Bed of Roses by Daisy Waugh Page A

of himself, a surge of pity for her. She doesn’t look up, or invite him to sit down, so he rests his bottom against the radiator on the wall directly opposite her, and waits.
    He clears his throat. ‘Are you OK, Fanny?’
    ‘I’m fine,’ she says, glancing up at last, sending him a feeble smile. ‘I’m fine. Sorry. Sorry not to er—’
    ‘The kids are missing you. Lessons began quarter of an hour ago.’
    ‘Yes, I know. I’m coming down in a minute. Could you—’
    ‘Mrs Tardy’s in with them.’
    ‘Oh, good. Good. I’ll be down in one minute.’
    He sighs, a sigh full of teacherly, mature forbearing. ‘Fanny, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’
    ‘Nothing’s going on. You can see what’s going on. That silly picture.’ She stops, shrugs. ‘You know how it is. Lonely people out there. They get the wrong idea.’
    It takes him a moment to work out what she is implying. ‘Ah, of course,’ he says slowly, ‘how very disagreeable.’ A tiny flash of vexation that he hadn’t worked it out before, and then he imagines it: the strange man, the photograph, Fanny listening. He feels faintly aroused. ‘Well, I suppose you’re always going to get these specimens, aren’t you. They see these sort of images in the paper and they take them as an invitation…’
    Fanny doesn’t say anything. The room feels small with Robert in it, talking confidingly about things she’d so much prefer never to discuss with him. People wanking over her. She feels claustrophobic. She wishes he’d leave her alone.
    ‘Perhaps we should call the police?’ he says.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Well, Fanny, it’s obviously upset you…’
    ‘No. Robert—’ She stops, forces herself to smile again. ‘I’m fine. Forget it. So, anyway, you came to see me. What did you want? How can I help? Actually, I’m glad you came, because I’ve really been wanting to ask you about Scarlett.’
    ‘Scarlett?’ He looks confused.
    ‘You know Scarlett. Little disabled Scarlett, with the thick specs.’ Fanny speaks quickly, keen to move the conversation on. ‘Scarlett Mozely. Only she won’t show me any work and there are no notes. Mrs Haywood can’t find any notes and I’m wondering—’
    ‘Fanny, excuse me, but I return to work to discover photographs of our new head teacher in her bra and panties all over the press and you’re talking to me about—’
    ‘I wasn’t in my “panties”,’ she snaps. ‘Don’t get carried away.’
    ‘The telephone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning. You’re hiding away in your office here, refusing to pick it up, refusing to come to class. It’s hardly the way—It’s hardly a very good example.’
    ‘I know.’ She sighs. ‘I know it isn’t. And I’m sorry. Give me two minutes—’
    ‘What were you doing in your bra and panties, anyway?’ he persists. ‘In front of everyone! What are the kids supposed to think? More to the point what is the Local Authority supposed to think? They’re seeing images of our new headmistress in her bra and panties—’
    ‘I wasn’t in my pa—’ She stops, glares up at him.
    He smiles. ‘And what about me?’ he adds softly. ‘Tell me, Fanny.’ He moves across and sits down on the edge of her desk. ‘Hmm? What am I supposed to think?’
    She can’t stand it. She can’t stand him. What’s he doing, sitting on her desk? She feels anger rising, and panic. She needs, she knows, to get on top of the situation. And yet—‘Please, think whatever you want.’ She longs for him to go away. Instead he leans forward, over the table, and rests a light hand on her shoulder. ‘No, really, Robert. Please,’ she shrugs her shoulder, but the light hand stays in place. ‘Thank you for trying to help. And I don’t mean to be rude, but—’
    ‘ Shhh ,’ he says, and begins to massage ever so gently. ‘You’re so tense, Fanny,’ he murmurs. ‘You need to relax.’
    ‘Please – seriously – piss off.’ And from nowhere she notices that she’s