Chapter Thirty-One
She had been newly qualified and full of bright-eyed enthusiasm. Her first job, as a Reception teacher in a sweet little primary school not far from where they’d gone to college, and not far from where she grew up and Julia had settled, was everything she’d dreamed of.
She had worked in the nursery class for a few weeks at the end of the term before she officially started, getting to know the school and the children she would be teaching.
The staff were friendly and dedicated, answering all her questions patiently and helping her with suggestions for lesson plans and classroom displays. She was beyond excited.
The children were the highlight. They were the reason she’d gone into this profession in the first place; the satisfaction of gaining their trust and ensuring they felt safe and confident in her presence, the gentle guidance on behaviour that youngsters like this needed, the thrill of seeing them learn more each day.
There was one little girl, Martha, that Jen became especially fond of.
She was a shy child, and Jen spent some time coaxing her out of her shell, making her laugh as they played and read stories. It was always her dad that picked her up, and he smiled as Jen brought Martha out to him one day.
‘Ah, it’s the famous Miss Ward,’ he said, his ice-blue eyes twinkling. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
Jen laughed. ‘Oh dear!’
‘It’s all good, I assure you. We’ve definitely got a little Miss Ward fan here, haven’t we?’ He smiled down at Martha, who was now holding his hand, and she nodded. ‘And I hear you’re going to be their class teacher in September? That’s great news.’
‘Daddy, are we going to the libererery?’ Martha asked.
‘Yes, we can,’ he said. He looked back at Jen, raising an eyebrow. ‘The liber-er-ery is one of our favourite places. Isn’t it, Moo?’
‘You’ve done so well with her,’ the nursery teacher said to Jen as they watched them go.
‘Thanks.’ Jen smiled as she helped to staple some of the children’s paintings to a board. ‘She’s a sweetie.’
‘She’s had a rough time actually. Her mum left about a year ago, and poor Martha was really rocked by it. David, too.’ She gave Jen a knowing look. ‘They both seem to be doing much better now, though. And it looks like they’ve both taken a bit of a shine to you!’
Jen blushed. ‘What? No. He’s just friendly, isn’t he?’
‘To some more than others,’ came the muttered reply.
She didn’t go to the library hoping to bump into them, but she wasn’t surprised when she did. Both of their faces lit up when they saw her, waiting to check out a huge pile of books.
‘Ooh, you’re a bookworm, Miss Ward,’ he said.
‘Jen,’ she said, shifting the pile around. ‘Guilty as charged!’
‘David. I’m more of a fall-asleep-in-front-of-the-TV man these days, the only reading I do is about a little mouse outwitting a string of woodland animals.’ He smiled ruefully, and Jen felt her heart skitter.
‘You can’t beat Julia Donaldson,’ she said.
‘What else do you do when you’re not working?’ he asked. He seemed slightly nervous, and she found it endearing.
‘I like hiking,’ she said. ‘And classic films.’
They moved up the queue, and Jen found herself willing the person in front of her to have a library fine just to extend the time she had talking to David. And then felt guilty. No good bookworm would wish such a horrible fate on a fellow reader.
‘Oh, I thought a young thing like you would be spending her evenings dancing the night away,’ David was saying. He pulled a face. ‘Or whatever young people call it these days.’
She laughed. ‘Come on, you’re not old.’
He said nothing, his blue eyes taking her in. Cautious, but hopeful.
And that was how it began.
She fell for him fast and hard. He was older – thirty-four to her twenty-two. But she liked that. Boys her age were only after one thing, they couldn’t be trusted not to break your heart. But David was a grown-up, he had responsibilities, he’d been hurt and survived. He knew how to commit.
They spent a glorious summer getting to know each other – watching films, going for walks, sometimes just snuggled on the sofa watching TV after Martha was in bed.
He was a great cook, and he taught her how to sauté and season, to baste and broil.
She’d never be Ella Mills, but being in the kitchen with him was fun, and she certainly loved eating the results.
She reintroduced him to the joy of reading, and they would spend afternoons curled up together, with their noses in a book, and then share their thoughts on what they’d read.
And then there was Martha.
Jen fell in love with her even more than she did with David, if that was possible.
The little girl was soon besotted with her, and they spent hours together, playing and reading stories.
While David was working, Jen took Martha to the playground and the zoo and the local farm park.
She kept her entertained with craft activities and baking and playdates.
The night before term began, Jen read Martha a story and put her to bed while David cooked a special meal. The little girl snuggled into her cosy duvet that had yellow teddy bears on and sucked her thumb.
‘Are you my mummy now?’ she asked, her voice drowsy as Jen stroked her blonde hair.
Jen laughed. But something in her sparked alight; she felt, for the first time, that her future was mapped out, and that it was good.
She wanted nothing more than to begin her career, to become this adorable child’s mum, and to plan a life with David.
Perhaps one day they would add to their little family.
She floated down the stairs, to where the delicious smell of garlic, beef and tomato filled the kitchen; David was cooking spaghetti bolognaise. It wasn’t the most complicated of the dishes he made, but it was one of her favourites.
‘You’ll never guess what Martha just said to me, it was so cute,’ she said.
He placed two bowls of food on the table and untied his apron. ‘Was it that you’re her favourite person ever and much better than that bloke that keeps hanging round the house, cooking her meals and washing her clothes?’
She laughed, kissing him and then sitting down. ‘As if, she loves her daddy. No, she asked if I’m her mummy now.’
‘Did she?’ he said softly, raising his eyebrows as he passed the bowl of Parmesan to her. ‘Well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?’
For a moment the food was forgotten as they smiled at each other, holding hands across the table. Jen didn’t think it was possible to be happier.
She’d told Julia all about it when they’d met for coffee. Julia, newly engaged and unbearably smug, didn’t respond how Jen hoped.
She nodded politely and smiled in a lips-closed, not very enthusiastic kind of way, as Jen described what a wonderful dad David was, what a great cook, how romantic, how grown-up and committed.
She sipped her latte and listened, the muted smile still on her lips, as Jen talked about how cute Martha was, the funny things she’d said, how tiny her shoes were.
Jen sensed her sister’s disapproval, but she ploughed on.
Because, of everyone she knew, surely Julia would understand.
She’d found happiness herself – true, it was with the most boring man on earth, but apparently Julia loved him.
She alone knew what it had been like when their parents had split up – how the very foundations of their world had been rocked, how everything they’d believed in had been torn down.
Julia knew how hard it was to come through that, to put yourself out there, to believe in a happy ending.
Now they’d both done it. Surely Julia would be happy for her.
So Jen, still warm with the memory, told her how Martha had asked if she was her mummy. But, in response to Jen’s beaming, Julia’s pretty eyebrows creased into a frown. She placed her cup in the saucer with a clink and sighed.
‘Jen, just – I’m worried about you.’
Jen felt her joy shrivel. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m just – you’re rushing into all this. I mean, he’s so old, and you’re going on like it’s some kind of ready-made family situation.’
Jen flushed. The cappuccino she was drinking soured in her mouth. ‘So what? I like that he’s older, he’s mature and kind and – and reliable. And I love Martha. And she loves me.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about.’ Julia’s voice had softened. ‘What happens if it all goes wrong? You’ve thrown yourself into this and you hardly know the man – what if it doesn’t work out? It’s not just him you’re going to lose, it’s Martha too. And even worse, she’ll lose another mum.’
Jen’s heart was thudding so hard she could barely hear Julia speaking. Her hands had bunched themselves into fists on the table. ‘Why wouldn’t it work out? Can’t you just be happy for me?’
Julia pursed her lips, and Jen felt a surge of fury rise in her.
This was her sister, but she was acting like some disappointed parent.
‘Well,’ Julia said. ‘Come on. You know what you’re like, you’ll get bored and move on to something else soon.
’ She drained her cup and brushed down her skirt, glancing around to look at the door.
‘You always do this, you throw yourself into stuff without thinking it through and then everyone has to clear up the mess when it all goes wrong.’
Jen was so angry that she could hardly speak. But she was hurt, too. She’d thought they would bond over this – sisters, moving on to adulthood together, both in serious relationships, both at the beginning of promising careers. It stung to hear Julia dismiss her like this.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she snapped. ‘We’re serious about each other. And even if we did split up – which we won’t – I’d still see Martha. I’m going to be her teacher.’
If only she’d known.
The term went well. Jen worked hard and was often exhausted, but she loved every moment – her classroom was a bright, inviting haven of lovingly put-together displays and child-friendly resources, many of which she bought herself.
The children thrived under her gentle, firm guidance, and none more than Martha.
Jen felt a special burst of pride when the little girl contributed to group sessions or giggled with her friends.
She was at David’s less often. He was busy with work, and she was distracted.
Their balmy, romantic summer had slipped into a more fraught season that meant they had less time for each other.
But still, they made the effort when they could, going for walks as the weather chilled, and comparing news of their day over homecooked lasagne.
They were happy. She thought they were happy.
Jen had always loved Christmas, and the build-up to her first one as a teacher, her first one in Martha’s life, was exciting.
The three of them chose a tree and decorated it together, Jen and David lifting Martha to place the star on the top.
They practised the songs for her first school nativity, and David proudly recorded the event while Jen encouraged her class to do their best, despite the distraction of having their parents watching.
On the last day of term, she hurried to tidy her classroom.
Excited, she rushed to the house. The presents she’d bought were already under the tree – a Gruffalo dressing-up outfit and toy for Martha and an expensive watch with a traditional leather strap for David.
Just like the one he described remembering his dad wearing.
They had a Christmas movie marathon planned and a pile of home-made mince pies to go with it.
Not to mention mulled wine for the grown-ups and hot chocolate for Martha.
It had been a long, tiring, exhilarating term, and she was delighted to be celebrating the end of it with David and Martha.
When she got to the house it was in darkness. The tree wasn’t lit. The rooms were silent.
And on the table lay a note. It simply read, Sorry.