25 chapters, wow. Actually pretty impressed that I've managed to get this far, and obviously that's all down to everyone who gives me such lovely encouragement, thank you ;')

Chapter 25

There was a shocked silence in the staff room as Michael entered. Every pair of eyes was fixed on the television in the corner, a little battered box with a cracked screen propped on a table.

"...we go live to the scene to find out more."

Michael gave Chalky a silent raised eyebrow, and he shuffled along to make room for his boss.

"I'm at Waterloo Road," the news correspondent was saying, talking directly into the camera in a monotone, with an expression that said I'm pretending to be sad, but really I'm so bored it's unreal, "This is the school where Nikki Boston taught as an English teacher."

"Teaches," Grantly corrected.

Michael felt a surge of affection for his colleagues, for how much they obviously cared despite everything that came between them.

"The school refused to comment officially today, but it's clear that everyone is shocked," he continued, as the camera panned to show bunches of flowers pinned to the school fence, "And many children who passed us this morning on their way into school told us she was a brilliant teacher and seemed very worried."

"Of course they're bloody worried."

"Ssh."

"Sorry."

"Despite her relatively short time at the school, she has obviously been a hit with the students, as well as a treasured colleague to the other teachers at Waterloo Road. There have been suggestions that she was in the army when she was younger – perhaps this was the stem of her obviously deep mental problems..."

"Oh, for Christ's sake."

"...but nothing has been confirmed as of yet. Anyone with information on Miss Boston, or with any insight into what happened last night outside Waterloo Road school, is urged to contact the police."

"I'm going to have to go and talk to them, aren't I?" Michael asked softly.

"Someone needs to dispel all of the crap they're being fed by the media, don't they?" Grantly told nobody in particular, flushed with indignation. To a stranger, he would've seemed like a grumpy old man who spent his life gossiping about other people – indeed, people who weren't strangers often thought he was a grumpy old man who spent his life gossiping about other people.

But they could all see today how deeply he cared about what had happened. They'd all been affected, in their different ways. Waking up, having their breakfast, taking their own kids to school – they'd been blissfully oblivious to the chaos unraveling at Waterloo Road, as police patrolled the grounds gathering evidence.

The radio stations blasting in their cars had been a rude wake-up call: a teacher is in a critical condition after leaping from the roof of her school. But worse were the speculations on TV, and the headlines in the papers – spiteful lies designed to shock and scare, and ruin Nikki's life. God, her life was ruined enough. She didn't need this any more.

"I'll come with you, Michael," Sian said.

"Thank you."

There was a general shuffling of belongings as the teachers gathered up bags and coats and headed for the exit. Today, a subdued silence hung over them; there was no banter about the football scores last night, or moaning about the marking they had to do in their free lesson.

Everyone was thinking about Nikki. Everyone was wondering why nobody had noticed she was feeling so desperately alone and sad, and what she must have felt like as she'd fallen into the stars. All wishing they'd done something to help.

"What are you going to say?"

"I don't know. I'll try to… I'll try to tell them the truth, but without frightening them."

Sian nodded, her eyes filled with compassion. She understood how responsible Michael felt; he was Nikki's boss, he had a duty of care towards her. Rationally, he knew he couldn't have done anything – she'd deliberately hidden her emotions from him, deliberately let it all build up inside of her, because she hadn't wanted anyone to know she wasn't coping. But irrationally, the nausea that came with ceaseless guilt was choking him.

"It's alright, Michael. She'll be okay."

"I really don't want to do it on my own today."

"No, I know. It's okay. I'll be there."

"Thank you," he said again.

XxXxX

The thing that got to Michael most was the expression on Josh's face. He was staring up at the stage, but he wasn't seeing anything; his eyes were blank, filled with tears that wouldn't fall. He didn't wear a tie today, and his collar was tucked into his shirt – normally, with Josh, a mere stray curl of hair would've driven him mad, but today he didn't care about anything. Nothing except Nikki.

In the hospital, in the early hours of the morning, he'd held himself together. Perhaps because his dad needed his support; when someone else was falling apart, you coped for them. But Tom had rung Sian and asked her to collect him, and once he'd left his father's side it had really begun to hit him. What he'd seen through those doors…

He couldn't sleep. He'd tossed and turned in Sian's spare room; he'd run to the toilet several times and submerged his face in icy water, just to rid himself of the images flashing through his mind. Sian had suggested he stay at home and watch Jeremy Kyle, but he couldn't. He couldn't be alone. He might do something stupid too – he might try to join Nikki, wherever she was now. He hoped she wasn't suffering; he hoped she was free.

"Will she die, Sir?" a little girl asked.

All he wanted to do was say no. To tell them Nikki would be absolutely fine; she'd skip back into Waterloo Road in a couple of days, her blue eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, her roughness disguising the gentle, loving attitude that lay underneath. But that wasn't going to happen, was it?

"Miss Boston is really ill," Sian answered for him, talking softly, "We're not going to lie to any of you – she suffered serious injuries. But the doctors are doing everything they can to help her; she won't be in any pain."

An older boy: "Why did she jump?"

"We don't know. She was obviously… she was very upset; she's had a difficult time," Michael sighed, wishing he could answer these questions, wishing he knew the answers, "Maybe she had a mental health problem. But you all need to know that it's nobody else's fault – none of you should feel as though you're to blame, for messing around in her lesson or anything. Nobody knew this was going to happen, and we're not going to help Miss Boston by feeling guilty, are we?"

Oh, he was a hypocrite.

"If anyone can think of anything that might help us understand what happened with Miss Boston, please come and find either me or Mr Byrne – we'll be in our offices, and we'll listen to anything you need to say, no matter how stupid or unimportant you might think it is," Sian stepped sideways towards him, as though she was comforting him silently, "And if any of you need to talk to anyone about what's happened, about suicide, there will be someone here too."

"We'll keep you up to date with everything that happens. In the meantime, can you all keep Miss Boston in your prayers, and…" he trailed off again. Took a deep breath. "And avoid talking to any of the TV people, please, just until we know what's happening properly. You can all stand up and leave silently now – thank you."

Josh's tears were falling freely now, rolling down his cheeks, soaking into his creased collar. Michael turned away, closing his eyes, blinking. Poor, poor boy. What the hell did they do now?

XxXxX