Turn a Blind Eye. Vicky Newham

imported from Central Europe.’ She waved her twenty-pound note at the barmaid. ‘I grew up in Cardiff so this part of London reminds me of home. For years, Tiger Bay – that’s where I’m from – exported coal. I gather this area specialised in wool, sugar and rubber. A bit like Cardiff: lots of tight-knit communities, all with their own distinctive cultures and dialects.’ She ordered their drinks.

      ‘My grandmother says there’s always been a strong community spirit here. And a survival instinct.’ He told Andrea that he’d grown up in East London. ‘The Luftwaffe bombed the shit out of the docks during the Blitz, and lots of them had to be re-built. My gran was one of the thousands of families who lived in the slums until they were cleared.’ Steve thought about the port in NYC that Lucy had taken him to for dinner. Container ships had brought changes there, she’d told him. Apparently, the salt marshes of the estuary had originally been occupied by Native American Lenape people but they’d been pushed out when ocean liners and prison ships moved in.

      ‘Yeah. It’s such a shame.’ Andrea paid the barmaid. ‘My dad said the container ships were the end for the London docks. The hulls were too deep. In the sixties, they lost all the trade to ports with deeper water.’ She handed Steve his pint. ‘It’s weird how cyclical it all is. One group of immigrants arrive and move on, and the next wave takes their place. It’s the same in Cardiff and Liverpool. Like how there are hardly any Jews in Brick Lane now. They’ve all moved to North West London and Stoke Newington.’

      Scattered round the bar area were tables that had been carefully sanded and waxed to make them look old, legs painted in matt ‘barley’ and ‘seagrass’.

      ‘Shall we join the others?’

      Steve remembered the comments and looks he’d got in the staffroom earlier. He picked his way across the busy bar and chose a seat. Several of his colleagues stopped chatting and acknowledged him as they sat down. Everyone had obviously figured out he’d been the one to find Linda because he’d gone to fetch her. What a mistake that was. He’d have to front it out politely. Presumably the police would find out what happened. It was sod’s bloody law it was the first day of his new job and none of the staff knew him from Adam. They were bound to be curious and – much as it bugged him – suspicious.

      He glanced round the group of teachers; everyone looked as dazed as he felt. One guy was talking loudly, not to anyone in particular, and repeating himself. Moira was nursing a gin and tonic, and was staring into the distance, wide-eyed and catatonic, her curtain hair lodged behind her ears. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any more outbursts.

      ‘How are you feeling?’ a girl asked. Steve recognised her from the staffroom earlier. She had her arms round raised legs, the way a child sits. ‘We were all saying, this time last night, if someone told us what was going to happen today, we wouldn’t have believed it.’ She laughed nervously and took a swig of her drink.

      ‘It’s been a weird one for all of us, that’s for sure. And poor Mrs Gibson. I still can’t —’

      ‘What the hell is he doing here?’ Andrea’s question made everyone look up.

      The room jerked.

      A man, in jeans and a thick leather jacket, was weaving his way across the busy bar and heading for their table.

Wednesday – Dan

      Dan accompanied Neil to the staffroom and came back with Shari Ahmed, the other deputy head. The Australian education system was very different and he’d used the walk to get Shari to fill him in.

      She scuttled into the interview room ahead of him like a frightened animal. Made a dash first for the far chair then changed her mind and returned to the near one, mumbling apologies under her breath. Sweat dampened the headscarf round her forehead and temples, framing anxious eyes.

      Maya gave him the signal to commence the interview. He got the feeling she was curious to see him in action.

      ‘Are you left- or right-handed, Mrs Ahmed?’ Dan studied her face.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Left or right?’

      ‘Right. Why d’you —’

      ‘Where were you today between twelve noon and one p.m?’

      ‘In the staffroom with the rest of the staff. I’ve already told your –’

      ‘Was Rich at the meeting you’ve just had?’

      ‘I have no idea. I didn’t notice him.’

      ‘We keep hearing how happy the school is and how popular Mrs Gibson was…’ he said.

      ‘Ye-es.’ Her manner was jittery.

      ‘Thing is, she’s currently in a body bag, heading towards our morgue.’

      Shari let out a gasp. Her eyes filled up. She took a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at them.

      Dan felt Maya’s disapproving gaze on him. ‘Apologies. I’m Australian. I don’t have Detective Rahman’s British politeness.’ He avoided her glance. ‘Any trouble with gangs here?’

      ‘We have a couple but Mrs Gibson introduced a number of effective measures to combat them.’ Her voice was high and breathy.

      ‘Tell me about the language and literacy issues.’

      ‘They don’t apply to any one ethnic group. Many of our British students don’t have good literacy levels. Unfortunately, it can result in poor exam results and a low position for the school in league tables.’

      ‘I guess that’d mean reduced funding for the school, right?’ He’d been wondering whether money was involved with the head teacher’s murder ever since they learned about Linda’s deleted computer files.

      ‘Indirectly, yes. If league-table ranking drops too much it affects how many students apply for places here. And that affects funding. It’s a vicious cycle.’

      ‘I see.’ He tapped his biro on his notepad and sucked his cheeks in. ‘Did you get the impression Linda was well off?’

      ‘I’ve never considered it.’

      ‘And are you left- or right-handed?’

      ‘Right. I’ve told y—’

      ‘Are there any divisions at the school that might have resulted in bad feeling?’

      ‘There are some tensions between staff groups that we’ve been unable to overcome.’ Shari dabbed at her nose with a tissue. ‘We employ a lot of local people. Some of our staff aren’t happy about this.’

      ‘Why not?’ He fixed his eyes on hers. ‘Don’t they have the skills for the job?’

      Shari seemed taken aback. ‘Yes, but some people complain that it’s positive discrimination. Bumping up minority ethnic quotas and all that nonsense.’ She fidgeted in her seat and tugged at her hijab.

      ‘Why’s it nonsense? Aren’t there guidelines about who the school is allowed to employ? In Australia the focus is on skills. That’s it.’

      ‘Yes, but guidelines don’t change how people feel. Linda, Neil, Roger and I all agreed that it’s important for our staff composition to reflect the ethnic mix of our students and community. Unfortunately, not everyone shares that view.’

      The prejudices that Shari described mirrored many in Sydney. Dan’s family fought discrimination every day as a result of his wife’s Aboriginal heritage. The girls, at school. Aroona, in her work with the native communities.

      ‘When do these staff tensions arise most?’

      Shari picked fluff off her jilbab while she thought what to say. ‘When we have Muslim speakers, some of the non-Muslim staff object to the hall being gender-segregated. And when we have celebrations,