Death of a Teacher Read Online Free Page A

dropping you at Grandma’s while I do a big shop,’ she told her son. ‘Make sure you’ve got your Xbox.’ Ordinary family life, she thought. Great. What she wanted now, most of all, was for her and Ben to be an ordinary family. And tentatively, she thought they might be getting there.
     
    Suzy Spencer and Robert Clark hardly constituted an ordinary family, but Saturday shopping was a great leveller. Life at The Briars in Tarnfield usually followed a pattern at the weekends. Suzy hated the supermarket, so she would give Robert a list and he would go into Norbridge or the new superstore at Pelliter. In return, she would do the housework, which she hated only slightly less than the shopping, and Robert would call in at the library on his way home. Robert was a lecturer at the local college, but he really wanted to be a writer. He’d tried several genres, from literary novel, through Gothic melodrama , to a recent attempt at chick-lit which had made even the grumpy Molly laugh at how useless it was. Saturday morning after the shopping session was his time for research, which usually meant sitting reading in the corner of the big comfy kitchen while Suzy made a late lunch.
    But this Saturday the kitchen table was occupied. Suzy made signs at him to follow her into the living-room.
    ‘Becky Dixon’s here.’
    ‘So I see.’
    Robert ruffled Suzy’s spiky blonde hair. She seemed tense, but smiled back and grabbed his hand, putting it on her shoulder and squeezing it.
    ‘Becky’s grandma called me and asked if they could drop her off. Of course, I said yes. There’s been a fatal accident on their land. A young bloke fell down the cliff, Judith Dixon said. He’d been slashed with a knife, too.’
    ‘That sounds grim. Was he someone local?’
    ‘That’s the weird thing. Judith Dixon says there wasn’t any identification on him. He was found near this old chapel.’ Suzy shuddered. She and Robert had come across violent death before. The idea that country life was placid and pastoral was a myth. ‘Nature red in tooth and claw’ meant human nature too. Robert put his arm around her, and to distract her he said, ‘Oh, you mean St Trallen’s Chapel. Fascinating place …’
    ‘Saint who?’
    ‘Trallen. She helped bring the relics of St Andrew to Scotland. She’s supposed to have plucked out her beautiful eyes to stop a local pagan fancying her. She’s a patron saint for ophthalmologists now.’
    ‘You’re kidding me!’
    ‘I’m not. Google her yourself. The chapel is named after her. Her other name is St Tribuna. There’s the fragment of a book about her in Norbridge Abbey. It’s supposed to be a scrap of a medieval illuminated manuscript, like the Duc de Berry’s Book of Hours – you know, all those fantastic miniature paintings.’
    ‘Talking of books,’ Suzy asked, equally keen to change the subject, ‘did you get the one you wanted?’
    Robert nodded. His latest fiction attempt was historical, tracing the branch of the Clark family which had emigrated to Canada. Now he could look forward to a few blissful hours of good old-fashioned research, reading his massive tome on the history of Ontario. He smiled at Suzy. They both knew that he enjoyed reading more than writing.
    ‘You’ve had an upsetting morning. Shall I do lunch?’ he asked.
    ‘No, it’s OK. I’ll make it, except I can’t find the casserole dish. It’s too heavy to be mislaid but it’s not in the cupboard.’
    Suzy went back into the kitchen and started banging pans around. Robert left her to it, and popped his head round the door. Molly, lank hair tucked behind a garish pink headband, wearing wellies with black tights and football shorts, was discussing a big drawing with a small dark girl in small dark clothes. The girl looked up and flashed Robert a look of surprising intensity.
    So that was Becky Dixon. She looks all right despite this accident, Robert thought. In fact, both girls seemed happy and absorbed. Maybe Molly would