The Classroom

by A. L. Bird

She looks at Harriet, her darling Harriet, eyes still bright from the excitement of the day (and now, the cupcake). Harriet looks back at her, and snuggles over to Kirsten’s side of the sofa. Kirsten folds the letter and puts her head into Harriet’s hair.

  ‘It was such a fun day, Mummy! I love you.’

  Kirsten looks up to the ceiling to try to stop her tears from falling or from cracking her voice.

  ‘I love you too, sweetheart.’

  ‘Can we go again for my birthday, please?’

  ‘Of course we can,’ says Kirsten. Because it’s easier than saying, ‘I don’t know if I’ll still be your mummy by the time of your birthday.’

  When Ian comes home, there is an emergency hissed conference of war in the kitchen.

  ‘What do we do?’ asks Kirsten, waving the letter.

  Ian stands, eyes closed, hands in his pockets.

  ‘She’s not going to go away, Kirsten,’ he says.

  ‘But why now? What do you think she wants?’ Kirsten asks.

  ‘I think she wants her child.’

  Kirsten slumps. Of course that’s what Becky wants. But Harriet isn’t Becky’s child anymore. She was Becky’s baby. She’ll always be the biological mother. Yet it’s Kirsten who has nurtured and maintained and loved her these last five years. That must count for something, surely?

  ‘She can’t have her. I won’t give her up!’ she says. ‘We’ll move, change our names, everything!’

  ‘It won’t work,’ Ian tells her. ‘Becky knows what I look like, and I bet she’s got a pretty good idea of what you look like too.’

  ‘Well, we’ll just denounce her – report her before she can report us.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Being a mad fantasist.’

  ‘They’ll do DNA tests,’ Ian reminds her.

  ‘We won’t let them! Harriet can’t consent for herself and we won’t consent for her.’

  ‘There’ll be a court order.’

  ‘Only if she fights it! And where is she going to get the money from?’

  Ian doesn’t reply immediately. Then he says, ‘So that’s your world view, is it? Only the rich should be able to hang on to their children?’

  Kirsten puts her hands on the kitchen counter and pushes against it with all her might to stop herself crying out.

  ‘Ian, we’ve got to stop her. You’ve got to stop her. Otherwise, if she goes to the press, your career is ruined, you remember? And you might even do jail time.’

  ‘And you think you’ll come off all squeaky clean, business empire intact?’

  Kirsten shakes her head. ‘That isn’t the point. The point is keeping our daughter.’

  Ian leans in close to Kirsten. ‘But honey, that’s just the thing – she isn’t your daughter. She’s Becky’s. And they need to see each other. You need to talk to Becky.’

  ‘I won’t do it!’ Kirsten is sobbing now. ‘I won’t! I will never, ever survive this if we have to let Harriet go.’

  ‘Then you’d better come up with a Plan B.’

  Chapter 24

  BECKY

  At the first breakfast club after half-term, Kirsten is visibly jumpy. A kid drops a plate, and Kirsten starts, like it’s a shot ringing out.

  But Becky doesn’t care about Kirsten this morning. She cares about Harriet. And she knows, now, that this is a child she’s qualified to look after, never mind what has gone before. A week is a long time not to see her.

  ‘How was half-term?’ Becky asks both of them.

  ‘Brilliant!’ says Harriet, and starts recounting tales of some play place. The rest of the time, she spent drawing pictures of Mummy’s office, no doubt. Although Ian will have been around a bit, presumably, with it being half-term. Subject to any holiday-time drama camps, of course.

  ‘It was fine,’ Kirsten says. Ungrateful witch. Although, to be fair, Becky does know where she’s coming from. Then again, it’s not so nice being apart from Harriet. Becky would love to tell Kirsten now, see her face. But she needs to keep more than one route to her darling. In case Kirsten is as obstinate as Becky worries she will be.

  ‘By the way, I was wondering,’ Kirsten says, looking around the room, still holding on to Harriet’s hand. ‘What are the security arrangements for these breakfasts, and the after-school clubs?’

  Becky pretends not to know why this would be a concern. She crumples her brow. ‘Exactly the same as the rest of the school, Dr White. If someone’s not a parent or on our system, they can’t collect a child. Simple as that.’

  ‘But if someone wasn’t a parent, but said they were a parent – what then?’

  ‘I think we all know who our pupils’ parents are, by now, Dr White. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of sending Harriet home with someone who wasn’t her real mummy or daddy.’

  Kirsten looks sick to the stomach. Good. But then she seems to remember her manners. She smiles at Becky, says: ‘It’s such a relief I have you to rely on.’

  If only she knew. Well, she will soon.

  ‘Now, Harriet,’ Becky says, holding out her hand. How she wants to feel that skin-to-skin contact again! ‘Let’s get you some breakfast, shall we?’ And then to Kirsten: ‘Why don’t you get yourself a coffee on the way to work. No offence, but you look like you need it.’

  And when Kirsten has turned, lower lip slightly trembly (probably thinking Becky can’t see it but, oh, how she relishes it), Becky gives Harriet a huge hug. If anyone asks, she’ll say Harriet was missing her mummy and daddy after spending all half-term with them. Truth is, Harriet is missing her mummy. She just doesn’t know it yet.

  * * *

  During morning lessons, Becky is just about to tear her eyes away from Harriet and look at some of the other students. And they have a lot to prepare for: in two days’ time, little Syrian refugee Maya will be joining them for half an hour in the classroom.

  ‘You have to be very nice to her,’ Becky tells the children. ‘She’ll be very shy. She won’t understand your questions yet. We’ll have a grown-up here who speaks her language, but she still may not want to answer you.’

  ‘She doesn’t say much,’ confirms Tiffany, the child whose parents are looking after Maya.

  ‘Does she play games with you, though, Tiffany?’ Becky asks her.

  Tiffany shrugs. ‘Sometimes. But she mostly just sits and hugs her toy dog.’

  ‘Well, she must be very sad,’ Becky says. ‘Imagine, if you had to leave your mummy and daddy behind and didn’t know if you’d ever see them again.’

  Becky looks at Harriet, thinking of herself. But then she realises: to Harriet, Ian and Kirsten are her mummy and daddy. She would be sad not to see them again. Becky pushes the thought out of her mind as quickly as it appeared. Once Harriet knew the truth, she would be delighted to be with Becky as her real mummy. They’d spend much more time together than Kirsten ever did. It would be a proper relationship, lasting them a lifetime.

  The children spend the rest of the day thinking of questions for Maya, or things they can tell her about school life in the UK (depending on what group they are in). Becky vets their work. ‘What is the last thing your mummy said to you?’ is allowed. ‘How do you know your mummy and daddy are still alive?’ is not. Over-emphasis on pick-up and drop-off time (and seeing parents or siblings again) is discouraged; talking about running around in the playground is fine.

  At the end of the school day, with all this activity, Becky is suddenly seized by a fear that she is saying goodbye to Harriet for the last time. Kirsten might do something rash, something dramatic. Becky should just take Harriet away with her now.

  But no. As ‘Miriam’, the reliable Ms Robertson, she can continue to see Harriet each weekday. She knows that. If Kirsten won’t play ball, then it will be time for more drastic action. Right now, Becky needs not to panic. She must be strong, for Harriet’s sake. She must hand Harriet over to Kirsten a few more times, at least, before she wins back what is rightfully hers.

  Chapter 25

  KIR
STEN

  Kirsten breathes a sigh of relief as she leaves the school. At least Harriet is safe there. Ms Robertson gave her that assurance. And the breakfast club will keep Harriet happy – she seems to be getting a lot of care and attention there. Kirsten can continue her journey to work.

  But on the way to work that morning, everyone is Becky. The young woman who Kirsten only just stops for at the zebra crossing. The female driver who cuts her up as she tries to turn into the surgery. The patient already waiting for her when she arrives at reception. They are all the right age profile. She can imagine Ian with all of them all those years ago. And she can imagine any of them making off with Harriet. As she unlocks the door into her consulting room she sees her hands are shaking.

  Kirsten writes herself a prescription for Valium, then changes it to Seroxat, then prints out one for both of them.

  What is she going to do? Other than take sedatives and anti-depressants, that is.

  There’s another woman who wants to mother her child. Who maybe has a greater claim. But no way is Kirsten buying into Ian’s surprisingly hippyish philosophy that they should all just sit and talk it through. She’s not going to achieve anything by having some heart-to-heart chat with Becky.

  Kirsten jumps as her phone rings. It’s a number she doesn’t recognise.

  Is it …?

  No, it couldn’t possibly be Becky, could it? That’s absurd. But what if it is? What if Ian gave out her number in some misconceived attempt to help?

  Kirsten stares at the phone so long that it rings out.

  It starts ringing again.

  She can’t answer it now. She’s not in the right mindset. She flicks the phone to silent, like she always does for her consulting days. She throws it into the bottom of her bag.

  No. That’s not good enough. This is about Harriet. If the caller is Becky, she has to answer.

  Voicemail phones her. Taking a deep breath, she answers.

  A female voice, could be her, Kirsten thinks for an instant. But no. It’s automated. A PPI-bot.

  Kirsten places her head on her desk. This powerless anxiety can’t go on. She needs a plan.

  For possibly the ten thousandth time since she heard the name Becky, and for at least the five hundredth time that week, Kirsten goes back to the Google searches. There’s a three-minute window before her next appointment. Maybe she can find out more about Becky then? Some clever new combination of search terms.

  ‘Becky, Ian White, school girl, baby, Croydon.’

  No. Nothing.

  Back in 2012, Kirsten had been delighted that Becky’s school had hushed it up. Had been horrified that she’d even had to know the first name of another woman, had baulked at the idea of a surname. So now, she can’t even get a picture, a social media profile, for this woman who wants to take away her daughter. Her life. If only she’d met her, back then. At least she’d know who to look out for.

  The next patient is due. She considers not buzzing them in, pretending that she is busy with urgent paperwork for a previous consultation. But she already tried that earlier, and Jess sent the patient through anyway. Her practice manager won’t let things slide, even if Kirsten will.

  So she sits through some man ya-da-yahing about how meaningless life has become, and pops him on the same prescriptive doses she has just assigned herself. Good. Another few minutes won. She turns back to Google.

  Maybe they can just run away with Harriet. Ian said they’d be found, but would they? Really? They could all live in a barn in the middle of Norfolk. Be recluses. Live off the land. Home-school Harriet. Change all their names. That would work, wouldn’t it? Kirsten goes onto Rightmove. You can get some excellent places, big gardens. Shame they wouldn’t be able to let Harriet play in them. Because they’d always, always be hiding. Better prescribe Harriet that Vitamin D now, if she’s to be perpetually out of the light.

  Oh, this is nonsense! That wouldn’t be a life for Harriet. And they’d have no money, because Kirsten would be too frightened to go out to work in case a Becky-spy recognised her. She and Ian would be at each other’s throats the entire time, and Harriet would have to have counselling for her whole adult life – if she even made it that far without being snatched away.

  No, she needed something more permanent. Maybe Ian was right. Maybe they needed something crafted by lawyers in the interests of all parties. Something privately agreed, so that the courts, with their obsession with biological parenthood, didn’t get their hands on it.

  * * *

  That evening, Kirsten waits until Harriet must definitely be asleep, and then opens a bottle of wine. She pours Ian a glass, unprompted.

  ‘We should talk,’ she says.

  He looks up from what is presumably yet more Ofsted admin, his glasses on his nose.

  ‘I need to review these for tomorrow, for an all-staff meeting. Sorry, sweetheart.’ He looks down again.

  Kirsten repeats herself, quietly but firmly. ‘No, Ian. We should talk. About Becky.’

  Ian looks up again, takes his glasses off. Accepts the wine.

  ‘Sure,’ he says.

  There’s a pause. It’s her conversation; she knows she must speak.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said,’ she tells him. ‘And you’re right. We need to work something out. For everyone’s benefit.’

  ‘Go on,’ Ian says.

  ‘So, I think, if we got together – you, me, Becky – had a talk, agreed some terms, we could work out a split-custody arrangement. Visitation, anyway. Maybe throw in a little bit of pocket money for supervised trips out. That kind of thing.’

  Kirsten knows that she is lessening the terms of a deal for Becky with each sentence. But custody? She can’t bear the idea of letting Harriet stay with someone else. And trips out for Becky and Harriet? Alone? How can she possibly countenance that?

  Ignoring Ian’s raised eyebrows, she asks him, ‘What do you think?’

  He takes a sip of wine before answering. ‘It’s great that you’re thinking about this. We need to try everything. But let me do the talking to her.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I go and meet her?’ Part of Kirsten wants to meet the woman, hunt her down, be able to recognise her in the street if she comes too close to her child. The other part never wants to set eyes on her, for fear she might actually just be a normal human being. That Kirsten herself might feel empathy, and cave.

  Ian pauses again, as if picking his words carefully. ‘I think it may not be the easiest meeting. I think there’s a degree of … hostility there for you.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  Ian shakes his head. ‘I don’t know for certain. I just get the impression from conversations back at the time. That she may have seen you as the driving force. May have stored up the most resentment for you.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous! You’re the one who got her into this, not me.’

  ‘I get that, of course. But that’s my gut instinct. And this is so sensitive. Plus it’s my mess. I should sort it out, shouldn’t I?’

  Kirsten toys with her wine. She can’t decide. Ian hasn’t made a good job of sorting it out to date. So why should he manage it on his own now?

  As if sensing her uncertainty, Ian speaks again.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he says. ‘Why don’t I speak to her first? Warm her up. Then depending on how it’s going, see if I can broker a meeting for all three of us?’

  Kirsten nods. ‘Maybe. OK, yes. Let’s do that.’

  ‘Great.’ Ian gets up from his seat, gives Kirsten a kiss, then puts down his wine glass and goes back to his marking.

  Kirsten stares at him. He seems oblivious.

  ‘Well?’ she asks.

  ‘Well what?’ Ian says, looking up. Then he seems to get it. ‘What, you want me to go over there now?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Ian looks theatrically at his watch. ‘Because it’s 8.30 now. It will be gone 9, maybe even 9.30, by the time I get there. That’s not a time for a visit like this!’


  ‘Phone her, then. Get her number from directory enquiries. Or didn’t she put it on the letter?’

  ‘You really think this conversation is best to be had by phone?’

  ‘Make it a pre-conversation. Set a date for a proper meeting. Say you need to talk. I don’t know – you used to be a drama teacher, write a script!’

  Ian gives a sigh. ‘Fine. You’re right. Of course, I can tee something up.’

  He gets up off his chair and leaves the room.

  While she waits for feedback, Kirsten goes and stands outside Harriet’s room. She can just about see her sleeping form from here. She is so sweet, so lovely, so … hers. But even as she thinks it, Kirsten knows the biological claim is a strong one. A just one. And she is conscious that there is something very real, very tangible, that she would be denying her gorgeous, innocent Harriet.

  That doesn’t mean she is willing to surrender, though.

  She hears Ian talking in murmurs below. She tries to make out the words, but can’t. She should go downstairs and eavesdrop, but she wants to drink in all she can of Harriet, while she has the chance.

  When the murmuring stops, she tears her eyes away from Harriet, and goes downstairs.

  ‘Well?’ she asks Ian.

  He nods. ‘She’ll see me. Tomorrow night.’

  Chapter 26

  BECKY

  So, it turns out Kirsten isn’t just a bad mother. She’s a bad wife, as well. Makes her husband do the dirty work. Oh sure, on the phone, he dressed it up well. Said he ‘understood it would be emotionally difficult for everyone if Kirsten were to come round.’ Not for Becky. The only difficult thing would be to restrain herself. For Kirsten, yeah, Becky imagines it would be difficult. That she would feel some trauma, for the rest of her life, at the concept of giving up her child.

  Join the club.

  But Becky needs to get past her anger. Or at least, to look like she has. She knows that. The fire of righteous indignation, no matter how justly burning, has a tendency to look mad, erratic, frightening to those who don’t feel that heat. She needs to be cool, if this meeting with Ian is to have any effect. It’s maybe the highest-stakes discussion she’s ever had.