10
Half an hour later, I’ve gone through the lesson plan for the lower comprehension set and the higher maths set I’m teaching today. I’m setting out the starter tasks ready for the kids as soon as they come in when my phone buzzes. It’s Catherine.
‘Hey,’ she says sweetly, but there’s a definite strain in her voice. We’ve always been close and even though we often went without seeing each other for weeks during uni and our life paths couldn’t have been any more different, we’ve stayed best friends. So it’s no wonder we work on an almost telepathic level. Cheryl and Jason Blossom from Riverdale have nothing on us.
‘Is everything OK?’ I start gently, happy to be dealing with somebody else’s problems for once.
‘Of course.’ Her voice wobbles a little.
‘If you’re keeping it in out of any sense of misplaced solidarity to my current pathetic existence, I can assure you I’m all ears. I welcome any interruptions to my drama. I’m here for you. Always.’ I try to sound as supportive as possible even though less than half an hour ago, I was mere minutes away from an emotional breakdown or walking out of this school forever.
There’s silence on the other end, and so I wait. When she doesn’t say anything, I try a different strategy. Cheering up Lydia-style it is.
‘Let me prove to you that I can take on whatever’s worrying you. Let’s start. My mother is the living embodiment of Pamela Jones and can’t seem to understand that a woman can be happy without a man. A few weeks back, she tried to match me with a guy who turned out to be so nice, he invited me for lunch with him and his boyfriend. The only reason I didn’t tell you and Lydia was because I didn’t think I’d ever live it down.’
The line is dead.
I plough on. ‘I was cheated on by a boyfriend who liked to have needles stuck into his buttocks. He liked to polish his very small and disgustingly greasy…’ I pause there for effect before I continue. ‘…car every Saturday so that all the neighbours noticed it. He would sit in it for hours because he couldn’t afford to fuel it.’
Still nothing.
‘He made me move out into a tiny studio where I suspect at some point somebody tried to hide a cadaver under the bathroom floor.’ I hear a small giggle.
‘And my neighbours like to do it at two o’clock in the morning while one of them is neighing like a horse.’ She chuckles. It’s almost like a sigh of relief.
I top it up. ‘I’m so poor that I have less than ten quid in my bank account and have no food in my fridge. My ECT mentor, who is also my first-ever boyfriend, just tipped the only food I had onto the floor, his tie and his shirt. I, being the nice person here, tried to wash it for him. I made him strip to the waist and actually managed to ruin his shirt forever. Who knows, he might still be stuck there. Crying and topless.’ She’s fully laughing now. ‘Better?’
‘You did not?’ she questions with disbelief. I have to admit it does sound far-fetched.
I look up at a sliding sound and just see the door to my class closing like somebody was about to enter but changed their mind. I hope that whoever it was didn’t hear me.
‘You’re stronger than I think you are sometimes. I just hate adding extra stress to your shoulders, Holly. You’ve had so much going on recently and my problems seem so petty next to yours.’
I swat my hand before I’m reminded she can’t see me. ‘Don’t be silly. What do you need? I’m here for you.’
‘I’m feeling a bit swamped lately. Gabby hasn’t been sleeping, and Richard has been working late. When he comes home, he’s tired, we both are, but sometimes I just feel alone in this parenthood thing. You know me. I’m logical and analytical, I don’t get overwhelmed that easily, but I have a conference today. I’ve slept three hours, and our babysitter pulled out last minute because she’s got the flu. And Lydia has a date.’
There are unshed tears in her voice. She’s so strong, but parenting is hard, and whoever says it’s not is an idiot.
‘I’m free. Besides, I have so much marking to do, I’d rather do it at your house where it’s warmer and doesn’t smell of mould.’
‘I’ve got a fridge full of food and you’re welcome to anything in it. Even the Strings & Things Yollies and you know how obsessed Gabby is with them,’ she offers happily. ‘You are the best, and if any idiot tells you otherwise, you send them to hell, or better, to Lydia.’
My brain rewinds to what she said about Lydia.
‘Lydia’s got a date?’
‘Some guy from work. Ted, I think.’
‘Not Ted Talk Ted?’ I ask incredulously. That guy cannot stop engaging people in intellectual one-sided conversations. Lydia called it a disease. She must know what she’s doing. ‘Anyway. What time do you want me at your place? I can swing by straight after I have a shower and get changed.’
After the call, the morning proceeds without any hiccups. Apart from my terrible lower comprehension set that I dread every week. They’re just a bit too rambunctious and unfocused. Despite all the positive reinforcement I’ve been putting into building a relationship with them, I can’t get through to them.
I expressed this to Alex at the last meeting, but I still almost choke when I catch him quietly slipping to the back of the classroom when the kids start streaming through.
Out of all the days, he had to choose today to observe me. I can’t stop myself from feeling satisfaction when I notice he’s wearing what looks like a borrowed blue polo shirt. It’s a bit tight on him, and I can tell from here it must be itchy as hell.
He doesn’t acknowledge me, his expression indecipherable and unapproachable as always. However, when a few pupils wave at him, his demeanour changes completely. He’s obviously popular with the children. He even asks Kyle about his hamster called Kevin. Why didn’t I know that Kyle had a hamster called Kevin?
‘OK, settle down, class,’ I call out in what I hope is my best authoritative voice. I reward a few pupils for being ready and ask everyone to put their names and dates down on the recap sheets in front of them. Alex scribbles something down. There hasn’t been any time to get anything wrong, or has there? My stomach feels scraped out like a hollow tree trunk, but I’m not sure whether this feeling is connected to the lack of food in it or the dread caused by Alex’s presence.
‘Before you start with the recap, can anybody tell me what literary genres we learnt last week?’ There’s a moment of silence when not a single person raises their hand, the fear of all teachers during an observation.
Alex is about to speak, probably to jump in with something spiteful, when I start re-enacting Harry Potter brandishing a wand with dramatic swings. When there’s only confusion in my pupils’ eyes, I channel my inner Hagrid, and in a very bad West Country accent, I holler, ‘Yer a wizard, Harry.’
The class erupts into laughter, and a good half of the class start shouting out fantasy . For somebody so sombre and serious, I’ve always been a comedian in the classroom.
I motion with my hand for everyone to settle down and mimic putting my hand up. Most of the hands shoot up, ready to answer. I do a little victory dance at my success which makes everyone giggle.
‘Evie.’ I point at a girl with black pigtails and dark grey eyes. She’s always very quiet, and I have the feeling she needs a bit of confidence-boosting.
‘Fantasy,’ she mumbles, and I immediately peel a star from my reward sticker chart and stick it onto her hand.
‘Ten points to Gryffindor.’
I continue, re-enacting Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Frankenweenie and Gnomeo and Juliet . I try to avoid any human contact with Alex, and for a moment, I almost forget he’s there. I think I’m a good teacher, and one pompous idiot at the back of my classroom isn’t going to make me forget that. I carry on proudly with my newly found confidence until I start re-enacting Star Wars .
‘ Star Wars is a space opera,’ Alex mutters almost to himself. He blinks rapidly when all the heads turn his way. He couldn’t stop himself from having a dig.
‘Thank you, Mr Bennet. You’re right, sometimes genres are not so clear-cut and can blur into each other.’
I take his remark in my stride, and he dips his head to the sheet of paper in his hands in what almost looks like embarrassment. I feel almost giddy. I can’t leave it there, ‘Take Star Wars for example.’ He tips his head up, his eyes boring into mine, but I don’t break the contact when I speak. ‘We don’t know where the force comes from, and in a way, it acts like magic by following no logical or scientific boundaries or abiding by physical laws. So, we could call the Jedi space wizards if we wanted to be accurate. However, we could also consider all the technology that isn’t powered by the force and say that the technology is very advanced which would almost make us think of the sci-fi genre.’
Our gazes lock, daring each other to take the next step that might tip the balance. The air sizzles and sparks with frantic energy similar to seconds before dancers’ bodies slam against each other in a mosh pit. I feel there are only two possible outcomes – a profanities-ridden argument or a fight. But at the last moment, Alex clears his throat, and the tension shatters like a sheet of glass struck by a sledgehammer. I’m reminded I’m in a class full of children who are staring at me like I’m having apoplexy and that having a wrestling match with their assistant head in front of their eyes is career suicide.
‘OK, time for a recap. You have five minutes. Off you go,’ I say hastily and pretend to tidy my desk. I can hear the door close shut behind Alex, but I’m not composed enough to check whether he’s really gone.
The rest of the lesson goes swimmingly, mainly because of Alex’s absence.
Once I take my class to the hall for their lunch, I come back to my classroom, my empty belly rumbling pitifully. When I reach the desk, I stop in my tracks at the sight of a brown paper bag full of food with a familiar yellow cardigan lying neatly folded next to it. When I bring the fabric to my nose, it’s not only soft but also smells heavenly like it’s been laundered.
Attached to the paper bag, a curt note says, I am sorry. I had no right to judge you. A -.
I open the bag unsteadily, flabbergasted by the sheer quantity of food. There are two sandwiches, my all-time favourite BLT and Ploughman’s, two flapjacks, a muffin and two pieces of fruit – an apple and a banana. My cheeks heat because he must have heard me speaking to Catherine on the phone. I quickly snap a picture of my lunch with the note attached to it and send it to our group chat.
I think I need some context, unless our friendship has grown so comfortable and our lives so boring we now share photos of our lunches , Lydia immediately messages.
That’s unexpected , Catherine types.
I pop to the loo and when I return, a missed call from Lydia embellishes my screen. I judge by Lydia’s next message that contains a long string of emojis, a bucket of water, a shirt, a flame and for some reason a large aubergine Catherine must have updated her on the phone while I was away.
I message back, To top it off, I basically accused him of having a teacher fired because they were after the same job.
The question is why did he buy you lunch? Men don’t do shit like that for no reason. Call me a sceptic. Lydia ponders.
He said some awful things. I think he might have bought me lunch to genuinely apologise, I admit with confusion because the Alex I’ve worked with for the last few weeks has been nothing but emotionally unavailable and hostile.
I don’t know what to think of him. Before he got me lunch, he made me look like an idiot in front of my class. Not to mention all the stuff from the past.
People change, Catherine responds. She always wants to see the best in people, but this time her comment hurts a little because I don’t want to see anything good in Alex.
He was a dickwad to her ten years ago, Cat. People don’t change that much. Some things can’t be forgiven, Lydia messages resolutely.
I’m not forgiving what he’s done to Holly. I hope you know that, Holly.
A weird knot tightens in my chest that won’t go away. I take a swig of a bottle of juice that was at the bottom of the bag to loosen it.
I’m sorry. I’ve upset you now, Catherine types.
I know she overthinks things and will worry if I don’t put her at ease.
I’m fine. Really. I just don’t want to feel any particular way about Alex or have anything to do with him. But for the first time, I doubt my own words.
I’m halfway through my lunch-for-two when John barges into the classroom without a knock. I’ve learnt that’s his customary way of entering any school spaces, so I simply wait until he reveals the purpose of his visit.
In his hand, he’s holding a bag of triple chocolate chip cookies, and I’m reminded of the comment he made about me to Danielle and scowl.
‘Hey, Holly,’ he greets me with obnoxious over-familiarity and struts towards my desk. I can’t deny the animal magnetism he spreads around the room. It’s like every piece of furniture is covered in a thin layer of musk as soon as he enters. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing for some, but I feel choked by it.
He leaves the cookies on my desk, and I arrange my face into some semblance of a smile. He brought me something sweet almost every day last week. I don’t wonder about his intentions any more, but his sugary gestures have turned into bitter blackstrap molasses on my tongue after overhearing his conversation with Danielle.
‘A few people are going for a few drinks tonight after work. Did you want to join us?’
I pretend to be gutted. ‘I’m babysitting my friend’s daughter tonight. But maybe next time?’
He nods, but I read his disappointment. That is until his attention lands on the incriminating note that I stupidly left on the desk in plain sight.
His eyes widen a fraction before he nods. I don’t like the look he gives me before he leaves. It’s not unkind per se, but there’s a definite edge to it that makes me nervous.
I have no doubt this will spread around the school like wildfire. There’s no limiting damage. I’ve learnt over the last five years in education the best way forward is pretending ignorance. As Queen Elizabeth I would say, ‘I observe and remain silent.’