by Kate Field
‘What are you doing here?’ Paddy’s voice was husky with tiredness. I knew that voice; it had whispered to me under the covers on too many late nights and early mornings to count.
‘Checking you’re still alive,’ I said.
‘Alive but not kicking yet.’ A tired smile tugged at his lips. ‘Are you glad or sorry?’
‘I wouldn’t wish death on anyone. Not even you.’
His smile vanished, and I wished I could have matched his light mood; but not on that subject. I couldn’t joke about that.
‘Sorry.’ We both said the word at the same time. I shook my head. We were straying closer to the past than I wanted, in the atmosphere between us rather than in conversation. That was even more dangerous, and had to stop. ‘Have you had lunch? Shall I get it for you?’
*
It was surprisingly easy to adapt to a new routine, I discovered over the course of the week. By Thursday, it had already become a habit that needed no thought: lunchtime arrived, and I picked up my car keys and headed home to check on Paddy. Even the evenings were transformed; whereas on my own I would fidget, desperate to keep busy, I discovered there was satisfaction to be found in sitting still and listening to the radio or watching television with Paddy. He was a quieter, more restful companion than I had expected, or than he used to be; perhaps because I had forbidden so many topics of conversation – but even when he didn’t speak, something about his presence settled me enough to keep my rogue thoughts at bay.
But on Thursday night, when I slammed the front door shut behind me, after the worst day I had ever experienced at school, the last thing I wanted was company in the house. I was halfway up the stairs, craving the solitude of my bedroom, when Paddy appeared from the kitchen. He had abandoned the crutches, but walked gingerly, keeping his injured leg stiff and trying to put as little weight on it as possible.
‘It’s a modern miracle,’ he was saying. ‘The supermarket has delivered all manner of goodies so tonight you don’t need to cook. To be fair, I can’t claim to be cooking either, unless sticking something in the oven to heat up counts … Eve?’ He leant on the bannister and stared up at me. ‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘Nothing.’ He pulled a sceptical face, as well he might. My skin felt unnaturally tight where the tears had dried and I had no intention of looking in a mirror any time soon. ‘Bad day at work,’ I added, as he continued to watch me, waiting for an explanation.
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No.’ It was an instinctive answer. I wasn’t used to having anyone at home to discuss problems with. I dealt with things myself, with the occasional rant at Tina. But Tina was away on a school trip, and Paddy was here, and before I knew what was happening, I had descended the stairs and followed him into the living room where I sat down on the sofa and promptly burst into tears.
‘Hey.’ He sat down next to me and put his arm round my shoulders. He didn’t say another word, but waited until I had cried myself out, then squeezed my shoulder and removed his arm.
‘Want to tell me what happened?’ he asked. ‘Was there an accident? Has a child been hurt?’
His question helped calm me down. The situation could have been worse, much worse, although it had been hard to think like that at the time. I wiped my sticky cheeks.
‘It was nothing like that,’ I said. I took a deep breath, which shuddered through my chest. ‘We had a call from the exam board today. Some A-level papers we sent them yesterday haven’t arrived.’
‘Right.’ Paddy looked puzzled. ‘Things are delayed in the post all the time. I bet you they’ll turn up tomorrow.’
‘No. They weren’t sent by post. They were despatched securely by courier. Somewhere between school and the exam board, the courier has lost track of them. No one knows where the papers are.’
‘Jeez, what a mess. So what happens now?’
I shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. It’s never happened before while I’ve been working at school. If the papers never turn up, I think the marks will have to be based on the other papers for that subject. Students who did well in the missing exam will be penalised.’
Paddy took my hand, and squeezed it.
‘Sounds like you had one hell of a day.’
‘That wasn’t all.’ I tried not to cry again, but I could feel the tears slipping down my cheeks. ‘When Jo Blair found out, she went berserk. She went on and on about how she would have to explain this to parents, and the reputational damage it would do to the school. And then she blamed me, because I’d chosen and booked the courier company. It was a local company, one we’ve used for years without a problem, but she said that I should have used one of the big national couriers – that I’d jeopardised the future of the school and the students by my decision.’
I had never been spoken to like that in my life. Clearly, I’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time; Jo had hit out at the easy target, whoever was closest to hand. But the public dressing-down – in front of teachers and students – had been hard to take. I had spent years trying to help the school run smoothly, trying, in my own tiny way, to help the children of Inglebridge have the best future possible. Had I really damaged the prospects of these students? Ruined their chances of achieving the grades they needed for university, as Jo had suggested? I couldn’t bear it if I had.
‘Listen to me, Eve.’ Paddy took both my hands and turned to look into my eyes. ‘She’s been a bitch and lashed out at the wrong person. None of this is your fault. You know it. Don’t let the feckers grind you down.’
He said that in his broadest Irish accent, absolute earnestness on his face, and unexpectedly I laughed. He grinned back.
‘You know what you need?’ he asked, letting go of my hands. ‘Go for a run. Pound the streets and imagine you’re stamping on that head teacher of yours. Run until you’re too exhausted to think any more.’
He was right: that was exactly what I needed, and exactly what I did, pelting through the streets and up into the hills until my chest burned, my thighs turned to jelly, and I gasped for air. By the time I arrived home, sneaking up the stairs for a shower before Paddy could see the state I was in, I was still thinking, but my thoughts were more rational. Paddy was right; I had done nothing wrong. The courier company I had booked had won awards for its service and had an unblemished record, as far as I was aware. Jo Blair had no grounds to blame me, and if she tried again tomorrow, she wouldn’t find me such an easy victim. And as I rinsed the shampoo from my hair, I wondered how differently this night might have gone if I had been on my own as usual, without Paddy to talk this over with, without his sympathy and support. Without the comfort of his hug. I swiftly rinsed that thought away too.
When I came downstairs, hair still wet from the shower, Paddy was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine. The oven was on and a delicious smell filled the kitchen. He looked up as I walked in and a strange expression passed over his face.
‘You barely look a day older,’ he said. I opened my mouth, but he held up his hand before I could speak. ‘I know! No talking of the past. But you’re almost persuading me that there’s something to this healthy living.’
‘There is. You should try it. Dare I ask what’s cooking?’ I peered in the oven and could only see an assortment of black plastic ready meal containers.
‘Beef in black bean sauce.’ He smiled as I glanced back at him. ‘What’s the problem? It has beans in it, so I figured it must be okay. And the Chinese are a healthy bunch, aren’t they? Just look at how well they do in the Olympics. Right up there on the medals table. You can’t argue with that.’
The meal was actually delicious, as Paddy was quick to point out after every mouthful until he’d wrung some reluctant laughter out of me. I sent him away to the living room while I washed up, and when I took him in a coffee, his leg was resting on a pillow again.
‘Has it got worse?’ I asked, gesturing at his leg.
‘Maybe I overdid it today.’
‘Do you think you�
�ll be fit to drive tomorrow?’
‘What’s the matter? Need me out of the way for the weekend? Ah, don’t tell me you’ve invited the boring man round to make up for missing him this week? I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your love life.’
‘You said he was boorish, not boring.’
‘That too. Glad you remembered. Pining for you, is he? You could have invited him round. I promise I’d have been on my best behaviour.’
I ignored the question. Rich had sent a text last night, letting me know he would be with the children at the weekend, so I wouldn’t see him. There hadn’t been much evidence of pining, either in his message or in my reply. We didn’t have that sort of relationship. We were happy to be independent of each other in day-to-day life. It was a grown-up relationship of the type Paddy probably wouldn’t understand. And talking of Paddy’s relationships …
‘I thought you had a date on Saturday?’ I asked. ‘You said you needed to get away.’
‘I do. Perhaps another night’s rest will make all the difference. I get it, you must be desperate to see the back of me by now.’
If he’d said that at the start of the week, I’d have agreed. But now … It hadn’t been so bad having him to stay, although I could hardly believe I was thinking that. Tonight, when I had come home so upset, it had made a positive difference having him here, a difference I was still finding it hard to comprehend. I’d prided myself on my independence, but there were some things that independence couldn’t provide; and now, as I relaxed over my decaffeinated coffee, listening to the music on the radio and the occasional rustle of Paddy’s magazine as he turned the page, it did feel as if my problems with Jo Blair sat more lightly on my shoulders for having shared them. I didn’t think it was Paddy himself that was the answer – although it was hard to imagine Rich having the same effect – but perhaps it was a lesson for me – that there were advantages to having a companion in the house that I’d forgotten about. And then I inwardly groaned. Companionship? Is that what I wanted? I might as well don my slippers and shuffle off to The Chestnuts now …
‘Here,’ Paddy said, interrupting my thoughts. He held out his magazine. ‘This will interest you. A haul of Roman coins has been found on a farm in Dorset. Some detectorists came across it.’
I didn’t take the magazine from him. He waited, then leant across and placed it on my knee. I didn’t need to look to know what it was. His archaeology journals had littered the house all week and I had studiously avoided them.
‘I don’t do this any more,’ I said.
‘Maybe not, but can you tell me you’re not interested?’
I couldn’t; I was itching to read it.
‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘You were the most passionate student in our year, and the brightest. That doesn’t die. I know you had Caitlyn. I understand you not doing it then. But now? What’s stopping you?’
‘I have a house, a mortgage, a job, Gran …’ I reeled off the reasons. Reasons, not excuses, as I had assured myself many times. ‘I can’t disappear for weeks on end. I can’t travel around the world like you, leaving everything behind.’
‘I don’t travel the world now.’ He shook his head, as if to stop himself going further. ‘You can narrow your dreams, without giving them up. Your job isn’t making you happy. Archaeology did. And you’d be amazed at the developments since we studied at university. Airborne lidar can show up even the slightest earthwork remains. Drones are fantastic for taking aerial imagery, which can be used to generate 3D surface models. There’s so much more data available now. The past is getting closer to us all the time. How can you not want to be part of it?’
I did want to be part of it. I couldn’t resist. His words blew oxygen on the spark in my soul that had never truly died, fanning the flames of my interest – so high, that later that night, after Paddy had gone to bed, I took out my laptop and booked a place as a volunteer on the Roman dig in the Cotswolds that Caitlyn had found. Before I went to sleep, I took out my box of vouchers and filled in the next one:
BE KIND TO YOURSELF
VOUCHER SIX
I, Eve Roberts, have been kind to myself by signing up to volunteer on a dig!
*
‘You’re the talk of the school,’ Tina said, as soon as she got in the car the next morning. ‘Honestly, I go on one school trip and all hell breaks loose!’
She broke off to wave at Paddy, who was standing in the front window, watching us leave.
‘He’d make a good house husband, wouldn’t he?’ She grinned. ‘I bet he’s been nice to come home to.’
‘I can get a dog if I want a companion,’ I said, reversing off the drive and conveniently forgetting that I’d had similar thoughts about Paddy the night before.
‘A cat, surely?’ Tina laughed. ‘If you’re determined to embrace the spinster’s life, you need to adopt the full stereotype.’
‘I’m not a spinster,’ I protested. ‘I’m an independent woman.’
‘You do realise you can be an independent woman and part of a couple, don’t you?’ Tina shot me a speaking glance and when I didn’t reply, carried on. ‘Anyway, never mind that. For now. What happened yesterday?’
‘Any particular part of yesterday?’
‘Specifically the part when you had a run-in with Jo Blair, unless there was more excitement that I’ve not heard about.’
The memory of Paddy’s hug drifted into my head. I let it drift back out. That had been support, not excitement. Tina didn’t need to know about that.
‘No other excitement,’ I replied. ‘That was more than enough for one day. How have you heard about it? School hasn’t been open since then.’
‘Phil Ward from Biology witnessed it, and he told Haf Patel, and she told …’
‘Okay, okay.’ I turned onto Inglebridge High Street and passed The White Hart, waving at Lexy as she changed the day’s menu outside. ‘Is there anyone who doesn’t know?’
‘Probably Ned Tucker from Physics, as I don’t think he has a phone, does he?’
That wasn’t much comfort. By the sounds of it, news of my telling-off had spread round the whole of the teaching staff – staff I considered friends and colleagues, and who I would have preferred not to know about my humiliation. But I supposed that had always been too much to expect in a close-knit school in a close-knit town. I sighed. The prospect of facing Jo Blair had been bad enough, without knowing there would be gossips lurking on every corridor.
Tina patted my arm.
‘You’ve nothing to worry about,’ she said. ‘Everyone knows you did nothing wrong. You should report her. She can’t get away with speaking to you like that.’
‘I’d rather just forget about the whole thing. There’s only one more half-term to go, and then she’ll move on, won’t she?’
‘Maybe not. She’s told a couple of people that there hasn’t been much interest in the post of permanent head, and that she might apply for it herself,’ Tina said, and although I was concentrating on the road, I could hear the dismay in her voice. ‘You can imagine how popular that news has been.’
I digested this information as I drove through town and on towards school. I’d convinced myself that I could grin and bear working with Jo for the rest of term, because then there would be a long holiday to recover and things would go back to normal with the arrival of a new head teacher in September. How would I feel about the prospect of working with Jo Blair for the foreseeable future? She was a similar age to me; she could conceivably stay in place until I retired. Almost thirty more years of this? I parked in my usual place and looked up at the school building where I had spent so many contented years. Contented wasn’t as good as happy, a voice whispered in my ear – a voice with a distinctly Irish twang. Was this where I really wanted to spend the rest of my working days? A few weeks ago, it wouldn’t have occurred to me to ask the question. What was going on?
Tina unfastened her seat belt and turned to me.
‘And for the record,’ she said. ‘Do
n’t think I didn’t notice your reaction to Paddy Friel when I mentioned him.’
‘I didn’t react!’
‘Exactly. You didn’t start to spit or hiss, and smoke didn’t emerge from your ears. What’s been going on behind closed doors? You’re warming to him, aren’t you?’
‘Only if by warm, you mean a couple of degrees above freezing point.’ I laughed as Tina pulled a disappointed face. ‘Okay. Perhaps not every bone in his body is evil.’ I thought back to last night. ‘He might not be the vain, self-centred celebrity I imagined. Not on weekdays, anyway. Now can we stop the interrogation and go into work? I don’t want a telling-off for being late on top of everything else …’
Chapter 14
The day passed more quietly than I had feared: Jo Blair was busy in her office and on the infrequent occasions that she passed by my desk, we managed to avoid any reference to the events of yesterday, by the simple expediency of not speaking at all. As far as I knew, the missing exam papers hadn’t turned up, but apparently I wasn’t trusted to be involved with that any more.
I was counting down the minutes until home time, and my last evening with Paddy, when my mobile phone vibrated and ‘The Chestnuts’ flashed up on the screen. My heart plummeting to my feet, I answered with a shaky ‘hello?’
‘Is that you, our Eve?’ shouted Gran. ‘Speak up, chuck. I can’t hear you.’
‘Yes, it’s me,’ I said, in a steadier but still quiet voice. The last thing I needed was for Jo Blair to catch me on a personal call. ‘What’s the matter? Is everything okay?’
I’d told Gran never to telephone me at work unless it was an emergency, and this was the first time she’d ever done it.