Chapter 22
Driving into school that morning, Cassie wondered about levelling with Marisha. There was PE first, so that would give her a bit of time to nurse the white-wine hangover that was starting to settle just above her eyes, despite the glass of Dioralyte she’d downed before dashing out the door.
She arrived in to find Marisha wearing athleisure bottoms and a hoodie by some upmarket brand, with not a knicker line or a bulging zip in sight. She took centre stage at the top of the class and raised her arms like an evangelical preacher.
‘Now, boys and girls, as you all know, there’s only six weeks until the summer holidays.’
A big cheer rocked the classroom.
‘I know, I know, we’re all looking forward to it. But wouldn’t it be great if we had something fantastic to show your mummies and daddies?’
There was another cheer. This was way more user-friendly than Marisha’s usual no-nonsense tone.
‘So, you know what we’re going to do? A play . Won’t that be great fun?’
Cassie was shocked, then furious. Marisha knew exactly what she was doing, she knew Cassie’s background. Was that how Marisha was planning to punish her? By completely sidelining her?
‘And Cassie, who we all know used to be an actress, will assist. It’s quite a common thing, you know, children, that when people have tried to do something and maybe it hasn’t gone as well for them as they might have wished .?.?.’ Here she allowed a little aww. ‘They find themselves teaching it.’
Cassie was stunned. This was jaw-dropping, even for Marisha. Little Sophie put her hand up.
‘My mummy says she saw Cassie on TV on the ad for a deodorant.’
Suddenly, there was a clamour in the class, as the children all piled in to share, ‘So did mine.’
‘That’s quite enough. Now, children, you have to understand that doing ads is what some actors do when they can’t get proper acting parts, like in a real theatre or a television programme.’
A forest of hands shot up.
‘Or like in the movies?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Like Transformers ?’
‘Or Maleficent ?’
Cassie felt the pressure building up in her chest. She couldn’t just sit and listen to this slanderous rubbish. ‘Actually,’ she projected, ‘I think you’ll find that lots of very famous people do ads. That’s how they can make a lot of money very quickly.’
This was a direct dig at Marisha and her government salary.
‘So, Cassie, are you minted, then?’
Cassie laughed kindly. ‘Unfortunately not, Rowley, but I would argue that ads can be an art form. Some of them can look as good as – or sometimes even better than – the movies.’
Marisha picked up that she was starting to lose the room.
‘All right now, boys and girls, I’ve chosen a lovely play. We’ll know all our words and when to say them and where to stand. Won’t that be great?’
The way it was presented sounded to Cassie more like the changing of the guard than a creative endeavour, but what the hell, Marisha was the one in charge.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The children didn’t seem to notice that there was a stand-off between their two teachers, but Cassie was acutely aware of the chilly atmosphere. Marisha had a way of aiming her charm like a laser beam, so she could sparkle at the children on either side of her, while leaving Cassie out in the cold – a classic bullying technique where nobody else would even notice.
Just before the end of class, at two thirty, she made the announcement. ‘Boys and girls, listen up now, tomorrow after lunch we’ll be holding auditions for the play.’
Was it her imagination or was Marisha trying, and possibly succeeding, in nicking her identity? She was regretting more and more her unguarded openness on the first day.
*?*?*
Even on the screen, Josie looked visibly tired. She was now seven and a half months pregnant.
‘God, this baby weighs a ton. I think it’s going to be a sumo wrestler.’
‘Even if it’s a girl?’
‘It’s an equal-opportunities pregnancy.’
‘Boom boom,’ finished Cassie.
The quip hung limply in the air, neither of them having the energy to snigger.
‘How’s the chest of drawers?’
‘Still yellow.’
‘Bit like me.’
‘Cassie, why are you staying in that job and putting up with all this shit? It can’t be the only one around.’
‘If I leave now, it’ll be just another thing I haven’t stuck with. I know it sounds stupid but if I can stick this out .?.?. I can stick anything out. It feels like a .?.?. test.’
‘Really? You sure you’re not making excuses to avoid confronting Cruella de Vil?’
‘Of course I’m making excuses, she’s incredibly intimidating, but if I don’t stand my ground now, I’ll always be trying to dodge the hard stuff. She’s important in a way I can’t describe.’
Josie shifted uncomfortably and took a sip of Appletiser, her latest go-to obsession.
‘I’m not disputing it, but you seem to be giving her a lot of power.’
Cassie shrugged. Josie continued, ‘Don’t let her bully you. Remember she only has power in that schoolroom – outside of it, she’s nothing.’
But that wasn’t totally true; like it or not, it felt like her life and Marisha’s were tangled up together like two old pairs of tights in a washing machine.
‘And what about Finn? When are we going to get to meet him?’
‘Yes, well, it’s a bit complicated. Josie, what does he sound like to you, really?’
‘Nice, sensitive .?.?. a bit avoidant. But then, some of the nicest people in the world are avoidant. Just make sure it’s not about the things that matter most to you.’
‘You’re right, Jos,’ Cassie said, though what she could do about it wasn’t clear.
The Zoom call moved on, and Josie turned sideways to show her the bump and wail about the silver stretch marks that no amount of slathering on of Bio-Oil would magic away.
‘It’s like someone else has taken over my body .?.?. it’s out of control. But it’s kind of thrilling at the same time. Pal has started this ritual he calls “bump watch” every evening, when it wakes up and starts to kick off. He says he’s going to buy a tiny Arsenal strip so it can get started right away. He’s jumped straight to the “footie in the park” stage. I mean, forget all about pushing the baby out and the screaming and the nappies and the puke and poo.’
Cassie burst out laughing at the thought of goofy Pal transforming into a doting dad, but there was something truly miraculous about the change in her friend’s body.
‘It actually suits you. It looks totally natural, even though I could never have imagined it. Remember back when we shared the flat, we used to imagine what each of us would look like pregnant and stuff pillows under our jumpers, laughing ourselves silly about it .?.?.’ She couldn’t help the rueful tone creeping into her voice. A little V of concern appeared between Josie’s eyes.
‘It’s still not too late, Cass. You’re only thirty-seven. If you really want to do it, don’t wait, for God’s sake.’
‘Have you and Mam been talking?’
The last thing she wanted was to steal the joy from Josie’s special time. She daren’t mention the emptiness she was feeling behind the shared delight, like gazing down a lift shaft when the doors open by mistake. An emptiness that feels all wrong because it’s where something else ought to be. She wasn’t going to mention that. It just wouldn’t be fair.
*?*?*
The next morning at 7 a.m. Cassie opened her eyes and allowed the fragments of her thoughts to fall into place. She thought of the conversation with Josie the previous evening, her pregnancy bump and the words, ‘Don’t leave it too late.’ She’d given up hope of having a baby after the split with Gav, accepted that that boat had sailed and there was nothing more to be done. But maybe that wasn’t true, maybe she’d more options than she’d once believed. A thin shaft of hope lit up the back of her mind like the sun on winter solstice .?.?. Crikey, the big numbers on her digital clock now blinked 7.17 a.m., so she’d better get cracking. In the bathroom, lined with dark-green veined marble tiles, she dropped her oversized T-shirt on the floor, turned sideways, and for one private moment allowed herself to imagine what she’d look like with a bump. A stab of pain in her chest made her gasp and rub the spot with the heel of her hand. No time for that now. She swiped the thought away and stepped into the steaming luxury of the rain shower.
Marisha would be holding her wretched auditions today. That promised to be a pain in the arse. It felt so unfair and bloody frustrating, considering the whole thing had been her idea. She remembered something that Da, who loved nothing better than a good cliché, had said to her: ‘Sometimes you’re hot, sometimes you’re not. It’s a long road that has no turning.’ Well, Da, right now that’s exactly where she felt: on a straight road to nowhere.
She made a pot of strong coffee and treated herself to a bowl of high-fruit muesli with a banana, on Babs and Denise’s advice. They’d learned a thing or two about making it through to lunchtime. Just then her phone buzzed – it was a text from Finn.
How you holding up with Cecil B. DeMille? :)
Ha ha. Not.
Missing you
You too
Don’t let it get to you. Storm in a teacup.
I know. Xxxxx
Xxxxxx
That was all fine, except if you were stuck in said teacup, it still felt like you were drowning.
*?*?*
Hurrying down the corridor towards the classroom, she spotted her friend Maggie up ahead, her copper ringlets bouncing with her energetic gait. Cassie ran to catch up with her.
‘Maggie, I don’t like to be a pest, but can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘You have an SNA .?.?. I mean, is she your assistant, or .?.?.?’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘Junior or sort of .?.?. servant?’
Maggie gazed at her in astonishment, then a look of realisation dawned.
‘God, no. I couldn’t do my work without her. We’re a team. I see her as my equal, of course. We’re colleagues.’
Why, oh, why hadn’t she been assigned to 4A? Where things would’ve been lovely and friendly and .?.?. respectful.
‘That’s what I thought. Thanks. See you at break time.’
Marisha was dressed all in black: leggings and a T-shirt dress, with her hair in a bohemian-looking messy bun. Cassie had no doubt the whole image was carefully assembled.
‘Good morning, boys and girls, Cassie will go round and collect your homework and then we’ll start on the auditions for our play.’
This promised to be about as much fun as an ice-bucket challenge, thought Cassie grimly.
Marisha had chosen a traditional fairy tale, Jack and the Beanstalk , nothing too controversial to piss off any of the fussy parents. The script appeared to have been written some decades ago and there was certainly no mention of diversity; however, it was a solid enough idea and they might as well get on with it. Marisha, of course, was highly conscientious and had photocopied a pile of scripts for the children.
‘Now, boys and girls, I want you all to move your chairs around in a circle so we can all see each other.’
Crikey, this was shaping up to be a nightmare for the shyer children. Marisha started out by asking the boys, in turn, to read for the part of Jack, so the whole process turned out to be more of a public reading test than a search for acting ability. To her dismay, it became clear that Rowley wasn’t a great reader and was possibly dyslexic, which wasn’t uncommon in creative people. He stuttered through his lines, obviously wracked with nerves. Halfway through the scene, Marisha raised her hand in exasperation.
‘That’s enough, Rowley. Thank you, you can play villager 2.’
His whole body slumped. A wave of indignation surged through Cassie. Moments like this were life-defining. All they did was show a child what they couldn’t do – how many talented people’s dreams had been dashed by moments like these?
The part of Jack’s mother was almost automatically given to Sophie. The part of Jack was given to Trevor – a quick, talented lad – while Ahmed, who sang boy soprano in the school choir, was cast as the harp. It all made sense but, at the same time, the whole affair had a dispiriting feel that the kids who were already doing well were being given more, while everybody else was relegated to the back row.
The part of the giant was assigned to Martin, the tallest boy in the class, who blushed beetroot every time he had to open his mouth. The poor child delivered his iconic fee-fi-fo-fum line in a flat, conversational tone more suited to the stock-market report than a boisterous fairy tale. All in all, fairly standard stuff for a school play. Cassie sighed to herself. Shame, there was potential here for something spectacular.
*?*?*
‘Well, did you bring my favourite chocolate Swiss roll?’ said Mam the moment she opened the door.
‘They only had the lemon one, sorry.’
‘Sure, isn’t that the way of it. We all have to make compromises.’
Cassie could tell from experience that Mam was in a no-nonsense mood. As soon as she’d made them two cups of coffee and sat down, she started. ‘When are you going to phone Maxine? You’ve been putting it off for months, and it’s already last minute for the dresses. Typical you. I don’t want to find myself sitting here at 2 a.m. the night before my wedding with the eyes hanging out of my head hemming bridesmaids’ dresses.’
In fact, there was nothing Mam would’ve loved more, not to mention recounting it to anyone who’d listen.
‘Look, love, I know there’s been all of that between you and Maxine, and it breaks my heart that we can’t all meet together, but surely now is the time to fix that.’
Cassie nodded uncomfortably. Mam was wonderful but she did have a tendency to place herself at the centre of everything and genuinely felt that nothing could happen effectively without her. She’d whipped out her phone and was scrolling madly to find the number.
‘God, Mam, stop, please. You’re taking over again. I’ll do it tonight, OK? I promise I won’t let you down.’
‘Then that’s all I need to hear. Have another piece of cake.’
Cassie was starving after spending her lunch break on yard duty.
‘We can’t, Mam, remember we’ve got to look like Kate Moss in less than two months.’
‘That girl always looks in need of a good plate of sausage and chips. And what about your poor friend that got beaten up? I must drop over and visit her. I’ll bring her a bedjacket for receiving visitors. Do you think she’d like that?’
‘You know what, Mam? I think she’d love it.’
‘Great. So .?.?. what about this new chap, will he be at the wedding?’
Maybe it was the tension of having to stifle herself around Marisha all day, or light-headedness from hunger, but Cassie found herself blurting the whole story out to Mam. At the end there was silence, which was astonishing in itself.
‘So, you’re working with this woman, and she doesn’t know what’s going on?’
‘No, but I think she might suspect.’
‘Look, I might be very old-fashioned in all of this, but I’d say honesty is the best policy. I mean, if they’re living separately and if she doesn’t want him back, then why are you keeping it a secret in the first place?’
Mam tended to see things in black and white, which was fine for her but really didn’t work out for Cassie.
‘Right, I’ll have a word with her,’ she said, just to keep Mam happy.
‘These blended families .?.?. all I know from cooking is some ingredients just don’t mix.’