Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“ B onjour, la classe,” said Nisha to the children in front of her, who responded with a giggle.
She frowned.
“Ai-je dit quelque chose de drole?”
The class fell silent. Chrissie was standing at the back, attempting to hide a smile. This was Year Four’s first French lesson, and Nisha had arrived that morning wearing a Breton striped blue and white top and a beret. She winked at the children and gave them a winning smile, then nodded at Chrissie, who had been briefed for today’s antics.
“Good morning, class,” Chrissie said, and the pupils whipped their heads around to face her. “I will interpret for Ms Rajan. She said hello to you all, and when you giggled, she asked if she had said something funny.”
“Oui,” said Nisha, smiling, allowing her dimple to show. Her black hair was shiny and set off the beret perfectly. She suited stripes, thought Chrissie, and immediately found herself wondering why she was paying so much attention to the way the teacher looked.
Chrissie walked to the front of the classroom and spoke. “Ms Rajan is speaking a different language this morning. Can any of you tell me what language she is speaking?” Dottie’s hand went up straight away. Chrissie studiously avoided looking at her, as she was always the first with something to say. She looked over at Francis, who for the first time since he had arrived in the class had put his hand up. Or at least, he had lifted it very slightly off the table in front of him. He looked terrified, but she decided to take the risk and call on him to respond.
Francis spoke in no more than a whisper. “It’s French, Miss.” His face went bright red as all the children focused on him.
“Yes,” said Chrissie, injecting as much positivity as she could into that one word. “Very good, Francis, that’s exactly right.” She looked across at Nisha, who smiled at her in silent celebration. It had been a week since Francis had joined the school, and he’d barely spoken a word. “I think that deserves a marble in the jar.”
Nisha immediately went over to the shelf where the marble jar sat, and ushered Francis to join her. Each week it would start off empty, but when a child did something suitably impressive, they would get to choose one of the colourful glass spheres and put it in. Francis smiled, cautiously, selecting a yellow and blue one and gently dropping it in.
Nisha and Chrissie were on duty together that lunchtime, and discussed their success as they strode around the playground with their respective hot drinks.
“Do you still not drink coffee?” asked Nisha. Chrissie smiled. She recalled Nisha working hard to acquire the taste while they were revising back when they were eighteen.
“I try and avoid caffeine where I can,” she said, lightly.
“You are still a hippy then,” said Nisha, gently jabbing Chrissie with her elbow.
Chrissie frowned slightly. The word ‘hippy’ had become intertwined with some of the accusations her ex-wife had made towards Infinite Bliss. Accusations she had rejected at the time, but which now made perfect sense. She thought of Kiera in that moment, and hoped she knew how sorry she was. For everything. “I just like to know where I am in my body,” said Chrissie. “Call me a hippy if you like.” She tried not to sound stiff, but could hear the defensive note in her voice. “But I can recommend vanilla chai,” she added, attempting to soften things. “It’s gorgeous.”
“I can smell it from here, so I’ll take your word for it,” said Nisha, taking a slurp of the instant coffee that Chrissie had spotted her putting two sugars into. “You’ve changed, though.”
“It’s been over twenty years,” said Chrissie, “of course I’ve changed.”
“Ouch,” said Nisha. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.” Chrissie sighed. “I mean, I have changed. But probably more in the last couple of years than anything else.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” said Nisha. She looked over at Chrissie, and there was a softness in her brown eyes that captured Chrissie for a moment. Memories of that look came flooding back, and a warmth seeped into her body. Chrissie opened her mouth to speak, but Nisha got in first. “But I can see that you don’t want to talk about it right now. I understand.” They walked on in silence.
After another lap of the playground, Chrissie looked at Nisha and burst into laughter. Nisha looked at her quizzically. “Oh my God, you’re still wearing that beret!” said Chrissie.
“Ha! I’d totally forgotten.” Nisha reached her hand up to her headwear. “Oh God, so that means when I was telling Hardev to pipe down for the twenty-seventh time, and using my very serious voice – that’s trademarked by the way – I was wearing this?”
Chrissie sniggered. “You totally were, Mademoiselle Rajan!”
“Well, merci for that. You should have told me,” she said, nudging Chrissie again, who was suddenly feeling more relaxed.
“I think I stopped noticing it, too,” Chrissie told her, stopping before she added that she had been looking at how cute Nisha’s dimple was when she spoke French, and that it had distracted her. “By the way, I think you did a great job of remembering your dim and distant French degree.”
“Well, it’s a little more than that. I lived out there for a bit, actually,” said Nisha.
Twenty years really was a long time. Chrissie didn’t know what she thought Nisha had been doing since they’d last met, but it wasn’t living in France – or becoming a teacher, for that matter.
“Oh, really?” said Chrissie. Nisha was eyeing her in a strange way. Chrissie looked back at her, realising they’d both paused in their lap of the playground.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” said Nisha, almost under her breath. Chrissie faltered, and then turned as she heard a scream from behind her.
“Miss!” came an urgent voice. “He’s cracked his head open, come quickly!”
Chrissie dashed over towards the child on the ground, Nisha alongside her and a crowd of other children following close behind, desperate to soak up the drama.
“God, I hate blood,” said Nisha as they approached.
“It’s ok, I’m the first aider on duty, I’ll sort it,” said Chrissie, striding ahead.
The child on the ground had a small graze. There was blood, but nothing that wouldn’t be sorted by the judicious application of a piece of wet blue paper roll – infamous in primary schools for its healing properties. A few minutes later, the ginger-haired boy from Year Three was sitting on a chair in a classroom being tended to by Chrissie.
“I think I need a plaster, Miss,” he said.
“I think you’ll be fine, Ted. Look, it’s stopped bleeding now. I think you can be brave and get on with your day now.”
“Yes,” said Ted, “perhaps I can.” He paused. “I think I’d better take another paper towel though, just in case.”
Chrissie nodded, a grave expression on her face. “Well yes, of course Ted, we need to be prepared for any eventuality, including haemorrhage.”
Ted nodded back at her, equally serious. Chrissie smiled at him, while writing out a note to hand to his mum later that day. They always had to report any knocks or scrapes, however minor.
Chrissie and Nisha were packing up after the children had gone home for the day. “I think that went ok, don’t you?” Nisha commented. “I feel like we’re getting into a rhythm with these little guys.”
“Honestly, Nisha, they adore you,” said Chrissie, wondering why saying those words made her cheeks warm.
“Oh, you’re sweet,” said Nisha, who seemed wrong-footed for a moment. The dimple appeared.
“Maybe we should grab that drink we talked about,” suggested Chrissie, without thinking.
“Oh, I can’t,” Nisha replied immediately, and Chrissie felt daft for bringing it up. She should have known that Nisha was just being polite at the start of term.
“No, of course, you have your stuff,” said Chrissie, unsure of what she was saying or why, just wanting to fill the awkward silence.
“I just mean, I can’t tonight. I have football,” said Nisha, who seemed a bit flustered. She was gathering bits and pieces from her desk.
“You still play?” asked Chrissie, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject.
“Yep. Right,” said Nisha, “see you tomorrow.” She disappeared so quickly that by the time she was gone, Chrissie hadn’t even put her coat on.
She sighed to herself. Nisha running out on her. Some things changed. Some things didn’t.