19
On Monday, I go back to work, feeling apprehensive about the onslaught of gossip that’s bound to hit me after Friday, but it’s surprisingly quiet. John barely looks my way, and Danielle doesn’t even say good morning to me when she passes me in the corridor. They don’t come to see me during lunch, nor do they stop to chat at the end of the day. I think our pretend friendship is truly over, but I can’t find it in myself to feel disappointed.
Alex is visiting another school in the trust, and a part of me that is a tad self-centred is taking it personally. Is he avoiding me? My suspicion grows when the next day, Alex works from home. For the first time, doubt creeps in. Maybe I shouldn’t have ignored him the way I did after he had his hand down my knickers.
Vicky messages me and asks how things are at work. I don’t have the strength to tell her what happened, so I keep my answers vague. It’s strange how she’s been in touch more since I told her about Alex.
At the end of Tuesday, Jane calls me to her office. When I walk in, she’s speedily tapping away on her laptop, her plum nails clicking away like she’s an automaton. She’s always efficient and professional, but she’s also kind of nice. Last month, when I couldn’t meet a deadline because I was getting the trip plans together, she put it back by two weeks.
She pushes the laptop to the side and motions for me to sit on the padded blue seat opposite her desk.
‘How are you settling in?’ she enquires once I’m seated.
‘OK,’ I say with hesitation. Is this the point where she informs me that I have to find a new position and finish my ECT somewhere else? Has Alex filled her ears with poison after Friday? Feeling nervous, I cross my legs.
‘I hear from Alex you’ve been an exceptional addition to our staff,’ Jane shares, clasping her hands on the polished desk.
‘Is that so?’ I scoff in disbelief before I manage to stop myself. I feel like the villain here.
At my doubtful look, her lip twitches. ‘I know. Alex has always been…’ She searches for an accurate, and no doubt politically correct, word. ‘…austere with praise, but he means well. He said you’ve been the most dedicated mentee he’s had and that you have a great relationship with your pupils.’
When she delivers this, I have to school my expression to keep a modicum of professionalism. I think that once again I’ve gotten him wrong. I nod because I’m not sure what to say to this.
The strangest expression flits across her features. Her eyes framed by dark lashes turn almost soft behind her glasses.
She sweeps her hands to her lap and leans towards me. ‘Can I be direct with you please?’ She doesn’t give me a chance to respond and continues, ‘I want to give you my assurances.’ She measures her next words. I’ve never seen her this careful, and it’s making me agitated. ‘If for whatever reason Alex being your mentor isn’t viable anymore, I can assign you a different mentor. If you’re concerned about your position here, you shouldn’t be.’
Is she saying that I haven’t been as professional as I thought I had been where Alex is concerned? Mortification shrinks my internal organs to raisins. Or worse, has Alex suggested this? A small part of me considers her offer, but I can’t imagine going through another mentor. I must reluctantly admit, as mentors go, Alex has been a good one.
‘No, why? Has Alex said something?’
‘Alex, confiding in me on matters that aren’t strictly professional without duress?’ She snorts, which makes me startle. I didn’t think she was capable of snorting. However, she has summed up Alex accurately.
‘Anyway.’ She checks her watch. ‘If there’s ever anything you want to talk about, I’m here.’ She gives me one of her X-ray looks before I’m released.
The rest of the day is uneventful and almost boring without the constant threat of Alex walking into my classroom or the prospect of bumping into him in the corridor.
On Wednesday, I know Alex is around, and my suspicions that he’s avoiding me are confirmed. Usually, he pops into my class at least once a day. When he’s not randomly visiting my class, he’s outside during the afternoon break, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
Developing stalker tendencies, I walk past his office a few times and peer through the glass slit that decorates the middle of the door, but his chair is empty.
At the end of the day, his car is the first one gone from the car park despite Alex usually working until six like me. My nerves are tattered.
I go home early because I’m going for dinner with Lydia to check out a new Thai restaurant she got vouchers for at work that are about to expire. I spend the early evening attempting to make my place look more agreeable by strategically placing potted plants that I salvaged from the bungalow to hide some of the worst carpet stains. But it seems that the place will forever defy feng shui.
I get vexed all over again when I remember the nice hessian rug that I laid in the hallway of the bungalow. It took me weeks to find the right colour, and I got it for a good price. It would look perfect here. Determined for once to get what I want, I message Aaron. I want the hessian rug and the matching rattan mats. I’m picking them up in 30 minutes.
As soon as the message is sent, it feels like there’s nothing as important as getting the stupid rug. Replaying our last conversation in the café makes me crave victory over Aaron in any way I can get it. I’m done with him walking all over me.
I put mascara and red lipstick on and smooth my bob. I finish my look with a white shirt and tight jeans with black cowboy boots, channelling Mia from Pulp Fiction .
I book a taxi with a stopover at the bungalow before I chicken out. A message that my driver, Rocher, is here pings on my phone ten minutes later.
Rocher turns out to be a very chatty middle-aged woman who talks incessantly about her dog, a mixed breed of long-haired chihuahua and Jack Russell whose picture has a prime spot on her dashboard.
I text my mother that I will meet her on Saturday for a coffee at M&S because I refuse to go home and confront my dad, but it’s not fair to avoid her because she hasn’t done anything wrong. She only replies, OK, darling which is very tight-lipped of her, but I guess she’s shell-shocked. I’ve never considered how she would feel when she found out that I knew all along. My heart is laden with guilt, which makes me hate my dad even more.
Rocher stops by a curb in front of the familiar bungalow and lets the car rev.
I knock impatiently on the door, however, it’s not Aaron who opens it, but Eva dressed in ugly pyjamas with ice cream cones on, stuffing herself with a chocolate biscuit. Her hair is sloppily piled up on top of her head and when my gaze travels down her body, her belly is even more rounded than the last time I saw her. I tighten my hands into fists. I’ve got this.
She shifts her weight from foot to foot before she fleetingly scans the street over my shoulder like she’s expecting me to make a scene. I wonder what Aaron has told her about me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he painted me as a villain of the Grand High Witch calibre, anything to ease his consciousness.
‘I’m here to pick up a rug and a couple of mats,’ I inform her coolly. I straighten my back and end up almost a head taller than her. She brushes crumbs off her pyjama top. I can tell from the submissive angle of her shoulders she’s not a confrontational person, but for the first time in my life, I don’t care how my actions make her feel because I’m done accommodating other people’s feelings and suppressing mine in the process.
‘Aaron didn’t tell me anything about you stopping by. He’s on the phone in the bedroom.’ She seems a little unsure, her eyes flying towards where the bedroom is.
‘He’s never been exactly organised. My taxi is waiting so I would appreciate it if you got a move on.’ I wave towards the bored-looking taxi driver. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hostile to anybody, but it’s been a trying couple of weeks.
I’ve worked her out right because she disappears behind the door. I wait long moments until I hear shuffling and some strained breathing. Doubt creeps in. Maybe I should have thought this through. Am I so hateful to let a pregnant woman heft a heavy rug? Also, how am I going to stuff it in the taxi anyway? I guess that’s a problem for future Holly. Determination forges my body into a rod of steel. Even if I have to walk to the Thai place, I will have the rug.
Strained voices from behind the door travel to my ear, and when the door opens again, an enraged Aaron is standing in the doorway, dressed in sweatpants. I guess the standards are really slipping. He refused to wear anything classed as loungewear when we were together. He’s looking more tired than the last time I saw him.
‘This is highly inappropriate. You could have at least waited for my reply,’ he complains. Eva is peeking from behind his shoulder.
‘Honey, we don’t like the rug anyway,’ she starts, but he interjects, ‘If you think you can barge in here anytime, you’re wrong.’
I put my hands up, and he surprisingly shuts up.
‘Stop talking,’ I command forcefully, bolstered by confidence I have no clue where I’ve found.
‘I’ve had enough of you interrupting me. And I’ve had enough of your bullshit. I refuse to suffer the consequences of you being a shitty person.’
He’s completely gobsmacked. After all, I’ve never spoken to him like this. I’ve always been easy-going. He’s about to speak, but I take a step towards him, and he backs off. I don’t know what has possessed me, but it feels good. ‘I’m speaking and you’re listening. I can see that you haven’t changed. Still bossy and insensitive and selfish. Do you know why I never gave you all that you needed? Because you’re not a child, you’re a man. Stop looking for somebody to be your mother and a girlfriend. It’s pathetic.’
He turns tomato red, and his cheeks puff up like a hamster’s.
‘Now, my solicitor will be in touch with you to sort out my money because you haven’t had the initiative or decency to do so yourself.’
Aaron slouches. He knows he doesn’t stand a chance. I’ve won.
I train my eyes on Eva. ‘I want my rug. I could ask for half of the kitchen cabinets, the bed or the cooker that I paid for but I’m not that petty.’
Aaron looks torn, his lip cinched between his teeth. He’s calculating whether he can leave me alone with Eva.
‘I’m not going to bite her head off,’ I bark at him. He scowls, but nevertheless, leaves to fetch my rug.
We wait, Eva fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. I make her nervous. Despite my poker face, my insides are in ribbons, and at any moment I could vomit out my lunch.
I just about catch her whispered words. ‘I know what Aaron meant about the ice-queen act.’ I see red.
‘Fuck you,’ I cry out, and she shudders at the volume of my voice. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself. Sleeping with a man who isn’t single and ruining somebody’s life like that. What stops him from doing it to you? Anyway, good luck with that.’ Her eyes glisten with tears.
‘I think we threw the mats away,’ Aaron says contritely when he comes back, passing me the heavy rug. I don’t blame him. I’m feeling very unpredictable, some would say unstable.
‘Goodbye, Aaron,’ I say with a flare and turn around. We are done.
I stuff the rug in the boot of the taxi, sweating and heaving with the effort, but the taxi driver only shrugs at my newly acquired baggage. I feel proud of myself. That is until I arrive at the restaurant laden with a massive rug and nowhere to put it.
Still pumped up on adrenalin, I give the waitress standing by a please wait to be seated sign an honest explanation when her eyes home in on the interior accessory. ‘I don’t normally go to restaurants with rugs, but I had to pick it up from my ex-boyfriend who after we purchased a bungalow together cheated on me and then refused to give me my share. I almost made his pregnant girlfriend heft the rug across the bungalow and threatened them both with a solicitor if they didn’t pay up because I can barely afford to pay rent. Think me a terrible person, but I had to get my rug back because I really really like it.’ My words turn a little loud, and I have to dial my voice down. The auburn-haired waitress sniffs inconspicuously during my story, and I end up passing her a tissue.
‘It’s a nice rug. Good for you,’ is all she says and lets me store it in the staffroom. My belief in good people is restored.
Regaining some dignity, I announce with pretended composure, ‘I’m meeting a friend. She booked a table for two. Lydia Dean?’
‘This way,’ she says gruffly, and I follow.
The restaurant is busy. Every square table decorated with candles in intricate bronze holders emanating a buttery glow is taken up. The restaurant is mostly filled with couples, and the intimate atmosphere of dark mahogany furniture, bronze table dividers and tall bamboo plants is perfect for a romantic evening. But my mood is miles away from romantic endeavours and much closer to planning a homicide.
I feel a little over-dressed, and my lipstick feels tar-thick on my lips. I make a movement to wipe it discreetly but stop in my tracks at the sight of a solitary figure sitting by the bar. Automatically, my pulse picks up like I’ve run up a flight of stairs and then another. I frown as he checks his watch like he’s waiting for someone and the thought of witnessing Alex on a date sends me spiralling, a feeling similar to sliding down a helter-skelter at forty miles per hour. As if he’s heard my mental processes, his ginger head swipes in my direction. When he spots me, his gaze narrows. To my dismay, he turns around to face the bar without acknowledging me.
Has Alex just given me the cold shoulder?