So, for the entire morning, that’s what they get. There are moments where I find myself zoning out, thinking about the stalker, about the clothes and about Mum, but I manage to be coherent enough to stick to the lesson plan. But as soon as it’s over, I’m back to my laptop watching the footage. The footage from Mum’s camera is completely blank for the rest of the night. I give up on it, instead switching to the live feed in the rest of the house. It jolts me for a moment. I didn’t quite expect the feeling of shame that washes over me as I watch Erin in the kitchen heating up soup for Mum as she sits at the table. It’s so intimate. So voyeuristic. And oddly compelling.
Erin appears to be chatting, while Mum sits stoically still. When Erin takes the soup across to the table, Mum is scowling. She folds her arms and turns away while Erin patiently places the bowl before her, with the spoon on the right. Erin sits down next to Mum with her sandwich, smiling brightly. But Mum is still scowling. Eventually she picks up the spoon and drops it into the bowl. The soup splatters over the table, and I’m still sat staring at them, watching the stubbornness of my mother as she refuses to eat. Erin even offers the woman her own sandwich, but still Mum looks away.
I’m so enthralled in the video feed that I hardly notice the children come back. I missed playground duty altogether. My face burns with embarrassment. I can’t remember who I was supposed to work with on playground duty. Maybe it was Samuel, the one male teacher on our staff, an older man with grey nose hair and a tea-spotted tie. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, failing to rub away the thoughts from my mind.
The rest of the afternoon is a diluted version of my lesson plan. I let the children get way out of hand during their individual work while I watch more of Erin and Mum going about their day. I see nothing out of the ordinary on the video feed. Mum is her usual stubborn self, nearly always sitting or standing with her arms folded, her chin high and haughty. Erin spends most of the time chatting, all smiles and patience. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I imagine it’s the same kind of chatter I hear when I’m with them, comments on the weather or compliments on Mum’s outfit, anything breezy and light.
At the end of the day I have no desire to stop and chat with my colleagues, and I definitely want to avoid Moira, so I pack up my things and rush to my car.
The summer weather appears to be breaking. Dark clouds have formed above. The air is thick with a pre-storm atmosphere. My skin is slick with sweat from the muggy climate. At these times, when the weather changes so quickly, I no longer feel like I’m in England. I miss the grey drizzle of two-thirds of the year. This dramatic atmosphere belongs in an exotic country far from here. I want the comfort of my homeland back. I want a soggy umbrella and damp feet, not a pressure that makes my sinuses ache.
I want things to be normal again.
I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath.
*
PC Hollis promises to watch the video footage from the front of the house. But I know he won’t find anything significant about the shadowy figure appearing from the hedge. I check the camera in Mum’s room to find that a wire has come loose at the back. Then I email the security guy, who can’t fix it for another week. So I swap Mum’s camera with another while she’s taking a bath.
I have a few more calls from Peter on my phone. I take screenshots of each one for my log. I had hoped he’d got bored of me and moved on to someone else, but it seems he’s harder to shake than that.
It’s late by the time I finally stop moving. I sink into bed and fall into a deep slumber, dreaming of walking outside to find Mum hunched over the bag of clothes. Her head jerks to the left, like a startled animal’s. I take a step forward, holding out my hand as I would with a wild deer or a
Erin appears to be chatting, while Mum sits stoically still. When Erin takes the soup across to the table, Mum is scowling. She folds her arms and turns away while Erin patiently places the bowl before her, with the spoon on the right. Erin sits down next to Mum with her sandwich, smiling brightly. But Mum is still scowling. Eventually she picks up the spoon and drops it into the bowl. The soup splatters over the table, and I’m still sat staring at them, watching the stubbornness of my mother as she refuses to eat. Erin even offers the woman her own sandwich, but still Mum looks away.
I’m so enthralled in the video feed that I hardly notice the children come back. I missed playground duty altogether. My face burns with embarrassment. I can’t remember who I was supposed to work with on playground duty. Maybe it was Samuel, the one male teacher on our staff, an older man with grey nose hair and a tea-spotted tie. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, failing to rub away the thoughts from my mind.
The rest of the afternoon is a diluted version of my lesson plan. I let the children get way out of hand during their individual work while I watch more of Erin and Mum going about their day. I see nothing out of the ordinary on the video feed. Mum is her usual stubborn self, nearly always sitting or standing with her arms folded, her chin high and haughty. Erin spends most of the time chatting, all smiles and patience. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I imagine it’s the same kind of chatter I hear when I’m with them, comments on the weather or compliments on Mum’s outfit, anything breezy and light.
At the end of the day I have no desire to stop and chat with my colleagues, and I definitely want to avoid Moira, so I pack up my things and rush to my car.
The summer weather appears to be breaking. Dark clouds have formed above. The air is thick with a pre-storm atmosphere. My skin is slick with sweat from the muggy climate. At these times, when the weather changes so quickly, I no longer feel like I’m in England. I miss the grey drizzle of two-thirds of the year. This dramatic atmosphere belongs in an exotic country far from here. I want the comfort of my homeland back. I want a soggy umbrella and damp feet, not a pressure that makes my sinuses ache.
I want things to be normal again.
I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath.
*
PC Hollis promises to watch the video footage from the front of the house. But I know he won’t find anything significant about the shadowy figure appearing from the hedge. I check the camera in Mum’s room to find that a wire has come loose at the back. Then I email the security guy, who can’t fix it for another week. So I swap Mum’s camera with another while she’s taking a bath.
I have a few more calls from Peter on my phone. I take screenshots of each one for my log. I had hoped he’d got bored of me and moved on to someone else, but it seems he’s harder to shake than that.
It’s late by the time I finally stop moving. I sink into bed and fall into a deep slumber, dreaming of walking outside to find Mum hunched over the bag of clothes. Her head jerks to the left, like a startled animal’s. I take a step forward, holding out my hand as I would with a wild deer or a
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