The Drowning Pool. Syd Moore

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      I turned into the staff room and made for the coffee machine. I was being too hard on him I ruminated, now regretful, as I set my load down on the side. He was just trying to help.

      I fumbled in my bag for my purse, finally scooping out a handful of coins, which promptly scattered across the ledge that the machine perched on.

      I cursed and picked up a twenty-pence piece. It went into the coin slot and straight out of the return. ‘Fuck.’

      ‘Having one of those days are we?’

      McBastard stood beside me. A half smile curled his lips, suggestive of glee at my blinding incompetence.

      As there were no students present in school that week, we were permitted to wear jeans. McBastard’s grey chinos had been swapped for dark denim that caught across the hips and tailored down over his long legs, fleshing him out for a change. To my surprise I saw he was wearing a t-shirt with a logo of a cool band that I had once publicized. Was the robot becoming human?

      ‘Let’s say I’ve had better mornings.’ Struggling with the coin slot, I glanced at him in time to see his volcano eyes fix on me. He looked away immediately, embarrassed to be caught staring. Could he tell something strange was happening to me? Was I dragging around an aura of weirdness?

      The coins returned once more. I was starting to feel self-conscious.

      McBastard coughed. ‘Here, let me.’ He retrieved the money and this time, his efforts produced a coffee. His fingertips brushed against my palm as he handed over my change.

      Without thanking him I scrambled my stuff together hastily and made towards the desks at the far side of the room.

      ‘Sarah!’ he called after me. I turned and met his stare. The openness of his face had melted away. ‘I need your course review. Tomorrow at the latest, please.’

      I answered him with a grunt and sat down, spreading my papers over the wooden top, noting with bewilderment that my hand was tingling where he had touched me.

      At lunch John found me in the canteen mauling a stale beef sandwich and trying to put the horrors of the weekend out of my mind.

      He wedged his butt along the pine bench next to mine. ‘Have you seen Sue?’ He was trying to make conversation.

      I informed him she had an ante-natal appointment at the hospital but didn’t expand. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

      John poked a dried-up triangle of something pizza-like on his plate. The food, which was below average at the best of times, was virtually inedible once the students, sorry customers, had departed.

      He forced himself to bite the cheesy triangle and winced. ‘Good night on Friday, wasn’t it?’ he said, through a mouthful of dried bread.

      My mind went straight to the phone call, the haunting watery words, the strangulated tone of the woman. With some effort, I focused on the Red Lion hours.

      ‘I was quite drunk. Any gossip?’ I did my best to engage.

      ‘One of Finance got chucked out for doing coke in the loo.’

      ‘Oh, who?’

      ‘Tina Worten.’

      John took another bite and we munched in silence until he put down his crust and said, ‘You’re a bit pissed off with me, aren’t you? What is it? The hysterical woman reference? I was being silly. I thought we had that kind of relationship. I’m sorry. Is that why you phoned me Saturday night? To be hysterical? I was only concerned because I didn’t realize you were joking.’

      I stared at him blankly. I had phoned him when I was upset Saturday night, hoping he might be up. But when the call went to his voicemail I left some garbled message for him to call me. It hadn’t occurred to me that he would assume the call was a prank, although part of me was mighty relieved that he might.

      ‘Now you’re pissed off with me for not getting it. I understand. But can we just go back to being normal? I won’t mention it again.’

      I wondered briefly if I should go with the prank call idea. It certainly made me feel better. Better than him thinking I was mad.

      ‘Sorry, John. Something happened on Saturday night but I don’t want to go into it.’

      ‘Something else? I’m here if you need to talk.’

      ‘I have to try and work a few things out in my head first.’

      ‘And you think I’ll think you’re hysterical.’

      ‘Perhaps.’

      ‘Shit, don’t punish me for something stupid I said when I was pissed.’

      ‘I’m not. Honestly. I’m just not sure what’s going on and …’ I faltered.

      ‘You’re under a lot of stress, Sarah. We all are. It’s the end of term and we all need a good rest. I’m sure you’ll be back on form by September. Give yourself a break. Go away. Have some fun.’

      I balked at the mention of September. The idea that this might escalate, that I might return to school with the current situation unresolved was terrifying.

      ‘Oh God.’ I hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

      John’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is it something else? I’m getting the sense that you don’t want to talk to me.’

      ‘You got it, Columbo.’

      He ignored my barb and continued. ‘OK, you may not want to talk to me, but how do you feel about talking to my sister? I spoke to her over the weekend. She’s a little left of centre but I mentioned your cockleshell thing and she said she’d heard of that kind of thing happening.’

      His sister. ‘Oh yes, the one into “weirdies” and stuff.’ The thought was appealing however. ‘But you said she was in California?’

      ‘She is. You know the wonders of technology can reach out across the miles. Do you have Skype on your trendy new internet?’

      I nodded.

      He wrote her handle on a piece of paper. ‘I’ll send her an email this afternoon and let her know you may call. Do it. She won’t think you’re nutsville, which everyone knows you are anyway. Give her a try. Seriously, it might just be worth talking to someone. If not to put the whole thing to rest, at least to let off steam at someone who’s odder than your good self.’

      That night I settled Alfie early. It took a while as he was agitated and didn’t want to be on his own but eventually his tired little body won over his restless mind and he fell asleep. and I was able to go downstairs and have a little me-time.

      The living room was dark, the windows onto the street were still open and yet hardly any noise drifted in. There was no hum of traffic or doors slamming, only the calm of Monday evening hibernation.

      I dug into my pocket and pulled out John’s sister’s details. ‘Put it to rest,’ he had said.

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