Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
C hrissie held her journal, hugging it tight. It had been a while since she’d written about her father. Don had been a warm, friendly sort of guy, and loved Chrissie with all his heart. Her mother had left when she was young, and he had raised her alone. Despite her mum’s absence, she had never felt much of a gap – her memories of her were vague at best. But Don had been an evergreen presence in her life.
During her teens he had become unwell, and she had spent a lot of time looking after him. Most often they’d watch TV together, or perhaps read. He never expected her to care for him, but it was a labour of love for Chrissie. She remembered him peering over his half-moon reading glasses at her, his balding head shaking as she talked about horoscopes or new age philosophy. He hadn’t been a fan. But he’d taken her interests in good humour, reminding her at all times: “Remember who you are, Christina Anderson, you are the one and only daughter of Don Anderson, and that counts for something.”
At the time, Chrissie hadn’t understood what he meant. Perhaps she was beginning to now. He’d have hated Lucian and the Infinite Bliss group. He’d never have understood. But somewhere along the lines she had lost herself. Maybe she’d shamed his memory.
Don had loved Nisha and happily tolerated the two of them camping out in the back garden in his old tent after their exams were over. He said it made the house nice and peaceful and left them to it. He’d comforted Chrissie the day Nisha left, even though he didn’t really understand what was going on. Chrissie didn’t feel she could tell him at the time. Looking back, she wondered if he had guessed.
Chrissie smiled to herself. It was nice to think about him now. There would always be pain there, but there was a sweetness too, an echo of the unconditional love he’d always shown her. She wondered what he would think of her rules. She sighed. He’d probably have lit his pipe and declared: “Poppycock, bab.” There would have been a kindness to it, but he’d have dismissed it regardless. He always seemed to know exactly who he was and what he was doing.
But it couldn’t always have been that way. Somewhere along the lines his life had undergone radical change, when Chrissie’s mum ran out on them both. He’d never spoken ill of her, something Chrissie was grateful for. Whatever else the woman was, she was Chrissie’s mother, and someone he had loved once.
Over the years, people had asked her if she wanted to track her mother down. She knew she didn’t. Giving birth to someone didn’t give them automatic right of entry to your life. Chrissie could have walked past her mum in the street for all she knew. But then again, had she had a responsible parent around, perhaps she wouldn’t have turned her whole life upside down – and dragged Kiera’s along with it. Don certainly wouldn’t have let that happen. But Don was gone by the time she met Kiera.
Chrissie put the journal down on her desk and went into the kitchen. She gathered her possessions and headed out into the world. She had to get to school. She was dreading seeing Nisha again after the night before. It was rare for her to walk off in a strop, but somewhere between their history and Nisha’s needling, she’d been pushed too far.
She walked along the high street. It was still early, and the only place that was open was the Jam Pot. She risked a peep inside. She didn’t recognise the woman at the counter, so for once she took a chance and went in. The café really did the best toast in Kings Heath. She ordered herself a chai latte and some brown toast with almond butter on to take into school with her. She hoped it would embolden her for the inevitable awkward morning with Nisha.
Nisha was already in the classroom as she arrived, and much to Chrissie’s surprise, she was beaming her warmest smile at her teaching assistant. “Morning, Chrissie,” said Nisha.
“Morning,” replied Chrissie, confused, but at least pleased not to walk into a continuation of last night’s conversation.
“Ah, good morning, Miss Anderson,” added Mrs Hemingway, who was sitting behind Nisha. As Chrissie examined her old friend’s flawless face more closely, she noticed that her eyes seemed slightly wild.
“Good morning, Mrs Hemingway,” said Chrissie lightly. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“I’ve been hearing all about your proposed trip to Paris with your class.” Her face was unreadable, but instinctively Chrissie felt that this was not good. She smiled her most winning smile. “I must tell you,” Mrs Hemingway continued, “that I have grave doubts about running this kind of trip with such young children. You’d be a long way from the school, and a very long way from their parents.”
Chrissie looked over at Nisha, who swallowed, but said nothing. Mrs Hemingway carried on. “And while I understand your desire to raise the aspirations of some of our youngsters, I’m not sure this is the way. Aside from anything else, some of the children’s families wouldn’t be in any position to pay for such a lavish trip.”
Nisha frowned, seemingly lost for words. Chrissie knew that if she didn’t speak now, this trip was dead in the water. And for some reason it felt very important not to let that happen, especially after their conversation last night. “I completely understand where you’re coming from,” she said, “and I share some of your concerns.” She side-eyed Nisha, trying to reassure her that she had a plan. “But I do wonder whether, if we can manage all of the risks you’ve rightly mentioned, this might actually be formative for the children in this class?”
Both Chrissie and Nisha’s eyes were on Mrs Hemingway. The head teacher emitted no sound or expression. “It could even help some of them build resilience and confidence,” said Nisha, finding her voice. “Mr Harvey is up for helping, and Chrissie has some routes into funding.”
Chrissie noted that Nisha didn’t look at her while she spoke. They both knew full well that she had yet to secure any funding at all. She pursed her lips. Mrs Hemingway didn’t need to know this, but it wasn’t a problem they could explain away for any length of time without a real cash injection.
“Perhaps,” continued Nisha, warming to her theme, “this is how we help make their learning make more sense to them? We could gear the curriculum towards all things Paris – Maths about the Eiffel Tower, Geography about France, History about the musketeers.”
There was a silence that went on for a good ten seconds, during which time Chrissie decided that they were about to be given a solid, gold-plated, ‘No’.
“I can see you’ve thought all of this through,” said Mrs Hemingway, rubbing her hands together slowly, her beads clacking as she moved. “I’m impressed.” Chrissie and Nisha waited with bated breath. “Ok. You need to make sure you have all the bases covered in the next few weeks, including the cash, if you want permission to do this.” Mrs Hemingway looked at the women. “Good luck.” She winked and left the room.
Chrissie and Nisha sagged against the classroom tables they were standing by. “Oh my God, you’ve totally saved us there,” said Nisha, fanning her face with her fingers.
“I think it was a team effort,” replied Chrissie, unable to keep the smile from her face, even though she was still smarting from their last conversation.
“No, if you hadn’t been here, being your eternally positive and optimistic self, I’d have totally caved and agreed it was a terrible idea and we shouldn’t do it.” Nisha straightened and walked over to the smart board, ready to load it up for the first lesson of the day. She looked over her shoulder at Chrissie. “Thank you.” She smiled broadly, her hair falling over her eyes, reminding Chrissie of the young Nisha that Chrissie had known so well. “This isn’t a mistake though, is it?” Nisha’s brow faltered.
“No,” said Chrissie, trying to think only about the school trip, rather than the wisdom of them working together. “I think it’s an awesome idea. And I think we’re going to pull it off.” She tried to make her smile warm, and not like that of a teenager with a crush. Because neither of those things were the case. Obviously. “I have to tell you, though,” she added, “I have found literally no funding whatsoever yet. But I am totally on it.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Nisha. “You’re awesome. And about last night,” she began, but anything she was about to say was interrupted by a mum banging on the classroom window. Parents were supposed to wait patiently outside the classroom until the door was open, even if they needed to speak to a teacher.
Chrissie whispered, “It’s Dottie’s mum.” Nisha moved her head slightly so she could roll her eyes without being spotted through the window.
“And she appears to be as much of a handful as her darling daughter. Oh, what joy!” Nisha papered a professional smile on her face and headed towards the door. It was nearly time to let the children in, anyway.