St. Mallory's Forever!

33 HELEN: Family Secrets.

Darling? The suspicion-o-meter just went into the red. Mum only ever calls me darling when she's been caught doing something she shouldn't, like arguing with Dad. But Dad isn't here, obviously, and her mobile is in the other room, so it's not like she just had a row on the phone and thinks I overheard.

"Mum, what's going on?"

Mum did the nonchalance-incarnate impression again. Just as unconvincing as the first time. "You wanted to see me?"

"I came to ask about the Nils piece. Do you..."

"I'd rather not talk about it here, darling. And I'm sure you've got plenty of work to be doing."

Two 'darlings' in as many minutes — on a scale of one to ten that was an eleven point five on the suspicion-ometer. I almost ground my teeth in frustration. "Mum, don't go all mysterious on me..."

Just then the door opened, and the Bursar's head appeared. "Oops, sorry, Kitty. Am I disturbing you?"

Kitty? Did the Bursar just call my mum Kitty? The suspicion-ometer just went round the clock and is still spinning!

I mean, I've grown up with teachers dropping around for tea and cake (well, a cup of tea, anyway – we're not a cake family, more's the pity), and I've been in plenty of staff rooms. It's not unusual for members of staff to refer to each other by their first names. Contrary to popular opinion they are only human. Most of them, anyway.

But there's a huge leap of familiarity from using a first name and using a pet name. Mum has always been Kathleen to her colleagues, and to most of the family as well, not to mention the bank. She hates being called Kathy because she says it makes her sound like a Greasy Joe's Spoon establishment serving watery tea in a chipped mug, with those disgustingly unhygienic ketchup and mustard dispensers on the table. Kitty is reserved for her brothers, and Dad when he was still around.

"Kitty?" I said, earning a glare from Mum.

"Hels, please." Mum had obviously recognized the you've just crossed the line, sunshine look on my face and knew the Bursar was going to get a tongue-lashing, Helen Stroud style. For those wondering, they're not suitable for children under twelve.

"Don't you dare call my mum Kitty," I said by way of warm-up. I'm still not sure what he actually does here, but I figured he wasn't a teacher and therefore wasn't entitled to the normal teacher-student etiquette. "She's Mrs. Stroud to you, or Kathleen when you've known her long enough to be on first name terms, all right? Don't start getting all familiar. We've only been here a few weeks. You don't even know her."

Mum put a hand on my arm. "Helen, I think you—"

Mum's thoughts were lost to my next tirade. "Nobody calls her Kitty. You just don't. Only people she really cares about or has really cared about in the past are allowed to use that name, and you..." I glared at the Bursar. "You don't even come close."

"Hels, please." Mum's earlier studied nonchalance had become an expression of pleading and guilt.

I looked from her to the Bursar and back again, as the horrible truth started to dawn. I'd totally misjudged the situation.

"You know each other?"

Mum attempted a smile. "And have done for a long time, Hels."

"Kitty... sorry, Kathleen and I go back a long way," said the Bursar. "We've known each other since before you were born."

"Don't take any notice of Helen, Sam," Mum said to the Bursar. "Kitty is fine." Mum looked at me. "Sam was your father's best man when we were married, darling. And he was a great comfort to me after your father walked out on us."

I may have mentioned before that I remember that particular event differently — she chucked Dad out — but now didn't seem like the time to say so. I thought, Please don't tell me you guys were together. Not you and him! I said feebly, "And that's why you've been hanging around the music department? Because you know Mum from way back?" I couldn't believe I'd been so obtuse.

I may have imagined it, but I could swear the Bursar's gaze flicked to the music sheet in Mum's hand before he answered me.

"Yes," he said eventually. "That's why I was 'hanging around', as you put it. I wanted to speak to your mother. I mean, we can talk in the staffroom, of course, but not about private matters, so I come across occasionally to see if Kit... I mean, Kathleen... is free to chat."

It all made sense. I've been an idiot. A complete idiot. My suspicion-ometer had been faulty, but my complete-idiot-ometer was working overtime. If I was the type that blushed I'd be in meltdown right now. Instead I just looked like a first-class ass. I may have impressed Tim Morrigan with my Sherlock impression, but when it came to distinguishing a real-life mystery from a conspiracy theory dreamed up by an overwrought imagination I had just passed the 'complete and utter plonker' test with flying colours.

I mumbled my apologies and muttered about being late for my next lesson as I made good my escape. I rushed off to let Xuan and Abby know it was all over. Not something I was looking forward to. More embarrassment. More apologies.

And then I'd have to explain to Tim too! I might just as well take out an ad on the front page of the school newsletter: Teacher's daughter wins place in Guinness Book of Records for most stupid, ill-conceived, half-baked conspiracy theory ever. Elvis is alive and well working in a chip-shop on Mars? That doesn't even come close.

If there's no blog tomorrow you'll know that I packed my bags, ran away to Dad's, changed my name and had plastic surgery to alter my appearance.

In fact, I might do that before I fess up to Xuan and Abby. That way they can't alter my appearance with their lacrosse sticks first.