The Learning Curve

by Melissa Nathan

  ‘And you got the husband,’ allowed Nicky.

  ‘Don’t mention him,’ whispered Claire. ‘I’ve cried enough for one day.’

  Claire went home and asked Nicky to pop by later. Nicky suggested they go out for lunch together instead. For the first time since she could remember, Claire accepted and so they didn’t chat in her kitchen, being interrupted by the girls, they chatted in a café, being interrupted by waiters. It was Claire’s idea to stay on for a coffee. Afterwards, when Nicky dropped Claire back at her house, she was preparing to say something suitably gooey. Instead, Claire said, ‘I do love Derek.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ said Nicky softly.

  ‘And it’s not as bad as I made it sound.’

  ‘Of course it isn’t,’ she said. ‘I know that.’

  ‘Good. Good. Well, thanks for a lovely lunch.’ She gave Nicky a wide smile. ‘Right. Back to my lovely family.’

  Nicky watched Claire open her front door and then she put on some loud, shouty music for the journey home.

  19

  MARK’S ALARM CLOCK leapt into action and so did he. He was in and out of the shower in five minutes. Towel tied at his waist, he knocked on Oscar’s door, now only a stretch away from his own.

  ‘OK!’ shouted Oscar, a laugh escaping.

  Ten minutes later, they met downstairs in the kitchen.

  ‘Right,’ said Mark, glancing up at the clock, which now swamped the new kitchen wall. ‘Cereal or toast?’

  ‘I’m not eating,’ said Oscar.

  ‘You have to,’ said Mark. ‘It’s the first morning of your new term. You have to have breakfast.’

  Oscar giggled. ‘Toast.’

  Mark ran to the fridge.

  ‘No!’ yelled Oscar. ‘Cereal.’

  Mark stared, hand on the fridge handle. ‘The clock is ticking, Osc.’

  ‘Cereal,’ said Oscar firmly.

  ‘Right. You get the cereal. I’ll get the milk.’

  Mark made himself an instant coffee and then threw it down the sink when he realised he’d forgotten to boil the water.

  Oscar finished his cereal and leapt up from the table.

  ‘Er!’ said Mark. ‘What’s that?’ He pointed at the cereal bowl.

  Oscar tutted. ‘Da-ad, it’s only –’

  ‘In the dishwasher. Now.’

  Oscar ran to the bowl, squeaking with repressed excitement, ran it under the tap and put it in the dishwasher.

  Coats on, bags collected, new house alarm set.

  They ran out of the front door, Mark slamming it shut behind them. They sped off down the empty road. When they approached the silent school gates, Oscar ran the last few yards, hit them and shouted, ‘NOW!’

  Mark ran to join him and stopped his stop-watch.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Not bad at all.’

  ‘Go on, tell me!’

  ‘Twenty-eight minutes. A record.’

  Oscar cheered.

  ‘Which means,’ said Mark, ‘we can get up tomorrow as late as 7.15.’

  Oscar cheered again.

  ‘But to be on the safe side, perhaps we should make it ten past.’

  Mark walked home slowly, savouring the last day of Oscar’s Christmas holiday, while Oscar did his Tigger impersonation of running a few steps ahead and then running back to walk with his dad, then running ahead again only to come back again. Excellent exercise.

  The next morning, first day of the spring term, adrenaline was pumping fiercely through the Samuels household. The very fabric of the house seemed to pulsate with it and everything looked somehow different today. When Mark knocked on Oscar’s bedroom door, Oscar appeared fully dressed. By the time Mark sped downstairs, Oscar had already put the cereal bowl in the dishwasher. By the time they were on their way to the school, they were well on their way to a new personal best. Oscar ran the last ten yards and hit the school gates. It was Mark’s turn to cheer.

  ‘Twenty-two minutes!’ he shouted.

  They did a high-five outside the school gates.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You’ll be great,’ Oscar told his father. ‘I know you will.’

  ‘Thanks, Osc,’ said Mark. ‘You have a good day too.’

  Just then Oscar saw his friend Matthew. Mark felt he now knew Matthew quite well after having been at home when he’d come to play with Oscar. Mark had even made them lunch together. Oscar shouted across the road to Matthew and they raced each other across the playground to the school entrance. Mark watched through the gate and when Oscar hit the door first, he kept the cheer to himself.

  A child – possibly as old as nine – walked past him and through the gate. He followed.

  It was 3 January, the first day of the new term, and the staffroom was empty when Nicky arrived. She made herself a cup of tea and had just concertinaed her diaphragm into a chair when Janet, Miss James’s secretary, appeared at the staffroom door. She glanced round the room and then back at Nicky. She raised her eyebrows and pointed to Miss James’s office.

  ‘Miss James’s office?’ Janet gave a quick nod. ‘Now?’

  Nicky’s breath caught. She heaved herself up out of the chair and followed Janet down the corridor. The photocopier was set back off it, just outside the bursar’s tiny office. Both were opposite Reception and Miss James’s office. As she passed the photocopier, Nicky heard office furniture being moved in the bursar’s office, giving her the excuse to look at it. The door was ajar. So, she thought, he’s already in. Mark Samuels was in the building. And in his own office, not in Miss James’s office. Which meant he wasn’t waiting for her in there, ready to brandish a P45 in her face.

  Janet’s usual style was to sit down at her desk and give a curt flick of her head to indicate that Miss James was ready for her, but today, she gently tapped on the open, connecting door to Miss James’s office. Miss James started with shock.

  ‘Miss Hobbs is here,’ said Janet with a quiet significance that Nicky found most ominous.

  Two Year 5s, who had come in early for an assembly meeting, were now standing at her puzzle. Miss James turned to them.

  ‘Don’t worry about that now,’ she said. ‘Off you go.’

  Both children stared at her in disbelief before running out fast. Nicky swallowed hard. Now she was frightened.

  ‘Hello, my dear!’ cried Miss James. ‘Come in, my love. Come in, come in.’

  Nicky walked into the office. She heard the door softly click shut behind her. Miss James gave her puzzle one last look, and then stepped slowly to her desk. She smoothed the back of her skirt with her palms, sat down, and gave Nicky one of her long, slow smiles.

  ‘Do sit down, my dear.’

  Nicky sat down.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine!’ Nicky replied throatily. She coughed. ‘Looking forward to the new term.’

  Miss James nodded. ‘Good girl, good girl.’

  Nicky’s throat closed.

  ‘Well now,’ said Miss James. She paused. She cocked her head. She straightened it again. She looked across the desk at Nicky and sucked her lips in, with an air of sad finality. Nicky’s ears started whistling.

  ‘I have some news,’ announced Miss James with an air of concluding sorrow.

  Nicky’s blood rushed from her extremities straight for the door.

  ‘I think you may have guessed it, my dear,’ said Miss James kindly.

  Nicky’s head nodded. So this was it. Mark Samuels had said he couldn’t work in the same school as her and Miss James had chosen him.

  ‘I am . . .’ Miss James gave a sigh, her eyes down, ‘leaving.’ She looked up at Nicky. ‘I am leaving, my dear.’

  Nicky stared.

  ‘Retiring,’ continued Miss James. ‘Yes, I am . . . retiring.’

  Nicky’s blood came back, agog. Meanwhile, her mind went on a little journey. She had no idea Miss James was of retirement age. She’d always imagined she was in her fifties. Blimey. The woman loo
ked fantastic for her age. Hardly any lines round her eyes at all. Her skin was absolutely amazing. And her figure was still good too. But then she hadn’t had any children, had she?

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ said Miss James.

  ‘Oh, I was just thinking . . .’

  ‘Ah! Were you? Were you, indeed. Good girl. And what were you thinking?’

  ‘Um, well, I was actually thinking how good you looked for sixty.’

  Miss James roared her approval. She leant forward and whispered, ‘Clarins.’

  ‘Wow,’ Nicky whispered back.

  Miss James snapped back into work mode.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘this, of course, leaves a little opening, does it not?’

  Nicky’s ears whistled again.

  ‘Have you, my dear, ever considered being a headmistress?’

  Oh, only every time I look at you, thought Nicky.

  ‘We-ell,’ she said slowly, ‘it’s something I definitely aspire to, yes.’

  ‘Good girl,’ accentuated Miss James. ‘Good girl, good girl, good girl, good girl.’

  Nicky decided now was not the time to question the use of the word ‘girl’ for a woman of thirty who was the Deputy Headmistress of a school. Did Miss James ever call Rob a ‘good boy’? she wondered.

  ‘The reason I ask, my dear, is because I would very much like you . . .’ Nicky’s ears started to whistle an almost distinct tune, ‘to apply . . . for my job.’

  ‘Gosh,’ whispered Nicky. ‘Gosh.’

  Miss James smiled beneficently at her.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ breathed Nicky suddenly. ‘I’m honoured.’

  ‘You are most, most welcome,’ said Miss James. ‘But,’ she almost shouted, ‘this is not a decision to be taken lightly. The job would mean, of course, far less contact with the children (unless you wanted to be a teaching head, but I don’t recommend it), a nice little pay increase and possibly,’ she smiled, ‘some more headache pills.’

  Nicky laughed heartily.

  ‘There is of course considerably more administrative work –’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘– you would be constantly walking the tightrope between keeping the governors, the bursar, all your staff and your pupils happy.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And, let us not forget, not all good teachers make good heads,’ continued Miss James. ‘The two are very different jobs. Hardly any crossover at all, in fact.’

  Nicky was beginning to wonder why she was here.

  ‘But,’ concluded Miss James, ‘there are exceptions.’

  Nicky smiled.

  ‘Now,’ said Miss James, ‘it just so happens that I have also asked Mr Pattison to apply.’

  ‘Oh, obviously.’

  ‘He happened to pop into school a couple of weeks ago during the holidays to do some preparation work and I was here doing one thing or another. I decided to use the opportunity to have a word with him about it. So he already knows. And of course, he also knows you will be going for the job too. And you’ll be thrilled to know he’s as delighted for you as he is for himself!’

  Nicky smiled wanly.

  ‘I trust that will not be a problem for you,’ said Miss James.

  ‘Oh no, no, of course not,’ said Nicky, smiling properly.

  ‘After all, you are both professionals.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘But I am aware that you’re both friends too. Would that I could insist they create two Headship posts!’ She laughed heartily and Nicky joined in. ‘But alas, they can’t.’ Miss James stopped laughing abruptly and so did Nicky. ‘And so I find myself in the awkward position of having to tell my two best candidates to apply for the same post.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Miss James leant in. ‘I made him promise faithfully to me that he wouldn’t mention any of this to you until I had had a chance to speak to you properly.’ She waggled her finger at Nicky. ‘So you must forgive him for keeping a secret from you!’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Now, naturally, you know the legal situation. I have no choice but to advertise this vacancy nationally.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And confer with all my wonderful governors.’

  ‘Right.’ There was a pause. ‘Well,’ Nicky laughed, ‘I won’t get too excited, then.’

  Miss James banged her desk. Papers flew. ‘Oh! You must get very excited,’ she ordered. ‘Very excited indeed!’

  ‘Right.’ Nicky smiled. ‘OK.’ Miss James stared at her, nodding regularly. ‘I am . . . very excited indeed,’ offered Nicky.

  ‘Good! Life . . . is exciting,’ trilled Miss James, practically vibrating with the excitement of it all.

  It occurred to Nicky to look for hidden cameras. It would explain a lot. She nodded and gave her boss a respectful smile.

  ‘Now,’ continued Miss James. ‘Technically, the job isn’t going to be available until the end of the summer. And it’s only going to be made public knowledge to the rest of the school in the spring. Of course, Janet knows, but she is my right arm; my appendage; my other limb. And of course, our new wonderful bursar is, as they say in the classics, “in the know”. But none – no, not one – of your fellow teachers knows. So! You have three months to think long and hard about whether or not you want to go for this. And yes, during those three months, it will become my task to observe you – and Mr Pattison – with an even keener eye than of yore, but it is always kindly, my dear, it is always kindly. And then, of course, should you decide to apply, the very process of doing so will mean more work, facing some rather stressful interviews, and directly competing with at least one of your colleagues. Obviously, others may apply. So I have chosen to give you – and Mr Pattison – a long time to really think this through. Think of what you want from your life. This is a big step. You want it to be one in the right direction.’

  Nicky nodded, utterly focussed and completely confused.

  Miss James stood up and extended her hand across the mound of papers on her desk. Nicky rose and shook it.

  ‘Good luck,’ whispered Miss James, shaking her head in nostalgic wonder. Nicky wondered if perhaps she was waiting for her to kneel and offer the top of her head to be kissed. She gave what she hoped was a professional yet polite, confident yet not cocky, assured yet warm, firm yet friendly handshake. Then she waited for her hand to be released and left the room on only slightly trembling legs.

  She didn’t cry this time. She wanted this job. She went to the toilets just to look at herself in the mirror. Did she look different? Did it show? Thank God she had never taken things further with Rob. And that they had got over their hiccup like adults. She smiled at her reflection. She was ‘gonna whip his ass’. She returned to the staffroom, trying to look as calm as possible. When she was nearly at the door, she was stopped in her tracks by a noise behind her.

  ‘PSSST!’

  She froze.

  ‘OY!’ An excited whisper from behind her shook the corridor. ‘NICKY!’

  Slowly she turned round to face Rob, who, from the expression on his face, had just been in to see Miss James and now knew that she knew. He ran down the corridor, ending in a skid at her side. He was grinning widely until he saw her face.

  ‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Someone died?’

  ‘How appropriate do you think it is to call me that in the corridor?’ she asked. ‘Especially the corridor outside Miss James’s office?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, sorry,’ he said. ‘Didn’t think.’

  ‘Well, Didn’t Think was made to think.’ She started walking.

  ‘How?’ He followed.

  ‘Dead arm.’ She opened the door. Amanda looked over and gave her an unmistakable scowl. Then she looked away and ignored them.

  Nicky turned away from Rob to join Ally, who immediately turned her back on Pete.

  ‘Morning!’ greeted Ally. ‘God, you look like shit.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Nicky.

  Pete turned to look at her. ‘What h
appened?’ he asked. ‘Don’t tell me you accidentally hugged a child? That’s ten years, eight with good behaviour.’

  ‘Nothing happened!’ she retorted. ‘Can’t a person just look like shit occasionally?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ally. ‘Pete does all the time. He’s an inspiration to us all.’

  ‘Well,’ said Pete shortly, ‘where you lead, I follow.’

  They stared at each other. Nicky wondered if the atmosphere would get even worse with a secret. If that was even possible. Amanda and Rob wandered over. As she watched them, it occurred to her that there was every chance that Rob might actually tell his girlfriend this secret and not his colleagues. Was the gang’s heyday, in effect, over?

  ‘Hello, Gang!’ exclaimed Amanda.

  Yes, thought Nicky. It was.

  She decided to eat on her own in the canteen that day. She hated the fact that she had to keep a secret from Ally. She also didn’t trust herself not to tell her. She needed a day to stop jigging in her seat before she could trust herself to spend time with her. As she started to eat, a shadow fell on her lunch. She looked up. Rob was sitting in front of her, an expression of intense earnestness on his face.

  ‘I chucked Amanda,’ he whispered urgently. ‘It’s over.’

  She blinked. She wasn’t quite sure how to react. Obviously, this was good news because Amanda was a sly bitch and deserved a good chucking, but there were other things to consider. Firstly, why was Rob telling her as though it was of huge significance? Secondly, they were, as of this morning, rivals for the same job. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, she had just put an enormous amount of shepherd’s pie in her mouth.

  ‘I know you’ve been asked to apply for Miss James’s job,’ he rushed. ‘And I know you know I have too. And I know you know that I’ve known for a while.’

  She slowly circled the pie over her teeth to the other side of her mouth. It was good pie.

  ‘Nicky,’ he urged, ‘Miss James wouldn’t let me tell you. I promise. Nicky, don’t do this to me. This is me talking. Rob.’

  Her eyebrows flickered with a hint of a frown as she swallowed and then washed down her mouthful with some water.