Chapter Seven
Clara
The full enormity of what the doctor had said didn’t hit Clara until she’d pushed through the sliding doors and the hospital airlock sighed closed behind her.
She walked halfway across the car park before her knees gave a small wobble, and she stopped, blinking at the rows of silver cars that all looked the same.
Inside the consulting room, she’d nodded, asked sensible questions, even thanked the doctor. Outside, her mind had gone blank. The words still rang in her ears: “Nothing sinister… premature menopause… irreversible.”
She reached her car, fumbling with her keys, and slid into the driver’s seat.
The quiet thud of the door shutting seemed to trap all the air out of her lungs.
For a moment she just sat there, palms flat on the steering wheel, staring through the windscreen at the heavy grey clouds bunching above the hospital.
One tear broke loose, rolling down her cheek. Then another. She swiped at them impatiently, as though that would wipe away the diagnosis too.
So that was it. Confirmed. Her blood tests had shown a lack of the hormones they needed. No treatment, no second chance. The finality sat like a weight in her stomach.
Her thoughts flicked, unbidden, to three years earlier – back when she and her ex were still pretending things were fine.
Three years together, and she’d thought she knew how life would go: move in, marry, kids.
The ordinary dream. But instead, she’d spent weekends timing meals around the football, listening to him argue about offside decisions with the telly.
She’d tried to join in, to care, but somehow sport always won.
Until the month her period stopped. She’d thought – just for a heartbeat – maybe she was pregnant. The test had said no. Back then, she’d brushed it off.
Now she knew better.
She started the engine, the sound harsh and too loud in the small space. Her tears came faster, blurring the road signs as she turned out onto the main road towards Glenbriar.
How could she even think about dating again, knowing this? How could she tell someone – anyone – that her body had closed that door already?
She gripped the wheel tighter, jaw set. She’d always told herself she was fine on her own. Strong. Independent. But that little voice inside whispered otherwise. What if no one ever wanted her again – not really wanted her – once they knew?
The thought hit harder than she expected.
It wasn’t just about children. It was about being left behind.
About not being enough. Rain began to fall, spattering against the windscreen.
She’d already lost to TV sport. What next?
Maybe these feelings were irrational, but they’d formed a mental block that she couldn’t get past.
One positive about her appointment was that it had taken her away from school and inspection chaos for the morning.
She’d barely set foot through the doors into the main corridor however when she saw the signs of unmistakable disruption.
And with Max Lyndell in the centre, she didn’t waste any time in hurrying over.
‘What’s going on here?’ she said.
‘I swear, it wasn’t my fault this time!’ Max exclaimed.
‘Yes, Miss Morgan, it was him!’ Another boy in the group chimed in, jabbing a finger at Max, who shoved him right back.
‘Naw, it wasn’t,’ another said. ‘I saw him and—’
Clara held up her hands, trying to calm the gaggle of boys gathered around her – all taller than her. ‘One at a time. I can’t hear a word if you’re all talking over each other.’
They all burst out yammering at the same time again.
‘What is all the noise about?’ came a deep voice, and Clara raised her eyes to see Sam approaching. He had such a commanding tone that all the boys went quiet. And just the sight of a friendly face after the morning she’d had, made her want to weep. ‘Keep it down, please. There’s no need to—’
He stopped mid-sentence as Clara peeked out from behind the wall of boys and gave him a wave.
Sam blinked, his bright blue eyes widening. ‘My apologies, Miss Morgan, I didn’t see you there.’
She couldn’t help grinning. ‘No worries.’
Max snickered and nudged one of his mates. ‘It’s because she’s so short.’
Sam shot him a look. ‘There’s no need to be rude, Max.’
Max shrugged. ‘I’m just telling the truth.’
Sam crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. ‘That’s no excuse in this case. Mind your manners.’
The boys stifled snickers as Sam gave Clara an apologetic look, then turned on his heel, and went back to speaking to a man Clara recognised as one of the inspectors.
Max leaned in to Clara, lowering his voice conspiratorially, ‘He well fancies you.’
Clara raised her eyebrows. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Max. Mr Addison is just polite.’
‘Nah, I’m telling you, Miss,’ Max insisted, grinning. ‘The way he looked at you…’ He pulled a face and went, ‘Oooooh,’ in a really annoying way.
‘Enough nonsense.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Now, why don’t you boys get into class.’
‘It’s break.’ Max smirked and gave her a smug look, like he knew something she didn’t.
‘Well… off you go anyway.’ Clara watched him and his friends heading down the corridor, laughing, and frowned. No way was she going to trust the judgement of a fifteen-year-old boy – especially Max Lyndell. Sam didn’t fancy her. No one would after this morning’s judgement.
She hurried to her office as she had a meeting with Isabella Denby and her mum after lunch to prepare for.
Immersing herself in work definitely helped to keep her mind busy, but she couldn’t wait to get home and give Skye a huge cuddle.
In the meantime, she had to satisfy herself with looking at the photo her dog walker, Aidan, had sent her.
She smiled at how ridiculously happy Skye looked with the other dogs. She was such a sociable wee thing.
Normally, Clara was too, and enjoyed seeing her colleagues at lunchtime, but today she couldn’t face it. A few people knew she’d had an appointment, and she didn’t want to run the risk of them asking about it, so she had lunch in her office.
Soon after, Isabella and her mum arrived at the door. Isabella was fidgeting with the strap of her backpack, while her mum gently rubbed her shoulder.
‘Come in.’ Clara opened her office door wide. ‘It’s good to see you.’
They followed her in.
‘Take a seat, my lovelies, and would you like a drink of water or anything?’
‘I think we’re ok,’ Mrs Denby said, and Isabella nodded.
‘Perfect.’ Clara took one of the comfy chairs across from them and leaned in just slightly.
‘Now, Isabella, I’ve been hearing great things about you from the teachers of the classes you’ve already returned to.
Miss Ritchie says you’re doing really well, and Mr Addison has nothing but good things to say about you.
Both of them think you’ll manage to up your subjects as long as you keep getting the support you need, but how do you feel? ’
Isabella glanced down at her hands. ‘Um, Mr Addison talked to me about it.’ She glanced up at Clara. ‘He thought it would be a good idea… to get ready for the exams. And he said the other teachers would be ok if we used the thumbs up way to let them know if I had to leave class or whatever.’
Clara’s smile deepened. Bless him. He was such a thoughtful guy.
‘That sounds like a good idea, and I know all your teachers would be happy with that. But remember, this decision is all about what feels right for you. If you’d like, we could start with just one or two extra subjects now – just to see how it goes. The decision is yours.’
‘I think I could start my normal timetable again, if the teachers let me leave if I need to.’
‘Of course.’ Clara clasped her hands together. ‘I think that’s a brave decision and we’ll make sure you have all the support you need, and if anything feels too much, you can always let us know.’ She exchanged a glance with Mrs Denby, who smiled.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘This is so helpful. And please can you thank Miss Ritchie and Mr Addison? They’ve been so good with her.’
‘I’ll pass that on.’ Clara beamed at them both. ‘Are you up for starting this tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, ok.’
‘What class do you have first?’
‘Um… social studies with Ms Bonham.’
‘Oh, that’s good, because you tried her class already last week, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah. It was good.’
Clara got to her feet. ‘I’ll let her know you’re coming in and I’ll have a word with all your teachers to make sure they know what’s what.’
Mrs Denby thanked her again on the way out, and Clara gave Isabella a little pat on the back. A pain in her chest made her gulp. She loved her job – helping kids find their way, but it was hard when she was feeling so lost herself.
When the bell rang after school, Clara headed to the staffroom to see if Brenna was there, but it was empty.
As she went to leave, Lissa came in singing with her unmissable voice.
She seemed to be doing a rather good impression of Pavarotti and fell apart laughing when she finished.
P.E. teacher Finlay, who had come in with her, was shaking his head and laughing.
‘You’re utterly insane,’ he said.
‘Why, thank you.’ Lissa curtseyed. ‘How’s your wife doing, by the way? And the new baby.’
‘Both great,’ Finlay said. ‘I miss the wee bub when I’m here. She’s a beauty. And Genevieve’s doing so well with her. She’s a great mum.’
‘I’m glad.’ Lissa patted his arm, and Clara kept smiling as Finlay chatted some more about his baby, though her insides were caving in.
‘Have we got another meeting?’ Lissa frowned at Clara. ‘Have I missed something – again?’
‘No.’ Clara set the kettle to boil. ‘I was just looking for Brenna, but I might as well have a coffee while I’m here.’