Look to Your Wife. Paula Byrne

      PRELUDE

       The Letter

      June 17th

      Dear Headmaster,

      Please, please, please do something about Lisa. When you first came to Blagsford School, we were all thrilled to have a man of your calibre and academic excellence. Edward Chamberlain is a name that inspires awe and reverence in the educational world. I, amongst many others, was full of admiration when you took on that academy ‘sink’ school in the north of England. How brave and clever of you. Everyone knew that you would turn it around. But you surpassed all expectations, raising it from ‘Unsatisfactory’ to ‘Outstanding’ in such a short time, before coming here.

      Naturally, some whispered that you would use it to your advantage, only to gain the coveted knighthood for services to education. Congratulations, by the way. Well deserved (though we all know that you only got it because of your background). We know how lucky we are to have you. I have been one of your most loyal supporters since you came to the school a year ago. It pains me to have to write this: I can barely believe that I am doing so.

      But please, Edward, silence your wife. She is a liability, and she is damaging your reputation. Blagsford is a small world. The community of public schools is even smaller. Social media is a very useful tool, but Lisa’s embarrassing and vulgar tweets are presenting a very bad image for the school. The woman is barely literate, for heaven’s sake. She has no idea how to use French accents. Her grammar is appalling. I winced when she tweeted about meeting the opera singer ‘Jesse Norman’.

      To many of us, it beggars belief that Lisa Blaize has published a book. Still more that it got some very good reviews and was shortlisted for the Fashion History Book Prize. Did she flash her boobs at one of the judges? Many say you wrote it. At the very least, her copy-editor must be first rate. I’ll wager the poor thing dreads the day when Lisa’s next typescript comes in.

      I was invited to your celebration party, but, like quite a few other people, couldn’t face being subjected to another episode of The Lisa Show. Like many others, I was dreading what becoming Lady C would do to Lisa’s already grossly inflated ego. I am pleased for you, Edward, and would have happily attended the party if all I had to do was talk to interesting, intelligent and perhaps even inspirational folk. But I simply don’t have the time, let alone the inclination, to seek out ‘glam’ clothes to feed Lisa’s attention-seeking fantasies.

      It’s clear from Lisa’s Twitter account just how obsessed she is with designer clothes and shoes and skin potions, and how much time and money she devotes to her appearance, but it’s naïve of her to expect the rest of us to do the same when we are extremely busy people, and, I might add, far less vain than Lisa.

      I don’t know how much attention you pay to Lisa’s Twitter account, but if you have a look at her tweets over the past five or six months you will get a sense of what people are concerned about and why Lisa has become an object of ridicule, not just at Blagsford, but across the public school network more widely. You will be able to see that she comes across as almost pathologically vain and egotistical …

      * * *

      ‘Lisa, I’ve had a poisonous letter. It’s unbelievably cruel. And very funny. It claims to be from a member of staff. It’s a vicious attack on you. Of course, I don’t believe a word of it. These idiots know nothing about you.’

      ‘Why do you say “about you”, and not “about us”? Is the letter aiming to hurt you or me? Is it about who you are and where you’ve come from?’

      ‘Probably me. First there was Airfaregate and now this. You’re my Achilles’ heel. They know that.’

      ‘Does it mention Sean?’

      ‘No. Would you like to see it?’

      ‘No, Edward, certainly not. I make it a rule not to read anonymous letters. People who write things like that are rarely “well” people. And I don’t want spiteful things sticking in my head. In fact, I’m surprised that you read it, knowing that it was unsigned. The person who did this wants to sow a seed of doubt in you. Please don’t read it again. Throw it away and forget about it. In fact, just give it to me.’

      ‘But they seem to know so much about you. I’m curious. It reads to me like a bitchy gay, you know the type who hates women. Well, there are lots of them in the world of teaching, so no clue there. Critical of your tweets, your grammar, your body. Digs at your Liverpool background. It even implies that I wrote your book for you.’

      ‘Ah, Sir Edward Chamberlain, that purveyor of feminist fashion history. The man I met a year after my book was published. But I hate to see you so upset. Don’t let them get to you. It doesn’t bother me one bit. Is it someone jealous of the knighthood? How petty and unkind. Anyway, I’m not ashamed of being a Scouser and not having had a posh education.’

      ‘Darling, perhaps you had better stop tweeting for a bit. Just let the dust settle.’