Chapter 26
I used to see Nat all the time.
In the supermarket, walking down the street, on the train, sometimes even on the television, in a throng of bystanders during some news report or other.
A flick of hair, the arch of an eyebrow, the angle of a jawline or style of clothes. I would grasp at the fragment and construct a whole person, a reconstruction of my wife.
But of course, it was always an illusion. The woman would move or turn, and reality would wade in with its big, old ugly truths. Not my wife. Not Nathalie. Because Nat was gone.
It happened a lot those first few months. My brain adjusting to this new reality. One without Nat in it. A hollow in the bed where she used to lie, a space at the breakfast table where she used to sit, a void in our lives where she used to exist.
When someone disappears, they leave your life again and again in so many small ways.
It’s different to dying. Because dying forces you to confront their absence.
To stare it in the face and go, ‘Okay. This is it. This is permanent and I have to move on.’ When someone disappears it’s just there in the corner of your eye.
You can never fully face it, and you can’t move past it.
In case. Maybe. Perhaps. The door remains half open.
Wedged by hope. But all it ever lets in is loneliness and regret.
All these thoughts flash through my brain within milliseconds as Miss Hegarty holds out a slim hand and says: ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Barker.’
And the illusion is shattered because her voice is pure Florida.
Not British. Not my wife. Of course not.
She is slightly taller, her hair is a shade lighter, her nose a little slimmer.
Nathalie had a quirky kind of beauty, one that sneaked up on you.
Miss Hegarty is typically attractive. American attractive, I think.
Even down to the white capri jeans and preppy shirt.
But the resemblance, even close up, is uncanny.
I realize I am still staring. ‘Err, yes, you too.’ I shake her hand. Her grip is firm, her fingers long, the nails manicured. Nat’s were always bitten to the quick.
I notice that I am noticing all these details. I tell myself to fucking stop.
Lockhart is glancing between us, a slight furrow in his brow. Perhaps he noticed my hesitation or the crack in my voice.
‘Miss Hegarty teaches philosophy,’ he says. ‘She also works as a therapist from home … if you ever need to talk about the stress of teaching here.’ He laughs, but it feels forced, like an old joke over-used.
Miss Hegarty’s slightly stiff smile confirms this.
‘Philosophy.’ I clear my throat and hope my voice sounds natural. ‘That’s an interesting subject.’
‘I hope so,’ Miss Hegarty says. ‘I try to make it interesting for my students, although I’m not sure I always succeed.’
‘Oh.’ Lockhart waves a hand. ‘She doth protest too much. The students love her classes.’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘Tell that to the kid who fell asleep in my last class.’
I chuckle. ‘I’ve had that before. A little too much “studying” the night before – and by “studying” I mean playing Warhammer.’
She laughs. ‘Yeah, I have a few who are avid students of those games. Fortunately, most of the kids here are highly engaged.’
‘Good to hear.’
‘How did you find the school tour?’
‘Amazing. It must be a great place to teach.’
‘It is. I always feel that where you learn is as important as what you learn.’
‘Absolutely. If they want to be here, then that’s half the job done.’
‘Exactly.’
We smile at each other. I’m aware of Lockhart’s eyes on us. ‘So lovely when like-minded people connect,’ he purrs. ‘Anyway’ – he gestures to the table – ‘shall we all get on and start the meeting?’
Miss Hegarty smiles at me again, and we take our seats.
Soon, I’m caught up in the familiar discussions about class schedules, school trips, lesson plans, exam timetables and improvements to the school (although I can’t really see how it could improve), and the next two hours speed by.
I’m impressed by how everyone manages to contribute without argument and how opinions and suggestions seem to be valued.
But perhaps that’s because this school isn’t constrained by budget, with every teacher fighting for their share, or trying to tick impossible boxes set by Ofsted.
Finally, we all rise, close our notebooks and say our goodbyes. I find myself standing next to Miss Hegarty again.
‘Well, it was nice to meet you,’ I say.
‘You too.’ She smiles. ‘Principal Lockhart tells me you have a daughter who’ll be starting at the school.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Sadie.’
‘How’s she settling in so far? Or is it still early days?’
‘Early days – not even a week, and fifteen is a tricky age.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘You have children?’
‘Sadly not, but it often feels like I do with all the children I teach and counsel. You know, if Sadie is struggling to settle, I offer introductory sessions for teens at my house. I mean, I’m not suggesting that your daughter needs it—’
‘I’ll run it past her,’ I say, thinking it will be the last thing Sadie wants to do, and what the hell would she make of Miss Hegarty? Sadie was very young when her mum left, but she still has photos. Would she see the resemblance, or is it just me conjuring up ghosts?
Miss Hegarty reaches into the pocket of her jeans. ‘Here.’ She hands me a card. ‘This is me.’
I stare at the card. Lorraine Hegarty. Counsellor and Therapist.
Lorraine, I think. She doesn’t look like a Lorraine.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Nice to meet you, Lorraine.’
‘Oh.’ She waves a hand. ‘Most people call me Lori.’
‘Right.’ And that fits. That really fits.
‘Dan,’ I say.
‘I know.’ Another warm smile, and she walks out of the room, ponytail swinging. Just like Nat. Something twinges in my head. I wince and raise a hand to my nose. When I look down there’s a smear of red on my finger.