Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Jules
I sprint down the corridor. Damn that Uber for being a stickler for the road rules. My handbag slips off my shoulder, and I sling it back on. The other parent-teacher catch ups were on Zoom and still Mick was ‘too busy’ to make it. But today, Mr Campbell has requested a longer in-person meeting. He says he likes to do it this way once a year to allow plenty of time to discuss each child’s performance.
Mick’s going to be pissed after I lectured him about not being late. The classroom is just ahead of me and on the right. I veer across the hall and all but throw myself through the door.
Riley’s teacher rises out of his chair. “Mrs Williams, are you okay?”
A quick glance confirms Mick isn’t here yet. I didn’t need to run, after all. I wave my hand at Mr Campbell and focus on sucking in deep breaths. The distance from the gate is longer than I remember, and I’m a tad out of condition. Not to mention, the couple of glasses of wine I had earlier have made me dizzy. Or maybe it’s the blood rushing to my head.
After a minute, my breathing slows to something less hurricane-like and I straighten .
“Sorry, I’m late.”
“Do you have your late slip?”
I gape at him.
He chuckles. “My turn to apologise. I couldn’t help myself.”
“My husband hasn’t arrived?”
“No, not yet.”
Bloody Mick, he promised he’d be here. It’s been three weeks since we first saw the counsellor and except for a couple of nights when Mick came home in time to see Riley before she went to bed, bugger all has changed. I whip out my phone and fire off a text. Then stare at the screen, willing him to reply. He doesn’t.
I slip the mobile into my bag. “I’m sure he won’t be long.”
Mr Campbell gestures to the table in front of him. “Let’s get started. We can catch Mr Williams up when he arrives.”
He pushes a glass of water across his desk. I perch on a plastic chair opposite him and scull the contents. Just as well he didn’t tell me to sit in the kids’ spot. My arse would never fit.
While Riley’s teacher taps on his computer, I take a few centring breaths. Bright colours on the walls create a cheerful ambience. Its effect couldn’t be more different from the psychologist’s consulting room, which was all shades of wrong. There’s a sense of freedom, of anything being possible in this space. Soon enough, these kids will discover it’s all a lie. That working hard and getting top grades are no guarantee for a rewarding life afterwards.
Finger paintings seem to be the artwork of choice, with a string of them pasted along one wall. Riley’s work is easy to spot—sinister slashes of red and little else.
My mobile remains silent. Mick had better have a good excuse.
Mr Campbell clears his throat. “Shall we begin?”
“Please. ”
He takes me through each of Riley’s subjects. Her creative flair is nothing short of abysmal, but that’s not a surprise, and Mr Campbell isn’t too worried. Neither am I. We’re not all destined to be the next Monet. Thankfully, he makes no mention of the whip drawing. He also tells me her reading and writing aren’t setting any records. While he’s not concerned yet, it’s something to watch. I make a mental note to encourage her to spend more time reading and less time in front of the jigsaw puzzle. One positive is she’s a whiz with numbers, just like her dad.
The meeting’s almost over, and there’s still no sign of my husband. Not that listening to Mr Campbell speak is a hardship. He’s easy on the eyes, and his Scottish accent rolls off my ears and over my shoulders like a warm, fluffy blanket. It takes the sting out of the feeling that I’ve failed Riley.
“Jules, did you hear what I said?”
Uh, oh. He’s using my first name. I shake my head, and the room spins. Oops. That would be the alcohol again. “Sorry. Could you repeat the last sentence?”
He drums his fingers on the desk. “Riley’s not playing well with other children.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s not getting physical, but she can be overly assertive in demanding what she wants.”
Embarrassment fills my cheeks. We’re always so careful to teach Riley what’s right and wrong. I’m almost glad Mick isn’t here to hear this. Is it my fault? Am I a poor role model? “How long has it been going on for?”
“It’s hard to say. Her actions are so subtle that I initially thought I’d imagined it. But I’ve been observing her more closely.”
One thing I know about my daughter is she’s a good kid. She wouldn’t hurt someone on purpose. “Can you think of any reasons she might behave this way? Are any of the other kids teasing her? ”
“Not that I’ve noticed. I just wanted to make you aware of it so that you could also monitor her behaviour at home.”
Heat soars up my neck and across my cheeks with the intensity of a raging bushfire. “So, you’re telling me we’re terrible parents?”
Mr Campbell sighs and shifts in his seat. Warmth floods his eyes. Not that his expression was harsh before, but it’s as if he’s realised I’m on the verge of losing it and is softening his approach even more to make me feel at ease. “That’s not what I said, Jules. It’s not uncommon for children to act out a little as they find their place in the world. It might also be her way of compensating for her academic struggles. As I say, the signs are very subtle. But worth keeping an eye on.”
The door swings open and Taylor struts in, her long legs eating up the distance. “Good evening, Hugh.”
Mr Campbell visibly tenses. She should have knocked, not barged in. And can’t she see he doesn’t welcome her flirting? “One moment, please, Mrs Smith. We’re not finished.”
“It’s fine.” I hightail it out of there, my blood pumping up a storm. Mick has no excuse for not making it. Again. And leaving me to bear the burden of Riley’s less-than-stellar report. Not to mention the embarrassment of being told my daughter is a bully. Okay, that’s a tad overdramatic. Even so, I can’t help feeling that this is all my fault. That if I were a better mother …
I’m so busy ranting in my head that I run straight into Mick in the hallway.
His hands rest on my upper arms, steadying me. “Sorry, Jules. I got caught up at work.”
Story of his life. “It’s too late. The meeting’s over.” I bat him away and stride towards the door.
He trails after me. “I said I’m sorry.”
I slow down and face him. “You’re always sorry, but it doesn’t stop you from putting your job ahead of your family.”
“Jules— ”
“Don’t Jules me. You’re never here when I need you. I was the one who had to sit in that classroom by myself and be told we’re crappy parents.” Mr Campbell didn’t say that, but it’s how I feel.
“What the hell? No, we’re not.” He pivots and takes a step down the hall.
I grip his arm. “You can’t go in there now. He’s with someone else.”
His jaw clenches. “What happened?”
“Riley’s falling behind in English and … she’s bullying the other kids.”
“No!”
I take a breath. “Well … not so much bullying as being a little bossy.”
“Oh.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “That’s not great, but it sounds like something we should be able to correct fairly easily.”
Heat rushes through me at Mick’s matter-of-fact tone. How can he be so calm?
“But what if it’s our fault? What if she’s picking up on the tension between us? We haven’t exactly fixed that yet, have we?” I practically spit the words at him as I try to shake his unflappable calm. It’s driving me crazy.
Mick’s expression hardens. “You’ve been drinking. Please tell me you didn’t drive.”
Here comes the lecture. “Of course not. I caught an Uber.” I let go of his arm. “At least I turned up on time.” A small lie. He doesn’t need to know I was late.
He ignores my barb. “Where’s Riley?”
“She’s at Claire’s house having another play date with Oscar.” A terrible thought pops into my head. Is Riley being demanding with Oscar, too? I make a mental note to check with Claire.
“Alright,” says Mick. “Let’s pick her up. I’m parked nearby. ”
We reach his car and slide in. I buckle my seatbelt, every muscle and tendon poised to fight or run. I can’t decide.
Instead of starting the engine, Mick leans back in the seat and closes his eyes. Furrows snake across his forehead, aging him twenty years. “We can’t go on like this.”
My ribcage doesn’t seem strong enough to contain my erratic heart. Is this it? “What do you mean?”
“Arguing. Sniping at each other.” He turns his head, his brown eyes dirty pools of uncertainty. “Drinking.”
I stare out the window to stop myself from firing angry words at him. It’s hard to break well-honed habits. “I …”
What do I say? I’m trying to cut back on the Valium, so I need the wine even more right now. There’s no way I’m explaining that little problem to Mick. I’m dealing with it.
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “When are you going to stop?”
I see red, and if I wasn’t so angry, I’d appreciate the irony of red dominating Riley’s drawings. Maybe she’s a more astute artist than we give her credit for. I jab his chest with my finger. “When are you going to start working shorter hours?”
He clutches the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles turning white. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes. It. Is.” He expects me to change, but he’s allowed to carry on as normal. I flop my head against the backrest. “You’re right. I thought the counselling would help, but clearly, it hasn’t. Is it time we considered …” The D word hovers on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite bring myself to say it out loud.
He twists in the seat to face me. “Is that what you want?”
Even Mick can’t say the word. It would be too real. Final.
“No.” I think. I don’t know what I want anymore. “Do you?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. My chest tightens as I wait for his answer. “No.”
Dizziness swamps me and my vision blurs. Neither do I. But how do we find our way back together? I place my palm on his thigh. The muscles tense. “Can we call a truce?”
He covers my hand with his. The warmth seeps into my bloodstream and melts some of the ice encasing my heart. “Let’s do more than that. How about I promise to be home by six at least two nights a week? Like the counsellor suggested. No more excuses.”
“That’d be great.” Hope springs to life in my chest. “And I’ll try harder to stop drinking. I promise.” I cross my fingers on my other hand. That’s easier said than done. But what I can do is swallow my ego and get a part-time job. Any job. If I’m too busy working, I won’t have time to drink.
Mick’s cheeks puff, and he tucks stray hairs behind my ear. It’s an intimate gesture, the first he’s initiated in months. “Jules …”
Headlights blind us, and we both cover our eyes. As the brightness dims, I recognise the silhouette of the school principal in the driver’s seat. Mick must too, because he buckles his seatbelt and starts the engine, the moment lost.