Simone #2
Bethany did this at least twice a week, so Simone silently wished her the best and returned to Martha. “You bought your home in the nineties and it is owned by your husband. I think our circumstances are a little different.”
At that exact moment, her phone pinged—a notification from her bank, letting her know Michael had sent half of his payment.
“And yet,” Martha said, eyeing Simone’s phone, “ you seem to be doing just fine.”
Simone tucked her phone back into her pocket. Again, she told herself there was no use arguing. She cradled her lunch to her chest and left the staffroom.
“Can I take my shoes off, Miss?”
Sitting on a bench together in the school playground at the end of the day was practically a ritual for Simone and her student Anne. On days when Simone couldn’t run her after-school club, Anne’s mother was often the last parent to pick up their child.
Anne’s father passed away just over a year ago, and from what Anne’s mother, Aliyah, sparsely divulged, he had been the breadwinner before his premature demise.
She had been a happy stay-at-home mum, who one day woke up to find the financial onus of the household on her.
She was unable to afford to send Anne to any paid after-school activities or leave Anne with her grandparents regularly, so Simone’s after-school club was a welcome surprise.
On the days the club was inactive, Anne’s mother often found herself running late to make the end of the school day.
Simone didn’t mind. She of course had sympathy for anyone who’d lost their partner and was then shoved into the daunting, and likely isolating, world of single parenthood, but primarily, Simone didn’t mind because she viewed Anne as an entertainingly precocious child.
Simone tried her best not to have favorites in her classroom, but if she were to choose, Anne would come quickly to mind.
She was kind, thoughtful, and clever without being in any way insufferable.
Her homework was always punctual, consistently boasting the highest marks in the class, and her schoolbag had been poked with numerous Reading Challenge badges.
Simone desperately wanted her to succeed and so, with the permission of her mother, often set Anne homework meant for the class above.
Only when Anne sat with Simone did she slip her advanced work so as not to let the other children know.
Simone didn’t have to tell her to keep it to herself; Anne did not have it in her to gloat.
She was a joy to speak to and a delight to have around, often peppering conversations with phrases such as “If you insist” and “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.
” Simone was especially fond of when Anne ended an exchange with a nod and a soulful, “Indeed.” During one late pickup, Aliyah had confessed that Anne’s favorite pastime was a mug of Ovaltine, two malted milk biscuits, and an episode of Miss Marple.
Simone shielded her eyes from the sun and answered, “Yes, but why do you need to take your shoes off?”
“They hurt a bit,” Anne said, wriggling her gray tights-clad feet. “Mum says they’re good-quality shoes so I need to break them in. She said she’d wear them in for me if she could, but only two of her toes would fit!”
Anne, whose mum had spent the weekend transforming Anne’s hair into the micro plaits she’d spent weeks pleading for, almost asked her teacher why she looked so upset, and why she’d reached for the back of her heels to check for a phantom blister pad.
Simone cleared her throat and said, “Sure, but your mum will be here shortly.”
Anne nodded, swinging her shoeless feet. “I know, Miss.”
There was no hint of condescension, rather the quiet confidence that of course her mum would show up.
Simone noticed these subtleties in her students and could name the children who subconsciously felt they couldn’t always rely on their guardians to be there when they were needed.
The other day, Leon, when told the same thing, did not respond and continued to chew the inside of his mouth while he stared at the school gates.
Both Simone and Anne turned in the direction of the gates as Anne’s mother ran in.
“Hi, Mum!” Anne jumped off her seat, shoved her feet back into her shoes, and rushed over.
Instead of the hug-the-leg, pat-on-the-back hug Simone often witnessed at the end of each day, Anne’s mother stooped down to envelop her daughter.
When she drew away, she thanked Simone, apologizing for her tardiness yet again.
Simone waited until they’d both left before blinking back surfacing tears. Back in her classroom she took her phone out from the drawer and scrolled down her contacts list before arriving at Mum .
Her thumb hovered over the call icon even though it had been almost six months since they’d spoken properly.
Whenever Simone thought about pressing the call button, the last in-person conversation she’d had with her mother would begin to ricochet in her ears: cries of defamatory lies and pleas for clarification.
Simone hadn’t even noticed Dominic when the front door had opened that evening six months ago—her eyes being too full of Jenni.
She wondered if spotting him earlier would have helped the outcome.
In hindsight, she thought of all the things she could have done in the moment.
Simone could have suddenly excused herself to use the bathroom, then texted Dominic/Caleb to act calm, and that they’d sort everything out after the dinner.
But she hadn’t done that. She’d only stood there.
“This… is your sister?” Dominic said.
Simone silently urged him to look away, even tilted her head like she didn’t know him, to remind him that it was imperative he pretend like they’d never met. But for a doctor, he had surprisingly little common sense.
“You said you worked together once? That she got you a job?” Simone heard the accusation in his tone and so had Jenni. She stood confused before saying, “Yeah?”
“So, the teaching assistant thing was just some code?” He looked distraught and almost disgusted as he stared at Jenni. “You fuck men for money, too?”
Simone shook her head, forcing herself to return to the classroom. She looked at her mum’s number once more before exiting the screen and turning her phone off.