The Learning Curve

by Melissa Nathan

  When the clocks went back and the days shrank, it made a bigger impact on her than it had ever done before. Maybe she was getting old, maybe she had more work to do than ever before. Either way, she now found that she was tired most of the time. She started saying yes to Claire’s offer of Sunday lunch because it was the only way she’d get to eat – there was certainly no time to cook for herself on a Sunday – and no to looking after Claire’s girls the rest of the day. She simply didn’t have the time or energy.

  It did occur to her that maybe she wasn’t cut out for this level of work and that there was a reason more men made it to management level, namely that they had wives at home cooking their food, cleaning their homes, preparing their sandwiches and generally saying ‘Aah’ at the right moments.

  On top of everything else, she had a host of new responsibilities now she was Management. Rob and she both had to sort out assemblies – a relentless task; daily timetables for the entire school – a hellish task; and the school council – a complete nightmare, as well as organising all the teaching assistants and dinner ladies’ rotas.

  But first there was Parents’ Evening to organise.

  And it was Parents’ Evening which next drew Oscar to Nicky’s attention. As the term progressed, she was growing fonder and fonder of her pupils. This year’s Class 6 were just as enthusiastic and as much fun as she’d expected. Usually by this stage of the year, there were a couple of children who stood out from the others. Sometimes it was nothing more than Nicky feeling a special affection for them or, conversely, an awareness that it would take time and work for that to happen. But with Oscar it was something else. She felt a new sort of affinity with him; as if she could see right through the disguise of childhood to his essence: she could see all of him at once; the baby, the boy, the man.

  Oscar seemed to possess in his eye the look of an adult. His face could express or hide everything, depending on his mood, and his mood was as changeable as the English weather. When he laughed his eyes watered, as if they might overflow. And the skin around them was so stretched it was almost translucent, allowing the finest of blue veins to peep through. His emotions seemed stretched too, taut as a tightrope which he might topple off at any moment.

  A sign of the times was that most classes nowadays had at least one set of twins, sometimes a set of triplets, due to the unpredictability of late mothers’ ovulation or IVF treatment. There were also more than two languages spoken in the classroom. Also, by Year 6, almost half the class only saw their dads at weekends. Often, a teacher was able to tell the rest of the staff, within weeks of the new school year, which kids’ parents they believed would be divorced by Year 6. Some of the less scrupulous ones had been known to place bets on it. Usually the teacher was right. Sometimes the divorce happened speedily; sometimes it would be a long-drawn-out separation, during which younger siblings arrived. Some kids were fine with their parents’ divorce, others missed Dad, others felt responsible for the break-up. Nicky had been known to spend her lunch hour – when she needed to catch up on her other duties or do vital shopping – consoling a tearful child.

  But it was rare to find a child living with Dad instead of Mum. And it was rare to find a child who wasn’t able to talk about it. And it didn’t take her long to find Oscar a rare child.

  She discovered his background and figured out that maybe this was why she’d felt drawn to him. They’d both suffered the loss of a mother when they were too young. When Nicky was twelve, her mother had gone into hospital for the last time, and from that night onwards, when her big sister Claire came into her bed for a cuddle, she’d got a surrogate mother. The reality of her mother’s death hadn’t actually been too much of a shock. The truth was she’d been slowly vanishing from them all since long before then. It began years earlier when she couldn’t get up in the mornings, then she was too weak or ill to help with homework or to be there for bath-time. Eventually she was just a shadow on the sofa and then she simply wasn’t there any more. It was a natural, gradual fading of all the details, until eventually, like the Cheshire cat, all that was memorable of her was her smile.

  Their father had always been a shadowy figure, but after his wife died he became spectral. Three years later, on Claire’s twenty-first birthday, when Nicky was fifteen, he moved away to the coast. They only found out that he’d moved in with another woman when she answered the phone the first time they called. It turned out they’d been together for two years. The sisters had not felt any great loss.

  The evening after Nicky discovered that Oscar’s mother had died in a car crash when he was still in Reception, she tried to take her mind back to when her own mother had died. She lay in her bath, eyes on the tap at her feet, and took herself back to her twelve-year-old self. How had she felt when the slow realisation had dawned that her mother really was never again going to open her arms for a gentle cuddle from the sofa? She realised that there had never been a sudden moment of realisation. It had just been a slow acclimatisation to never feeling cosy or safe again. Or young. Maybe they amounted to the same thing. The part of her life with a mummy was her childhood and that was now over. Maybe it would have actually been more painful if their father had sat them down and discussed it with them. But he never had, so as she grew up and discovered the rarity of having no mummy – through meeting friends who had one – she just hugged her isolated, distinct memories of her mother to her – summer holidays together, swimming in her mother’s arms when her mother could still swim, her mother’s soft sun-creamed skin smelling of sugar, her mother teaching her the alphabet with Smarties, planting seeds together in the garden, hiding under the duvet together and giggling, queueing in the local bank. She wished there were more memories, but there weren’t. Maybe it was easier that way.

  She wondered if Oscar felt like that? Did he have key memories? Or did he have no memories at all? Sometimes he looked as if nothing had ever troubled him. Whenever he thought no one was watching him, he would swing an imaginary cricket bat, his loose limbs elegantly swooping through the air, or win an imaginary goal. Or make his friend Matthew laugh. Or pinch Daisy.

  There was nothing out of the ordinary about him, and yet somehow, at the same time, nothing ordinary about him. She wondered whether his father could see what she saw. And whether she would get a chance to meet him at Parents’ Evening and let him know.

  She added some hot water to the bath and lay back again. Oh dear, Parents’ Evening, she thought. There were many things about a parents’ evening Nicky liked and many things she disliked. The thing she liked most was telling a tense mother, who was wracked with guilt that she had to work full-time, that her child was doing well. She disliked talking to an interpreter, or trying to tell two parents who could only speak Romanian that their child might have special needs. And she hated telling yet another single father that no, she didn’t think it was appropriate for them to discuss his child over dinner, while pretending she hadn’t noticed he’d just asked her out. But the thing that irked her most was a parent who simply didn’t respond to the school’s invitation. And to her increasing frustration, Oscar’s dad was one of those. With only a fortnight to go before the two evenings, he was the only one who had still to return the signed form. She hadn’t asked Oscar for the form every day because she didn’t want to upset him, and yet every time she did ask him, he either gave a non-committal answer or promised he would give it to his father that night. Each time she believed she’d finally got through to him, only to find him more frustratingly elusive the next day. She thought about phoning his house, or emailing his father. But she didn’t want to cause a problem out of nothing. In all honesty, Oscar’s work was consistent and good. If his father didn’t see the need to come, perhaps she shouldn’t push it.

  Then, only ten days before Parents’ Evening, on Hallowe’en, after an afternoon spent making pumpkin candles and costumes for trick-or-treating, Nicky was delighted when Oscar proffered the information that he was going trick-or-treating with his dad and Daisy’s
mum that night. Nicky felt encouraged. Any dad who went trick-or-treating with his son was the kind of dad who would not miss his son’s Parents’ Evening. She told Oscar she was delighted and asked him to promise to make his dad sign the Parents’ Evening form before he went to bed. Oscar promised. Nicky wished she had a camera to capture the light in his eyes – brighter than any pumpkin candle – whenever he talked about doing things with his father. Possibly to show the man.

  That night she decided to finish off her Deputy work at home. She needed to stop off on the way and buy lots of sweets for the night’s entertainment before she could settle in and make a start on her work. Some of her ex-pupils came specially to her place on Hallowe’en and she put a lit-up pumpkin face outside her door, poured all her sweets into a bowl and waited in for them. Rob had invited her to his Hallowe’en party, as usual, and she had said no, as usual. Hallowe’en was for children, not for adults trying to pretend they were children. Anyway, she didn’t particularly want to see Amanda dressed up as a witch. Although the thought of seeing Pete dressed as a goblin had been hard to resist.

  By six o’clock that evening she was ensconced on the floor, her work spread out neatly on the coffee table in her lounge, the silent television as company in the background, all the warm lamps on, the little gas fire blazing, the night outside dark and cold. When her phone went, she picked it up without noticing. She only just remembered to say hello. It was Rob.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come tonight?’

  Nicky smiled. ‘Yes, thanks. I don’t want to miss my kids.’

  ‘Don’t do it!’ he cried. ‘It’ll only make you realise how old you are.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘Oh, come to the party. It’ll be fun.’

  She sighed. ‘No, thanks. I might miss a fantastic fairy.’

  ‘I’ve got my Batman outfit on,’ coaxed Rob.

  She let out a laugh. It was tempting.

  ‘Hey, don’t knock it,’ he said. ‘This Batman has extremely firm thighs.’ He was grinning.

  She laughed. ‘I want to see my kids!’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous.’ She could hear him mixing drinks in his kitchen.

  ‘Anyway,’ she looked at all her notes, ‘haven’t you got stuff to do for Miss James?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘But I decided it can wait.’

  There was a pause as her notes went out of focus. How come he was able to host a party when she barely had time to answer her door? Maybe he was more cut out for this than she was.

  ‘You do realise,’ he broke the silence, ‘that you’re leaving me no choice but to spend my evening with Amanda. And she’s coming as a wicked witch.’

  ‘I know,’ said Nicky, ‘she told me today. I managed not to smile.’

  ‘Good,’ said Rob, ‘because if you had, she’d have turned you into a toad. Actually, I have a confession to make. I have a bit of a thing about witches.’

  Nicky hesitated. What was he trying to say? She considered changing her mind and going to the party, but the thought of leaving her home was just too much. It had turned into winter overnight – it was far too cold outside. Anyway, what would she wear?

  God, Rob was right. She must be getting old.

  ‘Pete wants to speak to you,’ said Rob. ‘I’ve got to go to the Bat-oven.’

  Pete came to the phone. He needed to make arrangements with Nicky about staying over that night. He and Ally always walked to Nicky’s place after Rob’s parties, because that way they were much closer to school for the next morning. It meant they could drink without having to worry about driving home afterwards, and then walk to work the next morning without having to get up as early as Rob. Also, it was fun.

  ‘He’s not so much Batman,’ said Pete, ‘as Twatman. You’ve got to come.’

  ‘Is Ally there yet?’

  ‘No. I thought she’d be there with you. Where is she?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘You sure you’re all right about us staying over at your place afterwards?’

  ‘Of course!’ said Nicky. ‘It’s tradition.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Pete. ‘I’d stay here, but goblins can’t stay in Batman’s cave. It brings them out in spots. And there’s nothing worse than a spotty goblin.’

  Nicky’s doorbell went. She made her goodbyes and ran down the stairs where she picked up the bowl of sweets on the hall table and opened her front door into the cold night air.

  Three hours later, most of the trick-or-treating had stopped. Nicky was now sitting on the floor watching telly and eating the last few bloody fang chews. Her tongue felt raw from eating so many pear drops. Rob had been right about staying in. (Was he always right? She began to wonder. It was a trait she’d only noticed since their promotion and it was beginning to irk her.) This year, for the first time, seeing her ex-pupils as lanky teenagers, all teeth and hips, like puppies with large paws, had brought home to her how fast life zoomed ahead. It was as if they were all playing giant snakes and ladders and her kids had got a lucky run of dice sending them up ladder after ladder. Meanwhile here she was, getting one or two on the dice or landing on a snake. For the first Hallowe’en she could remember, by nine o’clock she was feeling so low she was contemplating an early night. She wouldn’t need to stay up for Pete and Ally, they had a key. When the doorbell went, too late for trick-or-treaters and too early for Pete and Ally, she wasn’t sure whether to open it or not.

  Slowly, she got up off the floor and plodded downstairs with her practically empty bowl of sweets. Two children – wrapped up so much that they were unidentifiable – stared at her, a weary mum standing behind them. The mum gave an apologetic smile, but the kids stared at her in silence, eyes wide, and then instead of saying ‘Trick or treat’, exploded into squeals of excitement.

  ‘Miss Hobbs! Miss Hobbs!’

  She asked them all into her warm hallway, where she slowly worked out that she was looking at Oscar and Daisy.

  Daisy was jumping up and down and screaming at her mother, ‘It’s Miss Hobbs! It’s Miss Hobbs!’ Oscar was smiling so wide it made him look like a different boy. After a night of seeing so many of her ex-kids, she found it all too easy to see into the future. She imagined Oscar all tall and gangly and awkwardly beautiful, aged fourteen and full of life. It made her feel happy and sad at the same time.

  The woman with them seemed to add some more effort to her smile.

  ‘Hi,’ said Nicky, shaking her hand. ‘I’m Nicky Hobbs.’

  ‘Lilith Parker,’ introduced Lilith. ‘Daisy’s mum.’

  ‘Oh! Hello, Daisy’s mum!’ cried Nicky. ‘Pleased to meet you!’ She stopped herself from saying how young she looked – Lilith must have had Daisy in her early twenties – and instead remarked on how similar mother and daughter’s eyes were.

  ‘People are always saying that.’ Lilith nodded with a grin. Daisy leant against her and Lilith stroked her daughter’s hair. It was always the ease with which parents and children touched each other that made Nicky envious. She handed Daisy and Oscar the bowl. They looked inside it. They saw five Murray Mints and one bon-bon.

  ‘Um,’ said Nicky, ‘I’m afraid I’ve eaten all the fangs.’ She turned to Lilith. ‘My jaw’s killing me.’

  Before thinking, Lilith said, ‘I bet that’s what you tell all your kids.’

  There was a fraction of a pause before Nicky let out a raucous, most unteacherly, laugh and then admitted, ‘You wouldn’t say that if you saw the other teachers I spend every day with.’

  Lilith smiled. ‘Oh, come on, I’ve met Mr Pattison. He used to make Parents’ Evening almost enjoyable.’

  Nicky laughed again, but it wasn’t quite as raucous this time.

  ‘I’m sorry we’re so late,’ said Lilith, ‘we’ve kept going in the hope of Oscar’s daddy turning up. We’re a bit out of our usual stomping ground. In fact, I think we’ve done a five-mile radius. We’re a bit exhausted.’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Oscar stubbornly. ‘I’m fine.’


  Nicky went all serious for a moment before asking suddenly, ‘Who would like some real hot chocolate and some toast?’ The children turned to Lilith, their faces suddenly urgent with pleading.

  ‘Can we? Please, Mum,’ whined Daisy.

  ‘Please,’ begged Oscar. ‘Then maybe Dad will still get to come.’

  Lilith sighed and looked at Nicky. ‘That would be brilliant,’ she said. ‘Thanks. We haven’t had dinner. We’ve been going since six. The kids just wanted to keep going. Well, Oscar did.’

  Nicky turned to them and forced a grin. ‘That’s perfect. If Oscar’s dad had come earlier, I’d never have seen you all.’

  They followed her upstairs and into the kitchen.

  So, thought Nicky, Oscar’s father had failed to turn up for the promised trick-or-treating. While her visitors abandoned their coats, scarves and hats and she hustled them into the kitchen, she asked as merrily as she could, addressing the room in general, where Oscar’s dad was. Oscar didn’t seem to hear her, but Lilith did.

  ‘Work, of course,’ she muttered. ‘Where else?’

  As the milk heated and the bread toasted, Nicky got Daisy and Oscar to put the jam, butter and plates on the table while she spooned flakes of drinking chocolate and sugar into brightly coloured mugs. Then the children sat up at the small breakfast bar and got overexcited. Nicky and Lilith leant against the worktops, by the hob.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ began Nicky quietly, while the children laughed and joked with each other, ‘but, do you know if Oscar’s dad is coming to Parents’ Evening? He’s the only parent in the whole class who hasn’t replied.’

  Lilith rolled her eyes. ‘Typical. I’ll have a word. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. Last year, I had to go for him.’ She tutted. ‘The only thing Mark does – and he does it religiously – is go to the school’s AGM. It’s a typical accountant thing – thinks he can help somehow by listening to the treasurer’s report. He misses Sports Day, the Nativity Play, Parents’ Evening – everything because of work – but come rain or shine, he’s there at the lousy AGM. Men!’ she let out a stab of laughter. ‘Haven’t got a bloody clue.’ When Nicky didn’t respond, she added, ‘It’s OK. We’re . . . friends. He’s all right really.’