Fifty-Four
Rachel
Greg messaged me hours ago. I keep pulling my phone out and checking what it says, seeing if there are lines for me to read between. I’ve dialled Ed’s number several times but never got as far as pressing ‘call’. I’ve tapped out messages, imagined conversations. And now, at teatime, I’m still no clearer on what to do.
I told Dad about it all. Reminded him what I did. He pulled me in for a hug and said that everything happens for a reason. That maybe our story wasn’t over. I wasn’t aware Ed and I had a story, and if we do, I don’t know if I want to read until the end.
Mo’s messaged me. A photo of Elizabeth and a love heart. I’m so happy for her, I really am. Which makes it harder to understand why my heart hurts whenever I think about the fact my best friend is now a mother. I’ve had time to prepare, I knew this was coming. But perhaps now, having seen the beauty of it for myself, I’d be kidding myself to think I don’t want that too. Thirty-one, the age Mum was when she died. I’m at the start of a new career and contemplating the need for a child of my own. Is it an age thing? Or a love thing… a mum thing, even? Or just a last-twenty-four-hours thing?
Dad said I shouldn’t leave the school. And I don’t really want to. I just want to do the right thing, by me, by Ed. If only I knew what the right thing was.
My phone lights up with a news alert; it draws my attention to it. Doing the right thing is harder when you’re assuming you know what that is. But doing the right thing is important when you’ve made so many bad decisions. And he did ask me to call. I dial Ed’s number.
‘Hello?’ His voice is weary.
‘It’s Rachel.’
‘Rachel, hi.’ He sighs down the phone.
‘You asked me to call you, are you okay?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know. I’ve got no idea what I am at the moment, but, yes, I did ask you to call. I just…’ He breaks off. ‘Yes, Oli?’ Oli’s voice is muffled in the background, making it hard to work out what he’s saying, not that I need to. ‘Sorry, Rachel, I’m back. Look, I just wanted to say to you that I don’t think you should resign. If that’s what you were thinking. Anyway, you just said something about sorting it… And then you weren’t there this morning, and it made me see that I don’t want that. I don’t want you to leave because of me, out of some sense of duty, or guilt or whatever.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, wishing he sounded more like he actually means what he says.
‘That was it, really. I just… I had to say something. We can be grown-ups about it, I’m sure.’
‘I appreciate that. Truly.’
‘The truth is, none of it matters anyway. It changes nothing. We’re all human. If there’s anything I’ve learnt in recent years it’s…’ He trails off again.
‘Ed, you don’t sound okay.’
He groans. ‘I’m not. Not really… Simon’s out.’
‘Oh.’
‘He came round today; he told me everything.’ I close my eyes, a picture of his face in my mind. ‘It just hurts again, you know?’
‘Can I do anything?’
‘No… it’s fine. I need to cuddle up on the sofa with my boy. I need to think about a way I can put things right with Ellie’s memory. I need to…’ I wish I could take his hand. ‘I need time.’
‘Of course.’
‘Rachel?’
I hold my breath.
‘Promise me you’ll be at school tomorrow.’
Against every bone in my body, I make him the promise. I suppose I owe him that much.
Fifty-Five
Rachel
Mrs Clarke follows me through her classroom to mine. ‘Good morning, are you feeling better?’
‘Better than I was, yeah. Thanks.’ I busy about with key words, the register, stuff to distract my brain from the sensation of butterflies in my stomach.
‘Good. Here’s your sheet for parent teacher meetings.’ She hands over a piece of paper, with dates and times in boxes across it. ‘The sooner you get them booked in the better. They can drag on otherwise. Some people just don’t want to see us.’
‘Already? They’ve only just started.’
‘It just helps us get to know the parents a bit better, understand their view of the kids. Lets them know that we understand their children. It doesn’t take long. Five minutes or so per parent, but I find the sessions work quite well.’
She smiles, then heads back to her own classroom, leaving me to stare at the paper before attaching it to the top window in the double door, along with a pen. My first ever parent teacher sessions. What am I supposed to say about them all? We barely know each other yet. And oh God, that means I will have to meet with Ed too. My stomach drops to my shoes, then through the floor when the bell goes and I notice Oli is now pressing his face up against the bottom window again. I resist mirroring him this time, opting to wave instead. He beams back at me.
‘Come on then, everyone, in you come. Coats off. Whiteboards out, please.’ The kids, for the most part now confident to come in on their own, kiss parents or carers, grandparents or family friends, before skipping through the wide-open door.
Ed watches Oli through the window, then moves to the door as everyone else begins to leave. ‘Good to see you,’ he says quietly.
‘Thanks.’ I half smile. ‘You okay?’
He gives a shallow nod. ‘I will be.’ He smiles, his eyes meeting mine. ‘I will be.’
‘There’s a form on the window, parent teacher meeting in a few weeks. It’d be good if you could put your name by a time,’ I say, quickly back to business.
‘You got a pen?’ I nod over to the one that hangs from the form. ‘Cool. I’ll put my name down then.’ He pauses, looking at the dates, looking down at his shoes, before scribbling his name on the last session on the last day. Great, so I have to build myself up to sitting in front of him in a one-to-one situation. That’s just what I needed.
The kids wait for me on the carpet, each practising writing this week’s words from the board. I weave through them to take up my position at the front of the class, by which time Ed has gone. Six hours before I have to see him again. Six hours to concentrate on the kids, on teaching. God, I hope this gets easier with time. I’m not sure if I can do this if it doesn’t.
Fifty-Six
Ed
It’s been three weeks since Simon came round. He’s gone underground again. Out of sight. I think I’m happier that way. It’s too painful to see him at the moment. I forgive him, I do, but, it’s still too hard. Apparently Lisa’s been sniffing around again. I just hope he can find it in himself to tell her where to go for good. Maybe I should reach out to him, let him know I am here if he needs me, despite it being the last thing I want to do.
I check my watch. I need to go for my parent teacher meeting with Rachel. Paper and scribbles are strewn about my desk. Doodles I’ve done under the guise of work. Deadlines loom yet the muse has gone. Creativity eludes me. It has for weeks now and it feels like there’s unfinished business, but I don’t know what it is. Or how to fix it. I suppose I could start with Simon; maybe that’s part of it. I pull out my phone.
Hi, how are things? Hope you’re managing okay. Call if you need anything. Stay strong.
Is that the wrong thing to say? ‘Stay strong.’ Does it imply I think he might not, and what even is strong? Perhaps I should just have said ‘stay clear of Lisa’.
I sling a jacket on, briefly checking my hair on the way out of the door. Glynis is out in her garden, clipping at roses. She throws me a wave as she hurries across the road. ‘Mr Moran, how are you? It’s good to see you. Did you remember it’s the village Autumn Fete this weekend? It would be lovely to see you and Oli.’
‘Oh, thanks. Yeah, we might come.’ She stares at me, two blousy late-summer roses in suede-gloved hands. Ellie’s voice comes to mind. ‘Eurgh, roses. They look beautiful, but they’re thorny as hell. Not unlike some people, Ed.’
‘My granddaughter will be there, Olivia. She’s pr
obably going to be on her own so you’ll have young company if you need it. She’s a lovely girl, smart, funny. A little on the plump side, but still, she’s a very pretty face.’ I stare at Glynis, gobsmacked at the description and suspicious of what she’s suggesting. ‘She’ll be staying for a few weeks, I think. She’s got some work on in Sleaford. I don’t really understand it, but I just thought… what with you being single—’
‘Erm, right, yes. I’ve got to—’
‘I’ll tell her to pop over,’ Glynis says, hobbling back over the road, waving the roses above her head.
‘Well, I’m quite busy at the moment,’ I shout after her. It’s not clear if she doesn’t hear me, or chooses to ignore me.
On the journey to school, I think up all the various excuses as to why we can’t go to the fete. Maybe we could go away this weekend. By the time I get to class, the bell has gone and on seeing me, Oli comes running out. ‘Are you seeing Miss Fletcher today?’
‘In half an hour, yeah. Let’s wander over to the shop. Get you a drink and a snack while we wait.’ Oli gives me a squeeze then skips off ahead of me, occasionally looking back to make sure I’m still there. When we get to the shop, after he’s taken ten minutes to choose between snacks, we wait in the queue to pay.
‘What’s that, Daddy?’ he asks, pointing to a poster by the till.
‘Oh, erm. It’s…’ I search for inspiration on what it might be, aware that the second he hears about a fete he’s going to want to go, but we’re at the back of a queue of locals and I can’t really lie. ‘It’s the village fete.’
‘Like the one we went to last year with the donkey rides and that little fairground. Can we go? Can we, can we, can we?’ He jumps up and down in front of me, his hair bouncing across his eyes. Eyes just like his mother’s.
‘Maybe,’ I say, not wishing to promise in case I can come up with a reason why not to go. I don’t suppose telling him our neighbour appears to have a touch of the matchmaker about her would help.
Walking back to school, Oli relives every second of last year’s fete visit, including the tombola in which we won a bottle of bubble bath that still sits on the side of our bath-free shower room.
‘Goodness, you’re excited,’ says Rachel as Oli bounds back into class.
‘We’re going to a fete on Saturday, Daddy said.’
‘Well, I said it was on…’
‘You said we could go. I’m going to go on a donkey and eat candyfloss and there might be a bouncy castle.’
‘Oh, yeah, apparently they’re raising some funds for the school there too.’
‘Come!’ he says, and I wonder who is more inappropriate, Oli or Glynis.
‘Oh, I… er, we’ll see. I mean, I do love a bouncy castle but…’ she says, colouring. ‘Now, go on, little man, go over to the book corner and practise with your white board while I have a chat with your dad.’ Oli hops on one leg to the corner of the classroom, sinking down behind a bookshelf. ‘He’s a joy!’ she says, smiling sadly.
‘He is.’
Rachel looks at the file on her knee, tapping her pen on it before she looks up at me, clearing her throat, tears in her eyes. ‘He is doing great, really well. I’m really pleased with his progress and you’ve nothing to worry about,’ she says.
‘What’s the matter?’
She lowers her voice so Oli won’t hear. ‘Ed, I wasn’t going to do this now. It’s all kinds of inappropriate, but I seem incapable of keeping myself in check. I keep trying to make this work, I do. But, it’s no good. I can’t do this. It’s too hard.’ She holds her hands tight, clasped, resting on the folder. She bites at the corner of her mouth, sitting upright. ‘I thought it would get easier, after we talked. I thought it would be okay. But it seems it’s not. I am angry with myself, I am confused. I spend each day counting the minutes until the day is over and I can go home and hide. I’m going to have to leave.’
‘Hide from what?’ I ask, pulling my chair in closer to her. She leans back, reinstating the distance we had until I moved. ‘Rachel?’
‘Look, this isn’t a discussion for here. It’s not really a discussion to be had at all. I just wanted you to know from me that I’ll be handing my notice in at half term. I’ll be leaving at Christmas. I’ll find something else, and we can both put this all behind us.’
‘Don’t rush into anything, Rachel. Please. What if you regret—’
‘What does regret mean?’ asks Oli, who has tiptoed back, book in hand. ‘Daddy, what does regret mean?’ he asks.
‘It means you feel sad, or unhappy about something.’ Rachel gets up from her chair. ‘About something you said, or did, or maybe didn’t do and you wish you could change.’
‘Oh, like that time I drew on one of your pictures and you told me off and I was really sorry.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ With her back to us both, Rachel wipes her eyes, before turning round to us.
‘Some people don’t think you should have regrets,’ I say, fixing Rachel with a look so she knows this is one hundred per cent directed at her. ‘They think you learn from the things you do, or wish you hadn’t. That we are all made up of the choices we made in our lives; we’re richer for them. We know more.’
‘I don’t really know what that means,’ Oli says.
Rachel blinks. ‘See you tomorrow, Oli,’ she says, then picks up some files, slinging them into a bag as she quietly waits for us to leave.
Fifty-Seven
Ed
Oli and I traipse across the village green, his eyes fixed on the prize of freshly cooked doughnuts. The sweet smell reminds me of Skegness. ‘Oooh, I love a doughnut.’
‘Cooee, Mr Moran,’ sings a voice behind us and I wonder if it’d be rude to run. Glynis catches up with me, heavy breathing as she grabs my arm. ‘Didn’t you hear me calling you, goodness…’ She takes a moment, rooting around in her handbag for a humbug, popping it in her mouth like it will replenish her lungs with all the air she’s ever needed. ‘There, that’s better. Did you remember my Olivia was coming to stay? I just wanted to introduce you to her. Edward, Olivia. Olivia, Edward.’
A woman in her mid-twenties stands beside Glynis. She extends her hand with a look of deep-seated embarrassment. ‘I tried to tell her you’d probably be busy with your boy.’
‘Nonsense, Olivia, Ed’s got time for everyone, haven’t you, love?’
‘Erm, sure. Of course.’ The three of us stand awkwardly in a triangle. ‘Doughnut?’ I point to the van.
‘Oh, look, there’s Mr Sharpe from the butchers. You’ll have to excuse me, I want to have words with him about his turkey crown.’ Glynis walks in Mr Sharpe’s direction, swinging a handkerchief in the air to catch his eye.
‘Oh my God, I am so sorry,’ says Olivia, turning her back on her grandmother. ‘I did tell her not to do this. She is obsessed with trying to matchmake whenever I come to see her.’
‘Daddy, have you got that money. The doughnuts are ready.’ Oli tugs on my jacket.
‘Course, here you go.’ I give him a pound coin and he skips off to join the queue. My heart fills with pride at his confidence.
When I turn back to Olivia, she’s smiling in his direction too. ‘Cute kid.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Never fancied them myself,’ she says.
‘No?’
‘No. It’s why me and my girlfriend split up. She was ready to settle down and have kids and I just don’t see it in my future.’
‘Your girlfriend?’
‘Yup. I have told Gran. She even met Becks. I think she thinks if I got a boyfriend I’d realise I did want children after all. Doesn’t want me to follow in her footsteps.’ I look at her, confused. ‘She’s my step-gran. Married my mum’s dad when I was a baby. Only ever had Michael, with her first husband who passed when she was young. Wanted more kids, a football team I shouldn’t wonder, but remarried too late in the end.’
‘Ahhh,’ I say.
‘So, you’ll have to forgive me, I’m sure you’ll be disappo
inted, but you’re just not my type.’ She winks.
Oli comes back, his face, fingers and mouth full of sugar and doughnuts, grinning. ‘They gave me extra,’ he declares. ‘Donkeys?’
‘Sure.’ I laugh. ‘You wanna?’ I motion for Olivia to join us. She nods and follows on.
‘So, how come you’re single then?’ She gets out a pack of tobacco, making herself a roll- up. ‘Where’s his mum?’
It’s been a while since anyone asked me that outright. The reaction always makes me feel awkward. For the person asking the question, mainly, as you can see the desire for the world to swallow them whole flash across their face. ‘She died. Almost five years ago now.’
‘Shit, sorry! Fuck, that’s… wow… Gran might’ve mentioned that one.’
‘It’s okay, don’t worry. The mere mention of it no longer sends me into a fit of despair.’ Lightening the mood never really seems to work. ‘Yes, it’s shit. But, we have to live on. She’d be furious if we didn’t.’
‘You’ve been on your own ever since then? With Oli.’
‘Yeah, that’s how we like it.’
‘You must get lonely, though?’
‘Of course. And I guess I do sometimes wonder what it might be like, to meet someone new.’
‘Granddad always said losing his first wife was the hardest thing in the world, but meeting my gran was the easiest.’ I look at her, not understanding. ‘They’d been neighbours, friends, while it all happened. Gran knew what he’d been through. She understood. She never let him feel he couldn’t still be in love with Mum’s mum, despite them two getting together.’
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