by Julie Cohen
‘Who’s Max?’ He was still standing up, but he put his hand on the back of the sofa. His face was lit up from the television.
‘I told you about Max – the boy who’s such a good guitarist? The one who I wanted to give a recital?’
‘Why did you yell at his parents?’
She started at the beginning, with what Max had told her about his father and stepmother, his music and its yearning for love. The letter she’d written asking if he could study music, the recital, all the lunchtimes and break-times he’d spent with her. And then the conversation she’d overheard in the loo, the Gore-Thomases, that stylish, trim baby bump. How she’d lost control and said exactly what she was feeling.
‘Oh, Claire,’ he said.
She’d been about to mention the surge of power she’d felt – how exhilarating it had been in those few moments freed from the rules of playing nice. Instead, she said, ‘But what I said was true, Ben. They’re lousy parents. They don’t really care about Max. If they did, they’d take the time to get to know him.’
‘It sounds awful. But … it’s not like you.’
‘It was how I really feel.’ But Ben was right; she didn’t do these things. It made her stomach sick to think about it. ‘Veronica said she doesn’t think I’ve been doing a very good job teaching. She says that I’ve been letting my personal life affect how I am in the classroom. It’s ridiculous.’
‘Well, it would be surprising if it didn’t affect your teaching. It’s been a lot to get through.’
‘Has it affected the way you’ve done your job?’
‘I’m sure it has. I haven’t been one hundred per cent, not lately. Especially since Romily had her accident. Listen, Claire, this is okay. It’s got it all out in the open, anyway. And St Dominick’s know what an asset you are to their school. It’ll be fine.’
He put his arms around her and kissed the side of her forehead.
‘Veronica says I should take my maternity leave early. She says I should start it right away. To get me out of the way, stop the Gore-Thomases baying for my blood. Veronica didn’t mention that the father is an MP, but she must have been thinking about it.’
‘It’s not a bad idea, you know. You’ll have some time to yourself.’
‘I’ve just had lots of time to myself. Too much time to myself. I was going crazy over the summer holidays.’
He stroked her hair. ‘It’s going to be all right, Claire. This is because of the pressure you’ve been under. Take some time, get everything ready for the baby, and then once it’s here, everything will be perfect. The last thing you’ll want to do then is go back to school. You’ll wonder why you thought it was so important. You’ll be laughing about all of this, you’ll see.’
‘You think I’ll be laughing about losing my job?’
‘You were planning to leave anyway.’
‘But not like this.’
‘Claire,’ said Ben, dropping his arms from her, ‘what do you want me to say? I’m trying to make the best of this.’
‘I don’t want you to make the best of it.’
‘Do you want me to agree that you made an awful mistake, then?’
Claire stood up. ‘I just want you to be on my side.’
‘I am on your side. I want what’s best for you. I think you’re not yourself lately, and you end up saying things and doing things that you don’t really mean. Anybody would.’
Claire buried her face in her hands. ‘I’m not anybody,’ she said, her voice louder in her head because she was speaking to her hands. ‘I’m me. I meant to say those things. And I want you to fight for me. I want you not to think that I’m irrational, or not coping, or out of control.’
‘I don’t. I don’t think any of that.’ He stroked her back.
But I do, she thought.
32
Funny and Horrible
WHEN CLAIRE OPENED the door on Tuesday, Romily was standing there balancing an umbrella and a cardboard box, which rested on her stomach.
‘I heard what happened,’ she said, with half an apologetic smile. ‘I’ve taken the morning off. Want company?’
She didn’t, but she let Romily in anyway. She was too shell-shocked with the fact that it was a Tuesday in the middle of term and she hadn’t had to get up and get dressed for work. She was in leggings and one of Ben’s old T-shirts, her decorating clothes, although there wasn’t much left to decorate.
Romily had been letting her hair grow and the ends were wet. She handed the box to Claire and leaned down to untie her boots, grunting with the effort of getting round her belly.
‘Ben told you,’ Claire said.
‘He told me, and I think it’s totally ridiculous,’ said Romily. ‘How can they make you take leave just for saying what anybody with any common sense would think anyway?’ She straightened up, putting her hand in the small of her back. ‘These people should be falling down on their knees to thank you for taking the trouble to raise their kids properly when they can’t be bothered.’
‘You think I was right to say what I did?’
‘I’m all for telling a few home truths every now and then at work. Stir it up, cause some controversy. It makes things interesting.’
This was so different from just about everyone else’s attitude that Claire couldn’t help but stare at Romily.
‘Then again,’ Romily said, ‘what do I know? I work alone in a room full of dead bugs.’
‘I never thought I’d say this, but I can see the appeal of a job like that right now. Cup of tea?’ They went into the kitchen, where Claire had not yet washed up from breakfast. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone today,’ she said, as if she didn’t do the washing-up first thing every morning whether she had guests or not.
Romily didn’t seem to notice, and she realized that even if Romily did notice, she, out of nearly everyone Claire knew, was the most likely not to care.
As infuriatingly casual as Romily could be, as careless on sand dunes and as slapdash in matters of diet and tidiness, she did have one very appealing quality right now. She wouldn’t judge Claire.
It must be so easy for Ben to be with her, she thought, and then she tried to crowd that thought out by bustling around with the kettle and the teapot.
‘I hear Thing is fine,’ she said. ‘I’ve been getting updates practically every day from Ben.’
This was meant as a dig; it seemed that since Friday, when her brain had given her mouth permission to say what it wanted, she hadn’t been able to help herself. It was as if some control switch had been turned off. Except unlike Friday, the barbed truths that escaped her didn’t give her any feeling of power or freedom. They just made her tired.
Romily didn’t seem to notice this, either. ‘Thing is a kicker. I think you have a lot of football games and/or dance recitals in your future.’ She shifted in her chair, trying to get comfortable. ‘I wanted to check your schedule. One of the ladies at school has got me booked into an NCT class at the beginning of December and I thought you’d like to come.’
‘My schedule is wide-open now. As you know.’
‘How long have you got to stay off?’
‘The governors accepted my proposal to take maternity leave effective immediately. Apparently they’d lined up a cover teacher over the weekend. Before all this happened I’d thought I’d go back part-time for the last few weeks of term in the summer, and then not come back in the autumn, but now I’m thinking I might have to resign first and not come back at all.’
‘It might have all blown over by Easter.’
‘Maybe. But I doubt it. The management were … I wasn’t made to feel very welcome yesterday.’ Even Veronica, who had been reasonably supportive of her on Friday evening, had had a grim expression as she accepted what was tantamount to Claire’s resignation. She’d had more communications from the Gore-Thomases over the weekend, Claire supposed. It was surprising they found so much time to complain between all the dinner parties.
‘What did they do, jeer at you when you w
alked in?’
‘No, they were all polite, but—’
‘But they gave you a big box to pack up all your stuff, I bet.’
‘Two small ones. I had to carry my aspidistra separately.’
Romily caught her eye. Incredibly, the two of them began to laugh.
‘It’s not funny,’ Claire said. ‘It’s horrible.’
‘Some things can be funny and horrible at the same time. Look in the box that I brought you, for example.’
Claire had put it on the table while she made the tea. Now, she opened up the flaps and gazed inside. The aroma of burnt chocolate greeted her.
‘I made you some cupcakes,’ Romily said. ‘At least, I tried to make you some cupcakes. It went a bit wrong.’
Claire lifted out the plate. On it were nine misshapen blackish-brown lumps in pink cupcake papers. Each one had a half-melted marshmallow on the top of it.
‘They’re meant to be chocolate. The corner shop didn’t have icing sugar so I tried to put the marshmallows on there while they were warm, but then they didn’t do anything so I put them back in the oven to melt but that didn’t really work either.’
‘But Romily, that’s so nice of you. Thank you.’
‘You won’t be thanking me once you try one of them. I am truly a terrible cook.’ She picked one up and then dropped it back on the plate with a thunk. ‘Still, not bad for my first-ever effort, I suppose.’
‘If that’s your first-ever effort, I’m getting out my grandmother’s porcelain in honour of it.’ Claire went to fetch two flowered, gold-rimmed plates from the dresser and put a cake on each of them. They were quite heavy for their size.
‘You don’t have to actually eat them,’ said Romily. ‘It was purely a lame gesture.’
‘I’m going to enjoy this thoroughly.’
‘I hope you have a good dentist.’
Claire peeled the paper off and took a bite of her cake. The top was slightly burnt and the middle had settled into a dense, floury, cocoa-tinged brick. ‘Interesting,’ she said.
‘Now that’s a word for it. I do appreciate constructive criticism. Who knows, I might decide to make these again one day.’
Claire chewed, and chewed, and swallowed, and then spent a few moments trying to remove gluey cake from the sides of her teeth with her tongue. ‘Next time, maybe set the oven a bit lower. If it’s too hot, sometimes the top can burn and the middle doesn’t cook through.’
‘Noted.’
There was a chunk of something in her next bite that she couldn’t quite identify. ‘Did you put nuts in?’
‘It might be a bit of eggshell,’ Romily said, wincing on her behalf.
For the second time this morning, Claire surprised herself by laughing.
She was glad Romily was here. Glad to be rescued from the long, purposeless day stretching ahead of her.
‘As long as it’s not a bit of a cricket,’ she said.
‘It’s definitely not cricket, though I hear they are delicious and full of protein.’ Romily took a bite of her own cake. ‘It’s not as bad as I feared. Nearly, but not quite.’
‘They’re good,’ said Claire. ‘And I’m honoured that you went to the trouble for me.’
‘Oh well, you know Hal is still talking about the ones you brought me.’
‘I’ll make him some more.’
‘No no, don’t do that. I’m sure you have many more important things to do.’
‘Not really,’ said Claire sadly. ‘I finished the nursery over the summer.’
‘Did you?’ Romily turned her tea mug around and around in her hands. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t been able to get together very often recently. I sent you some texts about the yoga, but you must not have got them.’
‘I did,’ said Claire’s mouth without her brain’s permission, again. ‘But I didn’t answer them because I was angry with you.’
Romily’s hands stilled. ‘Why?’
‘I felt that you were taking stupid risks with yourself and by extension, with our baby.’
‘Claire, I’m so sorry about the accident. I didn’t mean to—’
‘I know.’
Both of them poked at their misshapen cakes.
‘I was upset,’ Romily said, at last. ‘I’d had an argument with Jarvis.’
‘Oh no. About Posie?’
‘It wasn’t about anything important. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Believe me, Claire, it won’t happen again. I know how precious this baby is.’
‘I know you do,’ said Claire, because it was obvious in everything about Romily right at this moment. ‘And it was rude of me not to answer your texts. How are you feeling in yourself?’
‘Fat and awkward.’
‘Ben says that once the baby is here, everything is going to be perfect and we won’t have to worry about anything any more.’
Romily smiled. ‘Oh Claire, your worries are only just beginning. You’ve got nappy rash, and colic, and sleepless nights, and children’s television, and potty training, and the naughty step, and nits, and tantrums, and bedwetting, and mystery illnesses, and dribble, and oh, and you can never watch horror movies again because you’ll completely imagine that everyone who gets killed in them might be your child.’
‘I think it will be worth it.’
‘Yes,’ said Romily. ‘It is.’
‘Can I ask you a question? As a mother?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you think I should email Max? That’s the boy who the trouble was about. He’s very lonely and he’s very talented. I’m afraid that without me in the school to encourage him, he’ll give up music altogether.’
‘Are you joking? Of course you should. Otherwise he’ll feel abandoned.’
‘I’m not sure it’s professional. His parents wouldn’t like it.’
‘Well, as you’re saying you’ve pretty much lost your job anyway, it doesn’t seem like you have anything to lose by being a little unprofessional. But I think it’s exactly the thing that a good teacher would do. My biology teacher from school used to send me notes after I went to uni. I met up with him a few times. He was great.’
‘Max is only fourteen. I don’t want people to think it’s weird.’
‘You’re not weird. You’d be trying to help him. A good teacher like you can change a kid’s life. And you wouldn’t write anything that you’d be ashamed for his parents to see, anyway.’
‘No. I wouldn’t. Okay, I will email him, then. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Romily.’
‘No worries. I’m glad I could do something more useful and appealing than my baking.’
‘Do you want to see the nursery?’
‘Go on.’ They abandoned their cakes.
‘How are things with Jarvis?’ Claire asked as they climbed the staircase.
‘Um … unexpected.’
‘How so? Besides the obvious, of course.’
‘He’s his own person. He’s not just a memory or a set of genes. He’s got his own wants and opinions, and he sees everything differently.’
‘Do you think he’s a good father? Potentially?’
Romily paused at the top of the stairs. ‘He’s trying hard. Posie likes him.’
‘What about you?’
‘That doesn’t really matter.’
‘Posie favours him. He’s quite good-looking.’
Romily made a non-committal sound, probably amused that Claire was trying to set her up with the father of her own child. It was none of Claire’s business. But wouldn’t it be neat, if it tied up that way?
‘Sorry,’ said Claire. ‘I suppose if you’re happily married you just want to see everyone else paired up too.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Romily, though her voice was a little off, and Claire instantly wondered if Ben had been confiding in her. If she knew about the arguments they’d been having.
But she couldn’t ask, and Romily didn’t say anything more, just went to the nursery and stood there looking around.
Outside it was
still raining but this room was full of sunshine. The yellow walls, the bright yellow curtains with their crisp white ribbon trim. The soft carpet, the cuddly bears, the changing table and the honey-coloured cot with its light green blankets and its mobile of sheep and clouds.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Romily. She picked up a cushion from the rocking chair, the chair where Claire would hold the baby and sing. She ran her hand over the crisp soft cotton and then she put it down carefully where it had been before. She looked at the baby monitor, ready to go; the wicker baskets where Claire had already stashed nappies and cotton balls. ‘You’ve thought of everything.’
‘I wasn’t sure. I felt as if I were tempting fate.’
Romily shook her head. ‘No. This is perfect. This is how it’s meant to be.’ She touched the mobile and sent it twirling gently in the air. ‘Posie never had any of this. Do you remember? She slept with me for so long until we could find a flat with two bedrooms.’ She stopped the mobile. ‘But even if I’d had a bigger house and more money, I could never have done anything like this. I haven’t got the gift for it. Not like you.’
‘Oh.’ Claire shrugged self-consciously. ‘It was my project.’
‘The baby is going to be very happy here.’
‘I hope so.’
Romily took Claire’s hand. She put it on her belly.
‘You’re all going to be very happy,’ she said.
33
A Secret Mission
‘OKAY, NOW I need you to come in here with me.’
Claire hesitated. They were at a motorway services, having stopped after being on the M4 for only fifteen minutes, and Romily was pointing to the baby changing room. She was holding a large rucksack which she’d excavated from the boot of her Golf when they’d pulled in.
‘You want me to go into the baby changing room?’ Claire asked. ‘Why?’
‘Trust me,’ said Romily. ‘It’s all part of the secret mission.’
She’d shown up at Claire’s house this morning with Posie in tow. Claire hadn’t had a clue that she was coming, but from the way Ben scooped up Posie and immediately went upstairs with her to play knights and queens with her toy castle, she knew that he had helped to plan whatever it was. All Romily would say was that it was a top-secret mission and that Claire had to get into the car with her. She refused to answer any questions about where they were going, just smiled and shook her head.
