‘Yes?’
He reaches his hand into mine; he rarely does that any more. Apparently holding hands is for girls. Ellie would’ve had something to say about that and I have echoed her thoughts, but he won’t budge. ‘Will you be picking me up today?’
‘Yes, mate. Of course I will.’ I pick him up now, give him a kiss and a squeeze before letting him push me away, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone has seen.
‘Good,’ he says, his nerves a little more visible to me now.
‘I am going to do a bit of work from home, then I’ll pop to the shops for some tea. Then, I’ll come and get you.’
‘Can you get me some chocolate and a comic?’
‘I’ll get you a comic or some chocolate, not both. In fact, neither unless I get a please.’
He slaps his hand to his forehead. ‘Pleeease.’
‘Which?’
‘Chocolate. No! A comic. No! Please can I have chocolate... please.’
‘That’s probably enough pleases. Chocolate then. Yes, and I’ll pick you up. Easy peasy.’
‘Lemon squeezy.’
We carry on walking in silence, but I can see him looking around for his friends. ‘James!’ he shouts to a little boy over the road. James waves and jumps in mutual excitement. As we arrive at the gates to his school, he pauses for a moment and I prepare myself. ‘Dad?’
I kneel – eye-to-eye contact – and smile. ‘Yes, mate?’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
I wondered if this might come. I’ve been asking around, how do you deal with the sudden backtrack they might take. It’s a big day, no wonder. ‘Don’t worry, Oli, it’s fine,’ I say, rubbing his hand and squeezing his shoulder. ‘By the end of today you’ll have wondered what all the fuss was about. I promise. You’ll be fine.’ I kiss his hand.
‘I know, Dad,’ he says, frowning. ‘I mean I’ve changed my mind about the chocolate. I want a comic.’ And with that, he runs off towards James, and a gaggle of kids suddenly meet in the middle of the playground, shouting and full of life. I’m not alone in being a single parent bringing him to school this morning. I see a few others on their own. But I see more in pairs. Mum and dad here to celebrate their child’s first big day. I look to the sky just in case she can see. It’s small comfort on a day like today.
Forty-Four
Rachel
From my car, parked up in the staff car park, I watch the school gates teeming with parents and their children: drop offs for the older ones, parking up and walking hand in hand with the younger ones, some screaming with joy at the sight of long-missed friends; six weeks is apparently a lifetime when you’re a kid. The occasional child clutches on to the leg of a parent, and I feel their pain. One cries and his mum tries to cuddle him, while his dad gives him a pep talk over her shoulder. I wouldn’t mind one of those – a pep talk – Man up, Rachel, kids can smell fear.
Judging by my reflection in the rear-view mirror, the kids will be able to see my fear too. My brow is frozen furrowed, so much so that I can feel craters forming in the lines across my forehead. The telltale signs of a lifelong frowner. Usually I can’t help it. Usually it’s just the way my face is, but today... well, today I realise that small people are significantly more intimidating than anyone gives them credit for. I hadn’t anticipated this when collecting my degree certificate.
Right. Bag over shoulder, butterflies from Friday now massive bats in my stomach, let’s do this.
‘Good morning, Miss Fletcher.’
Being called Miss Fletcher makes me want to run away a little bit, as the reality of it all hits. I am in a real-life, grown-up situation.
‘This is exciting, isn’t it? Your first day, their first day. How do you feel?’ asks Mrs Clarke, the teacher from the classroom next door. She’s putting out the chairs, preparing her classroom for the day’s new arrivals.
‘Oh, you know. Mildly alarmed. Terrified. Wondering if I can change my mind about it all. Is this normal? Were you terrified on your first morning, Mrs Clarke?’
'Crikey, I can’t possibly remember that far back. But probably, yes.’ She smiles. ‘It is exciting, though.’
‘Well, yes, exciting is definitely one of the other words... vomit-inducing, there’s another.’
‘Oh, love, no need to be frightened, they’re barely five years old. What on earth can go wrong?’
‘I’ve just completed four years of teacher training, how many stories do you want me to offer?’
‘Ha ha, you’ll be fine! I’m here if you need anything. Now, we have a few jobs that need doing before we let them in.’
She delegates a list of things to sort in our respective rooms: drinks on tables, check all pegs for correct labelling, set out the role-play area – today they will be shopkeepers. I busy myself in my new ‘office’, aware that tiny eyes peer through the glass door as I move around the room. An oversized wall clock with multi-coloured numbers ticks loudly with each passing second, sending me into a much-needed meditative state as it eventually leads us to 8.55 a.m. and the bell rings out to break it.
Deep breath, Rachel. I walk towards the door, about to open it wide and welcome in the new start. A little boy peers through the window, his brilliant green eyes shining, his face happy and bright. I bend down, balancing on the balls of my toes to greet him at his level. He pulls a funny face so, hoping to have found a comrade, I press my nose fast up against the glass, pulling a face in return. He motions behind him for his dad to share the fun as I cross my eyes. His dad bends down too, cupping his hands to the window, glass now the only thing between us, and he sees me. And I see him.
My heart stops. I can’t escape.
Ed!
We mirror one another as we slowly stand, eyes locked through the glass.
A clap of excited hands behind me brings me back to now. ‘Right, Miss Fletcher, are you ready?’ Mrs Clarke peers around the connecting door. ‘Time to let them in!’ She bustles off to her own door, and the sound of her welcoming students pushes me to unlock my door, despite the overwhelming nausea that has replaced nerves. Gone are the butterflies and bats in my belly, hello herd of elephants stamping through my heart.
‘Good morning, in you come, erm… pegs over there… Hi, hello, lovely to see you…’ The children file in and I can’t work out if all this is really happening. ‘Go on, hang your coats up. Oooh,’ I say to a small, curly-haired girl, ‘what a lovely red coat you have, in you go... yes, mums and dads, you can come in. Just for today, mind you.’
Parents file in too, oversized among the tiny tables and chairs. Ed and Oli are the last to come in, the end of the queue. As they get closer, I lose control over my mouth, tripping over instructions, a sick feeling now in my throat.
‘Rachel?’ he says, when he finally gets to the door. I don’t know why he is asking. We both know it’s me. And him. We both know it’s him. It’s him. Oh God.
I cough, attempting to clear the nerves. ‘Hi. Well, this is…’ He stares at me, studying my face, my eyes. ‘This is a surprise.’ He’s still studying me. I feel scrutinised, vulnerable… I feel sick. He looks a little older, he has some grey to the sides now, his eyes hide behind new thick, black-rimmed glasses. Well, new to me at least. Oh God. Does he notice the tiny details of time in me? Not that it matters. It doesn’t matter.
‘In you go,’ he says to Oli, pushing him onwards.
‘Yes, go on, Oli. Hang your coat up.’
I try to beam at Oli, but he leans into his dad. ‘She already knows my name,’ he whispers.
‘Yes… she…’ Ed’s words trail off and I realise he doesn’t know what to say any more than I do.
‘Come on, let’s get you sorted,’ he says, taking off Oli’s bag – a rucksack as big as he is – then an oversized coat that might see him through until his teens. ‘Let’s get these hung up.’ Ed’s eyes are still on me.
I bite my lip, suddenly not trusting myself to handle this the way that Ed might want me to. Should I acknowledge all of this here
and now? Should I acknowledge it at all? Or should I act like we don’t even know each other? For now… Or should I hand in my resignation at break time and move schools altogether?
A few parents start to leave, children giving big kisses. One seems wobbly and I’m grateful for the diversion. ‘Come on, it’s okay. We’re going to have the best day. Tell me, do you like Lego?’ The small girl nods, her chin wobbling. ‘Great, can you be my helper with the Lego boxes today then? I want us all to start off by building whatever comes to our minds.’ The girl nods, letting her mum kiss her head and leave. ‘The boxes are over there, by the carpet. Go and sit down near to it, and when we’ve all said hello this morning, you can help us to get started.’ The little girl nods nervously, but does as she’s told, seating herself close to the Lego.
A few more parents leave and the children start to file onto the carpet, sitting in a straggle of crossed legs and tiny school uniforms that wear the children, not the other way around.
Ed was the last to come in and now he’s the last to go. I’m still stood by the door as he comes over. I busy myself with the papers for register, fumbling with the pen top and pretending I’m checking I have all I need. Of course I have all I need, I’ve checked it ten times already this morning.
Ed moves straight past me to the door, and my heart sinks at being ignored. But he stops, turning back around. ‘I didn't know you worked here.’
‘No.’ I cough. ‘I, er, I just started today.’
‘Right.’
‘I… I didn’t know you lived here.’
‘Yeah. A while now.’ He pauses, his eyes fixed firmly on mine, and part of me wants to run a mile and part of me wants him to take me in his arms. This is not good. This is really not good. ‘We moved here not long after I last saw you.’
‘Oh.’ I go hot and cold at the same time. Clammy. ‘I see.’
He blows a kiss to Oli, then turns to leave. I reach for the handle to pull the door to, but Ed turns around and moves back towards me again. ‘Right, class,’ I say, because I can’t do this here or now. Ed stop in his tracks, takes a deep breath, then leaves, this time without turning back. And I watch, breath held, unable to turn away.
Forty-Five
Ed
I don’t know how it looked, but I felt as if I was staggering from class to school gate, falling against the black metal railings when out on the pavement, trying to get my thoughts in order. I’ve been in some kind of weird daze all day. Was it seeing her for the first time in four years that made me feel that way, or the fact my first thought on seeing her was Rachel! It’s Rachel! Like I was pleased. Like it was good to see her. Like I’d forgotten what she did.
I was supposed to be the one in control today, this morning. I was supposed to be keeping my emotions in check for Oli’s sake. Being the grown-up who could lead him through this rite of passage, his first day at school; a day that would be more different for him than the other kids. The ones with two parents, two people to support the change, whether still together or not. But as I crouched down, met familiar eyes through the glass, and had the slow dawning of who it was, my heart lifted; it skipped, even.
I got home and dropped onto the sofa, staring vacantly at the ground, my feelings muted. Then this bizarre motivation set in, where I started doing stuff I haven’t felt like doing for weeks. Little jobs. Phone calls I didn’t want to make. A new client pitch that had become too big to handle. I took my portfolio down to the library to copy the bits I wanted to send off to another possible new client. Was it all distraction? Did it help to stop me thinking about her? Or am I overthinking it all? Is this mood simply because my boy is experiencing his first day of school and the house is quiet? I’m a bit lost without him here in the afternoon. My wingman has gone.
Maybe this has nothing to do with her.
And yet, as I sit here in my car, clutch pedal depressed, at 2.40 p.m., I realise that as much as I want to see Oli, pick him up and hear about his day, I can’t move. I’m paralysed. Rachel was there at the strangest of times, she saw me at my lowest, she held me as I sobbed. She made me feel comfort and discomfort in equal measure. And the hurt, when she told me what she’d done… it was so deep. It was so unexpected.
A tap on the window sends my heart to my throat.
‘You alright, dear?’
Glynis, from over the road, feigning concern. She doesn’t know I’ve seen her net curtains twitching each time I leave the house. I try, but fail, to open the window, my car keys still not in the ignition. ‘Yes, thanks, Glynis,’ I shout, trying to turn the key and press the switch. The window rolls down.
‘You’ve been sat there since quarter past two, love, I thought you’d fell asleep!’ she chuckles.
‘Oh, yeah, I’ve just been on the phone.’ I motion towards the hands-free kit that obviously hasn’t yet connected with my phone, but I don’t suppose she’ll notice.
She peers into the back of the car. ‘No Oli?’
‘No.’
She raises her eyebrows as if there is some kind of story to be discovered, forcing me to expand.
‘First day of school.’
‘Ah, bless him. I remember my Michael’s first day of school. Lovely memories. He cried like a baby for the entire morning, wouldn’t let me leave. Then, when I did finally go, he got so upset he was sick all over the story carpet and the teachers sent him home.’ I stare at her, dismayed. ‘Still makes us laugh today. He’s such a mummy’s boy is our Michael.’
I wonder if the forty-three-year-old that visits her week on week knows that she talks about him this way.
‘I bet he looked ever so grown up in that uniform, didn’t he?’
‘Yeah, he did. It’s massive on him. It’ll probably do him till sixth form.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t think so, dear. They grow ever so fast, you know.’
‘Yes. I was… never mind. I’d better go and fetch him.’ I smile politely.
‘Yes, it wouldn’t do to keep him waiting on his first day, would it now?’
‘No.’
‘No.’
She is still standing here. I turn the ignition on, putting the window up, smiling at her. It’s not until I release the handbrake that she steps backwards, moving her shopping trolley out of my way.
‘Bye, dear, hope he has had fun.’
‘Bye.’
She waves.
I reverse off the drive, turn the corner out of our road and out of sight. I park up again. The distraction got me moving, but I haven’t quite cleared up what I am going to say to Rachel yet. I knock the gear into neutral and look into the mirror. Is this the face of a man who can confront the elephant in the room? The sight of Glynis shuffling around the corner, pulling her shopping trolley behind her, forces me to adjust the rear-view mirror and move on.
We’ve been doing so well. We’ve been on a new path, a new journey. It’s been working. I don’t want the past to colour my future.
Is it okay to have felt happy to see her, or am I confused? Do we want her in our lives again? After what she did? After what she knows… Maybe I should just move Oli to another school.
Forty-Six
Rachel
Ed helps Oli into his school coat, juggling the books, pictures and drinks bottle that Oli hasn't managed to put into his book bag. I pick up the book he’s dropped.
‘There you go.’
‘Thanks.’ Ed takes it from me, avoiding eye contact. ‘Have you had a good day, big man?’
‘Yeah, look.’ He thrusts his chest in Ed’s face. ‘Miss Fletcher gave me a sticker!’ He displays it with all the pride of a gold medal Olympian.
‘I couldn’t not reward such excellent tidying up,’ I explain.
‘Wow, you can tidy up?’ asks Ed, teasing Oli. ‘Well done, that’s brilliant,’ he concedes, ruffling Oli’s hair. ‘Perhaps you could bring that new-found skill home.’ A few more children leave, parents thanking me as they usher them out of the door. Ed straightens up, moving out of the way for a young girl and
her big sister. ‘Sorry,’ he says to the girl.
‘Dad, Dad, can I go on the slide? Jack is there, can I go too?’
Ed looks out of the door to the play area. ‘Of course, mate, go on. I'll be there in a second.’ He turns to me. ‘How did he…?’
‘Oh, fine, yeah.’
‘I didn’t know if he’d… you know, his mum and that.’
‘No, no, he… he was fine.’
Ed nods. Something else is on the tip of his tongue, but whatever it is he can’t say it.
‘Have you had a good day?’ I ask, then realise this is all pretence, it’s all nonsense, because we don’t know what else to say. ‘Look, Ed. I’m sorry. If this is weird—’
‘No, no! It’s not… well…’
We stand awkwardly. ‘How’ve you been?’ I ask eventually.
‘Oh, you know…’ He shuffles Oli’s bag and stuff into one hand so he can ruffle his hair. ‘We’re…’ He watches Oli jumping on his pal’s back; they collapse into giggles and a slight smile touches the corners of Ed’s mouth. ‘He saved me.’
His words touch me, his focus on Oli as he runs around. ‘Now probably isn’t—’
‘No,’ he interrupts, flicking his eyes briefly in my direction, before heading towards the door. ‘It isn’t,’ he answers.
Mrs Clarke comes through the adjoining door. ‘How was your first day?’ she asks, bustling towards us, picking up some rubbish from the floor, her pleated skirt swinging as she does. ‘You survived,’ she says.
‘I did,’ I agree.
‘Well done,’ says Ed, before stepping out the door after Oli. Mrs Clarke smiles as he leaves, making it less and less possible for me to go after him. Talk to him. Apologise to him.
So instead I stand and watch him leave, wondering if he notices I’m there when he turns back to face the classroom before turning a corner out of sight.
The Lost Wife: An uplifting page-turner about grief, love and friendship Page 20
