Chapter 31 Twenty-Eight Very Amused People and One Big Announcement
We arrive at work in plenty of time. The drive there has been odd, me sitting next to Karim in the passenger seat, grateful for the belt that kept me tethered in place. I feel as light as a helium balloon, as though I might float away into the autumn sky if I’m not tied down.
He has not quizzed me about the letter’s contents, showing self-restraint that I know must be killing him. The very resounding kiss I gave him before we set off, and the smile that has been making my face ache ever since I read the letter, are hopefully enough to reassure him.
“So,” he says as he parks the car and switches off the engine, “I assume it was good news?”
“It was, Karim. Really good news. She’s happy. She’s thriving. She’s had a great life. And she doesn’t blame me. I feel . . . weightless.”
He grins and reaches over to stroke my cheek.
“I’m so glad for you, Gemma. I can only imagine what it feels like, after all these years, knowing that she’s safe and well. Letting go of some of that guilt you’ve been carrying around. So what’s the plan? What happens next? And . . . at some point, can I read it? The letter?”
He sounds hesitant as he says this, as though he fears he is pushing some kind of unspoken boundary between us and is uncertain about how I will react.
“Of course you can read it,” I reply quickly. “Just as soon as I’ve had it laminated.”
He stares at me for a moment, unsure, until I burst out laughing. I am joking—I think.
“Seriously, yes, you can—let’s meet up for lunch to do that,” I say.
He is part of my life, and she is part of my life, and I have learned that trying to keep everything separate and safe in its own little box doesn’t work so well in the long run.
“And as for what happens next, I suppose I write back to her. And maybe she writes back to me. And we become, I don’t know, some kind of heavily emotionally laden pen pals? That’s my task for tonight, anyway. Just as soon as I’ve called an emergency girls’ night at Margie’s so I can tell them about it as well. All of you have helped get me to this stage, and I can’t say how grateful I am. Do you want to see her? Before we go in?”
He nods, and I reach for my bag, carefully pulling out a manila file that I’ve used to keep the letter and picture in. I suspect I may never let them leave my presence again, that if they are ever more than a couple of feet from my body, some kind of internal alarm will go off.
I pass him the photo, saying, “She’s called Beth. Isn’t that a lovely name?”
“Yes, but she could have been called Gertrude and you’d still think it was a lovely name,” he replies.
He is, of course, not wrong.
“You’re right. I think Gertrude is long due for a comeback anyway.”
He takes the picture, holding it carefully, his fingers on the edges so he doesn’t smudge it. I see his eyes light up as he looks at her, and he is smiling when he passes it back.
“She’s beautiful,” he says, “and more importantly she looks like one of those kids—the ones who have that confidence, that self-belief. You know the ones.”
I know exactly what he means. Doing our job, you work with young people of all different abilities, backgrounds, and types. You do your very best for all of them, try to help them reach their full potential, whatever that is for them. Some are academically gifted, some work hard, some, frankly, will do well to come out of the course with a single pass to their name. But among every group, there are always some that stand out—because they know who they are, and they like who they are, which isn’t especially easy in teenager land.
Katie is one of those kids, and I can tell from the photo, from the smile, from the way she has expressed herself so unapologetically in that letter, that Beth is one too. My baby. Beth.
I pack the picture away again, and we walk together toward the staff entrance of the school. There are no students here yet, so when he grabs my hand and swings it, I do not object. It is the kind of day that should be celebrated with a swing.
Katie, of course, knows about me and Karim—but she has vowed not to gossip. It is not forbidden; there are no rules against relationships between staff, but it is also not the kind of thing you want a bunch of seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds giggling about behind your back. It is gold dust for them, the weird concept that teachers—Old People—might have a love life. A potent combination of “yuck” and “ooh.” I am pretty sure that Karim has his share of fans as well—the hot PE teacher is a stereotype for a reason—so we might break some hearts once word gets out.
Until now, though, we have been careful in general—neither of us wanted to tell our colleagues that we were a thing until we had a better idea of what kind of thing we actually were. I suppose we wanted to keep it to ourselves for a while, our own delicious secret.
As we enter the staff room, I automatically pull my hand away from his—but he just looks down at me and grins. He strides ahead, right over to the tea and coffee counter, the beating heart of the room.
He picks up a mug and a teaspoon and clangs one against the other, like he’s about to make a best-man speech at a wedding. The chatter fades, and everyone turns to look at him. I sense what is coming and have a distinct urge to sneak back out again, to go and hide in the cleaning-supplies cupboard with the bleach and the mops.
“Can I have your attention, please?” says Karim unnecessarily, as he already has the complete attention of every single person in the vicinity.
“I have an announcement to make! You all know me, and you all know our lovely history teacher, Miss Jones. I’m pleased to say that we are officially a couple, and I couldn’t be happier!”
He raises the mug, even though it is empty, and adds: “A toast, to me and Miss Jones!”
There is a momentary silence while our colleagues look from him to me and back again, then the room erupts into cheers, laughter, applause, and lots of other teaspoons being banged against the side of other mugs.
I have seen several announcements in staff rooms. I have been in them when people have shared news of their engagements, weddings, pregnancies, new jobs, promotions, and even, on one occasion, a divorce.
I have never, though, been the cause of one myself. I know that I am blushing like a schoolgirl.
People are clapping. People are looking at me. People are patting Karim on the back in congratulations, and others are heading in my direction. I am the absolute center of attention.
I completely hate it, and I also completely love it.
I look over the crowds at Karim, meet his eyes, and give him an “I’ll deal with you later” look before I am engulfed by a wave of women who all look as though they have a lot of questions for me.
He just winks and gives me a regal bow. I suppose I should be grateful that he didn’t call himself King I-Love-You the First.