Unable to look Mark in the eye, she didn’t see his features relax into a beam.
‘Excellent reason to get serious with someone,’ he said.
‘Yeah well, that’s what I mean,’ said Nicky. ‘It’s complicated. It’s all over the place. But basically we’re old news. Very old news. He’s been out with Amanda since me and he’ll probably go out with her again. And I don’t envy either of them.’
‘Mm.’
‘Anyway,’ she said, bravely looking up, ‘I don’t want to talk about him.’
Mark’s eyes seemed to light up from inside, as if the tiny family living in his head were switching on their evening lamps. His eyes were so expressive that she went gooey just looking at them. Wow. This moment was delicious. She just wanted it to go on and on. She wanted to bottle it.
‘Of course,’ said Mark. ‘Sorry. Change of subject.’
She realised she was just sitting there smiling at Mark. And he was smiling back at her with a smile so pensive and slight that she felt intrusive looking at it. Intrusive and soft-centred.
After a lengthy silence, she took a gulp of wine and, in doing so, lifted her eyes to meet Mark’s. His skin was utterly perfect. She thought of her freckles and managed a tight little grin. She could feel his soft breath on her cheeks.
There was a long silence. She cleared her throat. ‘So anyway,’ she said, huskily, ‘about this table quiz –’
‘Fuck the table quiz,’ murmured Mark, edging closer, and she almost had a coronary. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard. She’d never be able to hear the words ‘table quiz’ again without feeling faint. They locked eyes and hovered timelessly, before his gaze slid down to her lips. She swallowed. She heard him swallow. She looked down at his lips.
He leant ever so slightly towards her, his face tilting fractionally. Feeling dizzy, she leant towards him. He stopped suddenly. She stopped suddenly. He looked back up at her eyes. She looked back up at his. He gave a fraction of a smile. He looked back down to her lips. Her back was beginning to ache. Then he softly brushed her thigh with a warm hand and started leaning and tilting towards her again, his breathing thick. Her eyelids fluttered shut.
‘Hello!’ cried Oscar from the kitchen. They both leapt two feet in the air. Nicky spilt her wine and Mark knocked his shin on the sofa leg.
‘Hello!’ they both shouted.
Oscar froze. They froze. Oscar’s cheeks reddened and his eyes filled. He raced out of the room. Mark raced after him, but when he heard Oscar’s door slam, he stood on the stairs for a moment before coming back down.
He found Nicky in the hall.
‘I’d better go,’ she said, looking at the floor. She got her scarf a bit tangled and decided just to carry it.
‘Right,’ said Mark.
‘Right. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
It wasn’t until Nicky had been in bed for a while that the liquid wooziness stopped completely. As she fell asleep, her phone bleeped. She stretched across to her bedside table.
Night-night, my lovely rival! Rx
She flung herself back on her pillow and groaned.
Meanwhile, after tidying up the kitchen, turning out the lights and locking up, Mark tapped on Oscar’s door. When he heard a muffled ‘Come in’, he tiptoed into the dark room. Oscar was curled up in bed.
Mark sat on his bed and leant over him.
‘Sorry,’ squeaked Oscar.
He hugged him and Oscar sat up and cried in his father’s chest.
24
DURING THE NEXT month, Nicky had no choice but to focus on the issues at hand. She had real, proper work to do for the table quiz, which did exist and was now only three weeks away. She had masses of organising to do for the summer trip to Bournemouth, which was to start nine days before the end of term. With only one and a half days of school after it, she had final-ever reports for thirty children to write before the end of term. And, she was informed during a morning meeting, she now had two headship interviews, one with Miss James, the other with six of the school’s governors, to look forward to. Meanwhile, she had her Joint Deputy hinting at babies in every other text and a knee-trembling crush on her favourite pupil’s father.
Focus, focus, focus.
But first things first. The morning after the ‘meeting’, her first priority was to sort things out with Oscar. Poor, poor Oscar. After she’d got home from Mark’s, and spent a few heady hours replaying certain aspects of the evening, she moved on to replaying Oscar’s cameo, though key, appearance. The more she remembered his expression the more wretched she felt.
Bright and early the next morning – five o’clock to be precise – she realised she must apologise to him personally. She emailed Mark as soon as she got to work.
She deleted several versions in her quest to find the right tone for such an email. It was a toughie.
Dear Mark, she began.
Too formal.
Mark.
Too cold.
Dear Mr Right?
Too needy.
How difficult could it be? All she wanted to do was ask how Oscar was. After half an hour, ten minutes before she knew the staffroom would be buzzing, she finally found the right tone.
How’s Oscar? she wrote.
Nicky.
She clicked Send and then gasped. There was an email for her. From him. He was in already. Down the corridor. Probably in a black suit, white shirt, no tie and his Adam’s apple.
How are you? it said.
Mark.
Her throat squeaked. Their emails had crossed each other. She leapt up to go to his office. As she reached the staffroom door, she almost knew what was going to happen next before it happened. She waited a second and then, lo and behold, the door opened and there stood Mark.
‘Hi!’ they both said.
‘Our emails crossed over,’ he said. ‘I thought I might as well just come and talk to you.’
‘Yes. Me too. How’s Oscar?’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘He just felt terrible because he thought he’d interrupted something personal.’
Nicky’s hand flew up to her mouth. ‘Poor thing!’ she cried. ‘I’ve got to talk to him.’
‘He’s fine!’ insisted Mark. ‘How are you?’
‘Is he in already?’ she asked.
‘Yep. In class. Reading his book.’
‘I’ll go up,’ she stepped forward to pass him.
‘How are you?’
She looked at him and shook her head. ‘I can’t . . . It’s about Oscar. I feel terrible.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I’m his teacher, for goodness’ sake.’
‘I know.’ Mark stepped back. ‘Absolutely. Talk to him.’
She ran up the stairs and found Oscar sitting in his seat, reading his book.
‘Oscar, my love,’ she started. He could barely look her in the eye. She went to him and knelt down beside him, careful not to make the physical contact too intimate. It almost hurt. She wanted to hug him till his teeth twanged.
‘You are a wonderful boy,’ she whispered.
He nodded one sharp nod.
‘I had no right to make you feel uncomfortable in your own home.’
Another sharp nod and a sniff.
‘You have nothing to be embarrassed about at all.’
Another nod, another sniff.
When she returned to the staffroom, Ally was there and the others weren’t.
‘So?’ whispered Ally, as soon as she got near.
‘It was a real meeting,’ whispered Nicky.
‘And?’
Nicky took a deep breath. She mustn’t tell her. This was dangerous. It could lose her her job.
‘And?’ repeated Ally.
‘We nearly kissed.’
Crap.
Ally blinked at her. ‘That was some meeting,’ she murmured.
‘Nearly.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ murmured Ally. ‘Perhaps I should reconsider my principle of not getting involved in school activities.’<
br />
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ begged Nicky. ‘Promise.’
Ally looked hurt. ‘Who would I tell?’
‘I don’t know. Pete. Rob.’
‘Are you kidding?’ said Ally. ‘And risk them swapping your secrets for a fumble with Amanda?’ She snorted. ‘I’d rather pickle my own eyes.’
Pete arrived and joined them immediately.
‘Hello, laydeez!’ he said. ‘Who wants a coffee?’
‘Ooh lovely!’ said Ally.
‘You star!’ said Nicky.
They watched him go to the kettle.
‘Bless,’ said Nicky fondly.
‘I know,’ sighed Ally. ‘It’s like watching a child in the body of a slightly bigger child.’
After that day, Nicky made a point of going to the canteen for lunch later than usual, and she completely stopped popping in to see Mark in his office. He kept his distance too. She made Ally promise never to mention the meeting again.
Suddenly, and purely coincidentally, her list of jobs had grown so long it had practically doubled and she only had time to think about Mark properly in the privacy of her own home. Purely due to lack of time she didn’t even have the chance to chew the situation over slowly – usually twice, like a pensive cow – with Claire, which was her usual way of dealing with this kind of problem. There was just so much to do.
When she wasn’t finalising table quiz arrangements, which involved marketing, enjoying convoluted phone calls with members of the PTA about University Challenge versus The Weakest Link, selling tickets during lunch-hours, collecting prizes for the raffle, organising the dinner ladies, emailing Mark with the latest updates about it (two PTA members were writing the quiz, Mark was collecting the money from all the teams and sorting final numbers), finalising numbers, allergies and dietary requirements for the summer trip to Bournemouth, which involved writing to parents, hassling parents and then collating replies (Rob was organising the trip’s daily itinerary, and Miss James was finalising the hostel because the owner was an old friend), or writing thirty reports (with no music in the background), she was just teaching, really.
It came as no surprise to Nicky that her biggest worry soon became the table quiz.
Partly because it was the first hurdle to jump, but mostly because it would mean spending two and a half hours in Mark’s company (which she now found so confusing that the only thing she believed in was his name) in front of Miss James, most of the other teachers and about a hundred parents. And it would mean dealing with the PTA, dinner ladies and her boss. Let alone Rob, her arch-rival who was now merrily talking procreation; Ally, who knew about her history with Rob and her recent history with Mark and had been known to get so drunk at school functions that she got confused over what was a secret and what was a public announcement; Pete, who may or may not know about what had happened with Rob; and Amanda, her new best friend and ally whom she despised and who despised her.
Now, what did one wear for such an evening?
Summer had been last week, so Nicky’s choice of skirts was narrowed down to three. The previous weekend (midsummer) she’d been doing her weekly shop and happened to find herself in a posh chemist where, as a little treat to herself, she spent practically half her monthly salary on some new, sheer stockings and a Clarins cleanser. Perhaps when she was Head she’d be able to afford toner too.
Hours before the table quiz, she was feeling stressed, so she allowed herself a break from organising the Bournemouth trip and preparing for her interviews. She got home before six and in only three hours, she was nearly ready.
She kept to her simple work uniform of skirt, heels and fitted top, except that tonight, she took the plunge and decided to wear something slightly different. It was an evening do, after all. Tonight’s skirt was smart and fitted but made of black leather. Tonight’s shoes were that bit higher, and did things to her ankles and calves that, combined with the sheer new stockings, worked on testosterone as nectar to a bee. And tonight’s tight-fitting top was low-cut, fitted and short, yet thanks to its overall casual design, looked as if it wasn’t really trying.
She twirled round in the full-length hall mirror, and straightened the seam at the back of her new stockings. She could hardly apply her lipstick, her hand was shaking so much. When the doorbell suddenly buzzed, she had to start again because she felt the clown mouth ruined the overall look. She made her way carefully down the stairs in her heels and opened the door to Claire. She had begged Claire to come. Claire’s car was bigger than hers which would give them room to take all the raffle prizes. She’d have asked Ally but she lived on the other side of the school, and anyway, Ally just turning up was a major step. With a lift from her sister, Nicky had the perfect excuse not to accept a lift from Rob. And Claire could provide much-needed, unconditional, sisterly moral support.
‘Bloody hell!’ cried Claire, when she saw her. ‘You’re wearing that?’
‘Why?’ Nicky froze.
‘Um . . . nothing.’
Nicky glanced at her watch. She didn’t have time to change.
‘Well, thanks for your support,’ she mumbled, going back up the stairs. ‘I feel drunk on high self-esteem now.’ She thrust a cuddly dog the size of a pony into her sister’s arms. ‘Come on. There’s loads to do. We’ll do it in two trips.’
A quarter of an hour later, they were ready to go.
‘You do look lovely,’ said Claire, as she started the car. ‘I –’
‘Just drive,’ said Nicky.
‘No, really,’ said Claire. ‘It was just –’
‘I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Will you stop interrupting me! It was just that I felt underdressed because I didn’t realise it was a posh do.’
‘It’s not a posh do!’ wailed Nicky. ‘I’m ridiculously overdressed.’
‘But it looks good.’
‘Stop talking and drive.’
After Claire got lost, making them late, Nicky seriously considered going back home and telling everyone tomorrow that she’d completely forgotten to come because she’d been so traumatised by the latest plot twist in Emmerdale. It felt marginally less excruciating than turning up late to an evening she’d helped organise, wearing a dead cow.
As Claire parked, Nicky tried to open the door, but the child-lock was on. She watched helplessly as parents walked past the car, up the path.
‘Oh good,’ mumbled Claire, unlocking the doors, ‘I won’t be the only one in jeans.’
Nicky tried to get out of the car quickly (not easy in her outfit), making do with slamming the door very heavily.
Guests had only just started arriving, but all the staff were there. One dinner lady was placing the regulation green cups and saucers plus jumbo packs of custard creams on trolleys in the corner of the hall for the half-time refreshment break, the other was hefting vast bottles of lemonade, water, what looked like hundreds of bottles of cheap wine, plus paper cups into the middle of each table. The quizmasters – parents of a Year 3 child, who did charity quizzes for a hobby (and were nearing divorce, partly due to doing charity quizzes for a hobby) – were seated on the podium at the front of the hall, arguing volubly over the microphone system. Amanda and Mark were chatting in the far corner. Nicky squinted at them, questioning what he’d told her about his thoughts of Amanda, before looking away fast. Ally and Pete were sitting on one of the tables with Martha and her boyfriend. Rob was walking slowly round the hall, next to Miss James, hands clasped behind his back like a visiting dignitary.
Hoping that Miss James wouldn’t spot her arriving this late, Nicky hurried her collection of raffle prizes over to the podium, then made her way over to the dinner ladies to thank them for getting there so promptly. Then she caught Mark’s eye over the top of Amanda’s head, and he gave her a wide, open smile. Amanda turned round to see who he was smiling at. Mark gave the nod and, together, they approached Nicky and Claire. Miss James and Rob were approaching from the other side of the hall and they all met in the middle. Nicky trie
d to wear the expression of someone who had been there for the past hour.
‘Nicky!’ cried Amanda, running the last bit of the way towards her. ‘You made it! Excellent! Now we’re all here.’ She took both her hands in hers and, arms outstretched, looked her up and down. ‘Wow! Look at you. Boy oh boy. I can see why you were this late! Very, very sexy. I didn’t know you wore leather. But if it makes you look that amazing, to hell with having a conscience!’
Nicky felt anything but amazing, with her arms stuck in the air, and tried fruitlessly to pull her hands out of Amanda’s. She had to introduce Claire to them all with her arms still up. They remembered Claire from when she’d been in observing the teachers’ assistants and conversation was easy. After Amanda finally dropped her hands, Nicky decided to go and sit down.
‘Bloody hell,’ whispered Claire, following behind.
‘What?’ muttered Nicky.
‘She’s a bitch, isn’t she?’ said Claire. ‘Why does she hate you so much?’
Nicky stared at the centre of the table, seeing nothing, her head buzzing. Soon everyone else from their team had joined them. Nicky was seated between Miss James and Claire. Rob was on the other side of Miss James. Amanda was on his other side. Mark sat next to Claire. Then came Ned, his wife, Ally and Pete, and Martha and her boyfriend.
Ally and Pete were in their most scornful and sarcastic moods. Martha was in a foul mood. This put her boyfriend in an even fouler mood. Ned was nervous. This made his wife even more nervous. Rob was ebullient. Amanda was more ebullient. Mark was tense. Nicky was even more tense.
‘Isn’t this fun?’ squealed Miss James, pouring wine into everyone’s paper cups.
They nodded and, almost as one, downed their drinks. The microphone suddenly roared with feedback, announcing the quizmaster. ‘Er, hello, everyone,’ he began, and then laughed a nervous laugh. ‘Can you hear me at the back?’
‘NO!’ shouted everyone at the back.
Nicky thought she might actually kill someone before the evening was out.
The Learning Curve Page 33
