Read an Exclusive Extract of One Bad Apple by Jo Jakeman

Chapter 1

‘Here, put your hood up,’ Asha said.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Cass, did I ask if you were fine? Hood. Now.’

Asha tugged at his coat, while Cass ducked and swerved, batting her away, as if her mothering was smothering.

They’d missed the bus and the next one was still twelve wet minutes away. Asha’s van hated the wet Cornish summer almost as much as she did. This morning it had groaned, tutted and died. But she still needed to get out of the house, make the most of their new home and convince Cass how great life here could be. Convince herself.

The pounding rain was a harsh and unwelcome substitute for the sharp clear summer that Asha had envisaged when she’d moved them down here two weeks ago.

She looked around for somewhere they could shelter, but the shops were full of people pretending to browse shelves while keeping an eye on the rain that, according to the weather app, wasn’t due until tomorrow.

‘Let’s walk some of the way,’ she said.
‘I’m hungry. Can we get something to eat?’

‘Maybe.’

Asha had expected to be on her way home to their small, but fine for now, rental house. Fish-finger sandwiches for lunch. Instant hot chocolate. At a push, they could walk the four miles, but not in this weather, not with the rain already making Asha’s trainers squelch and her jeans stick to her legs. Asha swapped her shopping bag from one hand to the other and put her arm around Cass’s shoulder as they crossed the road. As she passed a newsagents, a flyer caught her eye. It was the same advert she’d seen on the large sign on the roundabout and at the Tesco Express where she’d worked every day this week stacking shelves from 6 a.m.

‘Aberfal High open day and summer fair.’

Her eyebrow twitched as she read the word summer. This wasn’t summer. Not even close. She lowered her head against the sudden gust of wind that snatched her hood, and trudged up the hill with nothing to say. When she’d told Cass about her plan to start afresh in Cornwall, she’d painted a picture of seashells in pockets, of sand in sandwiches and defending their chips from seagulls on harbour walls.

Asha was only aware of the woman in front of them fight- ing with her umbrella which was angled against the wind because she was slowing them down. As Asha stepped into the road to pass her, the woman clattered to the ground all angles and gasps and bitten-back words. Asha dropped her shopping bag and darted towards her. ‘Hey. Are you okay?’

The umbrella skidded and spun like a spinning top just out of reach. The woman’s face darkened with the effort of keeping in the growing balloon of profanity until it popped with a – ‘Fuck. Bollocks. Shit. Ya bastard!’

‘Here. Let’s get you up.’

Asha directed Cass towards the umbrella and ushered the woman into a shop doorway to shelter from the rain. ‘Small step up. That’s it. You all right here?’

‘It’s an ice rink.’
‘I know.’
The woman nodded at a piece of paper which was white

against the darkened pavement. ‘Slipped on that thing.’

‘Are you hurt?’ Asha asked.
‘I’ll have a bastard of a bruise tomorrow.’ She rubbed her wet hand over puddle-soaked trousers.
‘Yep, I’m afraid so. Do you need help to get you home? Can I call someone for you?’
‘No. I’ll wait here for the rain to pass though. Catch my breath. Thanks, love. You’re an angel.’
‘No problem. Here. Don’t forget your umbrella. If you’re sure you’re okay . . .’

‘I’m sure.’

Asha stepped back into the rain and, though she’d only been out of it for a minute, it felt colder. She bent to pick up the paper that the woman had slipped on.

Aberfal High open day and summer fair.

Pasties and Pimm’s.
Gifts and good company.

FREE ENTRY.

‘Let’s get going, Cass. We don’t want to miss another bus.’

Her son’s eyes were on a black jeep that was easing past them. Asha wished she could find someone who looked at her the way Cass looked at cars.

‘Cass. It’s time to go, buddy.’

Dragging his attention back to her, he said, ‘The eggs are broken.’

Asha sighed. ‘Of course they are.’

She was standing in the rain in a coat that, it turned out, wasn’t waterproof, with a perpetually hungry child and a bag of broken eggs. She took another look at the flyer in her hand and said, ‘Hey, how do you fancy a Cornish pasty and a look at how the other half live?’

It was good to be out of the rain, though Asha’s skin itched as it warmed. She wanted to pull off her damp jeans along with her skin, and drape them in front of a fire before putting them back on crisp and dry.

‘Welcome to Aberfal High. Do go through. Can I take your coat?’

‘No thanks.’

Beyond the double doors was a hall full of stalls, of jewellery, scarves and cakes. A woman stepped in front of Asha wearing a smile, a badge that gave her name as Pippa, and the air of someone who belonged here. ‘Hello there, can I interest you in a glass of Pimm’s?’

‘How much is it?’
‘It’s complimentary.’
‘In that case . . .’ Asha took a glass from the wide table. Paused, then took a second one.
‘And how about a drink for the young gentleman? We have juice, hot chocolate . . . tea?’
Cass looked to Asha for approval before saying, ‘Hot chocolate, please.’

‘Do help yourself to cream and marshmallows,’ the woman said.

Turning back to Asha, she said, ‘Plenty of stalls here today for you to peruse. And can I recommend the cheese stall? All locally produced and lots of free samples to try before you decide which ones you want for your cheeseboard.’

Asha had never knowingly shopped for a cheeseboard, but she nodded all the same. ‘Thanks.’

‘Would you like a tour of the school? It’s easily arranged.’

‘God, no, you’re all right. We’re just here for the fair.’

‘Well, if you change your mind, ask for Pippa. That’s me.

You’ll find plenty of pupils on hand if you do have any questions.’

Asha moved through the crowds, finishing one drink before starting the next and leaving her empties by the handmade soap display.

‘Stick with me, Cass. We’ll blag a load of free stuff then get out of here.’ She held her hand up for a high five, but Cass’s attention was on the other side of the hall.

‘Is it okay if I . . .’
‘Fine. But we’re not staying long.’
Cass weaved through the crowds and was at the other side of the hall, looking at photos of cars before the squirty cream on his hot chocolate had begun to melt. The school’s racing team would hold Cass’s attention for as long as Asha needed it to.

From a foil platter, she took a chunk of golden saffron cake, wrapped it in a paper napkin and slid it into her bag. There were beautiful silk scarves, dainty jewellery, prints of local beauty spots and coastlines. It had been a while since Asha had painted but, if the rain ever stopped, she might get out her sketchbook again. Maybe she’d sell her art at a fancy fair like this one.

Even as the rain drummed on the windows, Asha had to admit that it was a beautiful building. She felt cocooned in here and warm for the first time today. She wondered how many doors would open for Cass if he went to a school like this. And how many others would close.

Asha sampled cheeses, chutneys and chocolates. Pretended to consider buying but moved away as soon as she could. On to the next stalls for bread, wines to accompany fish, wines to accompany meat, special ones for dessert. She picked up a plastic cup of unctuous liquid and swallowed it in one. It set her teeth on edge. ‘No. Not for me. Thanks though.’

A woman with long hair in one thick braid was standing on a stage pointing a camera in Asha’s direction. Asha spun away before the shutter closed. She bent her head, pretended to consider the handprinted greetings cards and, when she looked up, the woman was taking shots of a group of students in matching grey blazers.

Click, click, click.

By the time Asha caught up with Cass, she was considering undoing the top button of her jeans. Her son was deep in discussion with another boy. Older. Taller. Handsome in a clean-cut way. They were leaning over the table watching something on an iPad.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Mum, this is so cool, you need to see this,’ said Cass. ‘Every year they build a car and race it against other schools. They haven’t won in ten years, but they think next year might be their year.’

A large man was standing to one side, his arms folded. ‘Your son is remarkably knowledgeable about engines,’ he said.

‘Yeah. He helped me rebuild our camper van. It’s his passion.’

‘Well, I do hope you’ll consider sending him here. He would be quite the asset to our racing team.’

Asha was already shaking her head, trying not to laugh at the thought of Cass at a school like this.

‘Sorry, should have introduced myself,’ the man said. ‘I’m Jerry Newhall, headmaster of Aberfal High.’ He held out a hand which Asha ignored.

‘Nice to meet you,’ she said. ‘Cass, we should get going.’

‘Have you had the tour yet?’ the headmaster asked.

‘Thanks, but we’re not in the market for a new school. We’re . . . you know, here to get out of the rain. And eat some cheese.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ he said. ‘We’ve some wonderful stalls here today. Usually, we’d be out on the lawns but I’m afraid the weather had other ideas.’ He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

‘Which school is your son at now?’

‘He’s not. We only moved here a couple of weeks back. All being well, he’ll start at Freemill Academy in September.’

Mr Newhall’s eyes widened before he caught himself and smiled. ‘Are you sure we can’t get you to consider Aberfal? He’s obviously a very bright lad and it’d be a shame to waste that on Freemill.’

‘It’s not the lack of brains that’s the problem,’ Asha said. ‘More the lack of funds. Come on, Cass.’ She put her hand on his back to guide him away, but he was deep in conversation. ‘Cass.’

‘They have a 3D printer,’ he said.

‘You know,’ said Mr Newhall stepping closer, ‘Aberfal High is keen to reach pupils from all backgrounds regardless of whether they have the funds. We have bursaries, grants, scholarships . . . I think you’ll find that we can aid every budget.’

‘Yeah, no. That’s not going to help. I don’t even have a budget for you to aid. Cassius, we need to go.’

She tried to move away from the table, but Mr Newhall was tracking every movement.

‘I probably shouldn’t say this, but our drive to attract pupils from diverse backgrounds hasn’t got off to a great start so you’d be helping us out really.’

‘Mr . . . Newhall, is it? Listen, I appreciate your enthusi- asm. Honest, I do. Another day I might even be flattered. But treating me like a charity case is not the way to win me over.’

He lowered his eyes, cleared his throat. ‘Certainly not. I didn’t mean for you to—’

‘Hey, I’m sure Aberfal High is a lovely place, but it isn’t the school for us. Even if you offered us fifty per cent off the school fees, we still couldn’t afford it.’

‘Mum, this place is awesome. Do you know they work with Spaceport Cornwall and Virgin Orbit? And there’s this pool and it’s the deepest in the world and—’

‘For the right student we’d give a scholarship of up to eighty per cent,’ Mr Newhall said.

Asha sighed. ‘You don’t know when to let it go, do you?’

Mr Newhall scratched behind his ear and smiled. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘As you say, it might not be the school for your son. Some people can’t hack the pace and we do have very high standards here at Aberfal High.’

Asha became aware that the rain had stopped. She glanced at the window and saw that the grounds were no longer blurred. They stretched further than she’d imagined. And was that a lake? It was a far cry from her school and her childhood. Nice, if you liked that sort of thing.

‘Mum, d’you know that the cricket team went on tour to Barbados?’

‘Hmm?’ Through the window Asha saw the break in the clouds, a hint of blue. ‘We really should get going, Cass.’

‘It goes without saying,’ said Mr Newhall, ‘that Cassius would have to pass the entrance exams first and some chil- dren do find them rather challenging. So, if you don’t think your son would be up to the task . . .’

‘My son would have no problem passing your exams. The only issue he’s ever had is boredom from not being stretched. In fact, not only would he rise to the challenge, but you’d be lucky to have him here.’

‘Excellent,’ said Mr Newhall. ‘In that case, why don’t I give you a tour of the school myself, while Myles takes Cassius to look at the workshop where we tinker with the cars? I’m sure we’d be grateful for his input.’

Over Mr Newhall’s shoulder, Asha saw the perfect arch of a rainbow as the school choir began to sing a tune that she felt she should know.

‘Fine,’ she said folding her arms. ‘But the answer will still be no.’

One Bad Apple

by Jo Jakeman

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