kept meaning to change the password as urged by the school IT department, but it seemed too final a step to
take, as though I were accepting that my husband would never again be part of my life.
I tried to remember whether I’d ever used a laptop in a classroom to access my mail. If I’d left my email open or saved my password it might have been possible for someone to gain
access to my account. The only other school computer I used was the old desktop in the staffroom: a huge old machine that my father kept promising to replace. Usually I just used it to access a
timetable or a term calendar. But just in case, I was going to check.
The staffroom was full of people gulping down final shots of caffeine before afternoon lessons. A shaft of sunlight broke through the casement, illuminating dust motes and exposing the lines on
the faces of those drinking up coffee and marking exercise books. Only Emily’s young face could stand up to the brightness, the beam of light illuminating smooth skin like marble. She sat
apart from the others, flicking through the pages of a magazine. Once again I noticed how, for all her youthful features, her expression had a watchfulness to it unusual for a gap-year student
whose prime concern should surely be saving their small earnings for a night out in Oxford and hoping they’d have enough left at the end of the school year to go travelling in Thailand. She
looked as though she was on guard.
The bell rang. With sighs and stretches people moved towards the door. Emily put down her magazine and watched them, her expression still blank.
‘Don’t forget the rehearsal this afternoon,’ called Jenny Hall, head of drama. ‘I’m relying on you to help, Meredith.’
‘I’ll be there.’ I wondered how Emily was getting on with the repair to the doll’s costume. Perhaps it could make an appearance in the play. I shuddered. Then I
remembered what Tracey had said and what I’d seen for myself on the Delicious Confections website. The dolls were expensive: hundreds of pounds. Would a teenager have that much money or the
credit card necessary to make the purchase? But I thought about the new and expensive hockey sticks and squash rackets, electronic gadgets and laptops that returned with the pupils at the beginning
of term. A reborn doll would present no financial challenge to many of these kids.
Emily followed Jenny out of the staffroom. ‘Do you still want me to come and start measuring up for costumes?’ she asked.
‘Please,’ Jenny replied, as the door closed behind them. Good. Emily was throwing herself into school life. Perhaps involvement would make her seem less awkward.
Deidre was struggling with the computer, glancing at her watch. ‘Blast, I’m late already . . . Where did I see those French verb worksheets?’ She sighed. Finally she found the
fourth-year work she was looking for and managed to print it off. ‘Sorry, Meredith.’ She stood up to reach for the sheets on the printer. ‘I know I’m slow.’ She peered
at them over her spectacles. ‘Damn, I’m two short.’ She scowled at the screen and stabbed at the keyboard. The printer emitted a couple of chuntering moans. ‘Come on, come
on.’ She tapped the mouse again. The printer spewed out two more sheets, each rattle suggesting that its tired old heart was about to give up. ‘Your laptop broken?’
‘Forgot to save something onto the memory stick.’ I gave what I hope was a casual smile and prayed she’d move off.
‘Better dash.’ She gathered up her bag and glasses case. ‘I’ve got 1B. They’re little devils if I’m not in the classroom before them.’
I only had about two minutes before my own second-year class would be waiting for me in the classroom. And if I wasn’t there promptly, they too would be up to mischief.
I started typing in the Delicious Confections website address to see whether the Internet browser would predict it. It didn’t. I checked the Internet history and
take, as though I were accepting that my husband would never again be part of my life.
I tried to remember whether I’d ever used a laptop in a classroom to access my mail. If I’d left my email open or saved my password it might have been possible for someone to gain
access to my account. The only other school computer I used was the old desktop in the staffroom: a huge old machine that my father kept promising to replace. Usually I just used it to access a
timetable or a term calendar. But just in case, I was going to check.
The staffroom was full of people gulping down final shots of caffeine before afternoon lessons. A shaft of sunlight broke through the casement, illuminating dust motes and exposing the lines on
the faces of those drinking up coffee and marking exercise books. Only Emily’s young face could stand up to the brightness, the beam of light illuminating smooth skin like marble. She sat
apart from the others, flicking through the pages of a magazine. Once again I noticed how, for all her youthful features, her expression had a watchfulness to it unusual for a gap-year student
whose prime concern should surely be saving their small earnings for a night out in Oxford and hoping they’d have enough left at the end of the school year to go travelling in Thailand. She
looked as though she was on guard.
The bell rang. With sighs and stretches people moved towards the door. Emily put down her magazine and watched them, her expression still blank.
‘Don’t forget the rehearsal this afternoon,’ called Jenny Hall, head of drama. ‘I’m relying on you to help, Meredith.’
‘I’ll be there.’ I wondered how Emily was getting on with the repair to the doll’s costume. Perhaps it could make an appearance in the play. I shuddered. Then I
remembered what Tracey had said and what I’d seen for myself on the Delicious Confections website. The dolls were expensive: hundreds of pounds. Would a teenager have that much money or the
credit card necessary to make the purchase? But I thought about the new and expensive hockey sticks and squash rackets, electronic gadgets and laptops that returned with the pupils at the beginning
of term. A reborn doll would present no financial challenge to many of these kids.
Emily followed Jenny out of the staffroom. ‘Do you still want me to come and start measuring up for costumes?’ she asked.
‘Please,’ Jenny replied, as the door closed behind them. Good. Emily was throwing herself into school life. Perhaps involvement would make her seem less awkward.
Deidre was struggling with the computer, glancing at her watch. ‘Blast, I’m late already . . . Where did I see those French verb worksheets?’ She sighed. Finally she found the
fourth-year work she was looking for and managed to print it off. ‘Sorry, Meredith.’ She stood up to reach for the sheets on the printer. ‘I know I’m slow.’ She peered
at them over her spectacles. ‘Damn, I’m two short.’ She scowled at the screen and stabbed at the keyboard. The printer emitted a couple of chuntering moans. ‘Come on, come
on.’ She tapped the mouse again. The printer spewed out two more sheets, each rattle suggesting that its tired old heart was about to give up. ‘Your laptop broken?’
‘Forgot to save something onto the memory stick.’ I gave what I hope was a casual smile and prayed she’d move off.
‘Better dash.’ She gathered up her bag and glasses case. ‘I’ve got 1B. They’re little devils if I’m not in the classroom before them.’
I only had about two minutes before my own second-year class would be waiting for me in the classroom. And if I wasn’t there promptly, they too would be up to mischief.
I started typing in the Delicious Confections website address to see whether the Internet browser would predict it. It didn’t. I checked the Internet history and
Similar Books
