodding off again. Yawning, I rummaged through my briefcase, searching for the CVs for the two interviews. Pulling out the heap of paperwork, the envelope which Miss Colman had handed me this morning slipped out. Plucking it up, I reviewed the front again.

  Jason Apsley

  City of Fairfield School

  Strictly Private and Confidential

  The staff room phone rang. Colin Poole, who’d just entered the room, grabbed it as I jumped up from my chair. I strode towards him whilst tapping the unopened letter on my wrist.

  “Jason, it’s Miss Colman; she says she has a call for you.”

  “Thanks, Colin,” I said, as I took the receiver whilst staring at the envelope in my hand.

  “Mr Apsley, I have a George from the Fairfield Chronicle on the line, putting you through now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, lad. Look, I haven’t got long as there’s a bit of a flap on here. They’ve changed the front page at the last minute, so we’ve got to work frantically to get ready for the print run. Anyway, don’t panic; Martin is fine. I nipped in this morning with some food, so he can get through today. Can we meet after work at the pub so I can bring you up to speed? I can’t talk now as I said there’s a bit of a flap on here.”

  Whilst George was talking, I’d thumbed open the envelope and shaken out the single sheet of paper.

  “Yes, George, that’s—”

  “Lad, you there?”

  “What … sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said to meet at the pub tonight. You okay? You sound distracted? Lad?”

  “Err … yeah … fine, George. See you then …”

  I plopped the receiver back in the cradle and stared at the letter. My hand had now started to shake, so I gripped the paper with both hands. My heart rate had increased and was now thumping in my chest as I wandered back to my chair. Dropping the letter on my heap of paperwork, I fumbled through my pockets for my cigarettes.

  “You okay, Jason? You look a little peaky. Nothing wrong, I hope?” Colin called across from the end of the staff room as he smelt the milk bottle and the foil cap before plopping some in his tea.

  With my arms gripping the wooden armrests, I perched on the end of the chair as cigarette smoke wafted up my face. Closing my left eye to avoid the smoke, I re-read the handwritten letter.

  Hello Jason,

  I’m sorry to approach you like this, but this is not an easy letter to write. My name is Jessica Redmond, and I believe you are my father. After over twenty years, I know this will come as a shock to receive this letter, but I would like to get to know you, although with a heavy heart I will accept if that’s not what you want. I really want to meet you, and I will be in the Beehive pub on Coldhams Lane at 6pm on 18th and 19th if you feel you could come and meet me. I don’t want anything from you, but just the need to meet you.

  Sorry for my ramble, and desperately hope to see you soon.

  Your daughter

  Jess

  “Jason, you sure you’re okay?” Colin stood a few feet from me, stirrin
g his cup of tea.

  I glanced up and removed the cigarette from my mouth. “Sorry, Colin. Err … yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Anything I can help with?” he offered, still scraping the spoon around his cup.

  “No, but thank you.” Sitting back in the chair, I wondered how it was possible that everything had turned to shit in such a short space of time.

  Two days ago, my life was bloody perfect. Now Martin had landed in my old car; Jenny knew something was up; Don was fishing for information which I had no idea how I would sort that out, and Christ, now other Jason’s daughter wanted to meet me – for fuck sake – what a nightmare. Could I just ignore the letter? Jess had written she’d accept if I didn’t want to get to know her. If I didn’t turn up, that would be that – or would it? Perhaps she might change her mind and then come to seek me out at school. Or worse, she’d discovered where I worked, so she might have fathomed out where I live. If she turned up there, oh Christ, the nightmare would get worse.

  10

  Olivetti

  Both George and Jess wanted to meet me tonight, but weighing up the choices, I quickly concluded Jess would just have to wait until tomorrow night. Coffee and cigarette finished, I nipped through to the office to pick up my first candidate for the stand-in caretaker job.

  Roy was pushing me to take the Deputy Head position and was chucking jobs my way, presumably to get me in the swing of the role. However, I still wasn’t sure I wanted the position and certainly didn’t want to conduct these interviews today. Although I was experienced at interviewing in my previous life, so not a difficult task, but staying awake through them would be the tricky bit.

  Miss Colman was busy folding letters and stuffing them in envelopes as I padded into the office. “Miss Colman, is my first interview here yet?”

  She looked up, performed her signature quick check left and right, and beckoned me over, which were her usual actions before launching into some juicy gossip.

  “Mr Apsley, not that I’m one to gossip, as you know.” She leant in a little closer, glancing left to check Roy’s office door was firmly closed.

  “Yes.” Not as friendly a greeting as I would usually give, but I wasn’t in the mood today.

  “Well, Roy has some detectives in his office at the moment along with Mr Foord from the Education Authority. Obviously, I don’t know what it’s about, but I’ve heard a little of the conversation—”

  Roy’s door swung open, and he poked his head around the door frame.

  “Miss Colman, can you dig out those purchase records for the new Olivetti typewriters we acquired last year, please?” Still gripping the door frame, he glanced at me, then back at Miss Coleman.

  He had a ruddy complexion, which I now knew to be a sign he was under pressure.

  “Bring them into my office as soon as you’ve found them, please.” He swivelled his head back in my direction, “Jason, can you join me in my office?”

  I glanced at Miss Colman, who arched her eyebrow at me as she busied herself rifling through a filing cabinet drawer. Entering Roy’s office, I noticed three gentlemen who Miss Colman was presumably about to describe when in mid-flow of her gossiping. Two were seated, with one standing behind them, and they all swivelled around to look at me entering the room. Apart from the one standing, we were all of a similar age – early to mid-forties – the other probably ten years older and what hair he had left was grey and combed over to cover a blotchy scalp.

  “Gentlemen, this is Mr Apsley. He’s my acting Deputy Head.”

  Am I? News to me, I thought.

  “I thought it would be appropriate to bring him into the conversation, in case I’m not available should you need further assistance after today,” said Roy, as he re-took his seat in his brown leather swivel chair.

  I stood, feeling slightly concerned that another pile of shite was about to drop on my head as I gawped at the three men, now wondering what the hell was going on.

  With a similar hairstyle to Roy, one of the gents sitting turned to me and flipped over the cover to his notebook. “First name, Mr Apsley please,” he said, whilst repeatedly clicking the pen on and off as he looked up at me.

  “Jason, no middle name.” He made a note in his book, repeating what I said word for word, not that I believed he noted down anything other than the words Jason Apsley. He then slipped it into his jacket pocket and refolded the overcoat that was positioned on his lap.

  The other seated gent stood, leant across and offered his hand.

  “Malcolm Foord, Hertfordshire Education department. Good to meet you at last, Jason. Roy has been extremely complimentary regarding you, and we very much hope you take the Deputy position permanently. The position at one of our premier schools is—”

  The detective who’d just taken my name coughed and interrupted, “Yes, thank you, but can we get back to the matter in hand, please?”

  He glanced and nodded at the man standing who’d so far said nothing as he stood with his overcoat folded over his hands clasped in front of him. He turned slightly to face me.

  “Mr Apsley, what I’m about to tell you is highly confidential, so we will need to rely on your cooperation and discretion.” He stopped talking, presumably awaiting my confirmation which I supplied with a nod of my head. Now I was more than a little concerned, considering they’d asked for information about the school typewriters.

  “I’m DI Roberts from Hertfordshire Police. My colleague here is DI Litchfield from West Yorkshire Police.” Oh, bollocks, this wasn’t good, but at least I was getting a heads up, I guessed.

  “A letter was typed on an Olivetti typewriter, the exact same model that you have at this school, and sent last September to the West Yorkshire police, the Yorkshire Post and four national newspapers. It was an anonymous letter that claimed to know the assailant of two serious crimes. The envelope had a Fairfield post-mark, so you can see we are extremely keen to ascertain where this letter was typed and obviously who typed it.”

  Jesus – now I was blushing. The word guilty must have been radiating from me, almost expecting a flag to pop out of my ear with a ‘guilty, it was me’ sign on it. All I could manage was to croak a timid “Oh” as a response. A knock on the door afforded me a few seconds to recover my composure. Miss Colman scooted into the office, clasping a manilla folder which she attempted to hand to Roy. DI Litchfield intercepted it, whisking it out of her hand and offering no response. Miss Colman hovered for a few seconds; I could tell she was gagging for information.

  Roy nodded at her. “Thank you, Miss Colman.” With that, she backed out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Roy nodded to me, so I leant across and closed the door, thus spoiling Miss Colman’s opportunity to earwig the conversation. I expected she would now have a glass slapped against the wall or be peering through the keyhole.

  DI Litchfield had flipped open the file and now looked up at Roy, turned to me and back to Roy. “The school purchased twenty Olivetti typewriters in May 1976.” He glanced back down at the invoice. “I’m assuming those twenty are still at the school?”

  Roy and I looked at each other, he responded. “Yes, as far as I know. We’ve not had any reason to replace any of them as they are quite new.”

  DI Lichfield scratched the end of his nose, something he seemed to repeat every few seconds, then continued the conversation with Roy. “Who has access to the typewriters at the school?”

  “All students taking the two-year Pitman secretarial training. We have three classes that regularly use them as part of their education.”

  “Who else would use them?”

  “No one. The only other typewriter is in the school office, which Miss Colman, my secretary, uses. I’m certain that’s a different model, and she’s the only other person who requires the use of a typewriter.”

  “Please can you arrange for a list of names to be prepared of the students taking the Pitman course?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll ask Miss Colman to pull that together today for you.”r />
  “Yes please, sir. I’ll get an officer to collect it later this afternoon.”

  DI Roberts interjected. “As we discussed earlier, we’ll return at four-thirty this afternoon with a forensic officer. We will need to look at each typewriter, so we’ll collect the list then.”

  “I think that will do for now. Obviously, as stated, this is in the strictest confidence, and we’ll return later as discussed.” DI Litchfield stood and shook Roy’s hand and turned to shake mine, his grey eyes boring into my head. I was convinced he could see into my brain and the big guilty sign that was waving at him from behind my eyes.

  DI Roberts opened the door and stood waiting for his colleague as Miss Colman fell in. I guess she was leaning against the door as it was yanked open. She recovered herself by grabbing the bookcase, although her face was burning bright with embarrassment. A wisp of hair had escaped her perfectly formed bun and now hung over her left eye, which she blew out of the way only for it to drop back again.

  “Oh … Mr Apsley, hum … err…. your interview is here waiting,” she babbled and blushed even brighter as she grabbed the errant wisp of hair, trying to persuade it to return to its allotted position.

  “Thank you, Miss Colman. Can you show these gentlemen out, please?” replied Roy, oblivious that his secretary had been clearly caught in the act of snooping.

  The two detectives brushed past Miss Colman, although DI Litchfield turned back to look at Roy and then me. “Are any of the students in the secretarial classes male?”

  “Good grief, no! Being a secretary is not a man’s job. Why on earth would you suggest that?” Roy fired back. If ever I needed reminding that I was living forty-years in the past, Roy had just delivered it.

  DI Litchfield smiled. Although Roy had asked the question, he looked at me. “Males tend to hit the keys harder, making a deeper indent on the paper,” he replied, as I flushed bright-red … again.