Nobody's Perfect

by Stephanie Butland

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Shall we eat?’

  His words overlap hers; he’s speaking in parallel rather than trying to ignore her question. They sit, eat, quietly; Kate tells him about Melissa and the pyjamas and the popcorn, and it barely raises a smile. Her happiness is leaching away with the last of the daylight. It feels as though everything is out of joint.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asks again.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Spencer glances away, out of the window.

  ‘You’re not. Please, Spencer, tell me what’s going on,’ Kate says. She puts the wine glass down and crosses her arms, as though she needs to defend the soft centre of her body. Spencer looks at her directly, properly, for the first time since they sat down to eat, and his expression goes from closed and strange to something closer to what she knows. ‘I’m sitting here imagining all sorts of things.’ It’s not until she says it that all of the possibilities crowd in: that he’s going to end their relationship, that he’s been sacked, that some unthought-of hitch is about to throw their lives off a cliff. He takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes.

  ‘It’s a school thing. Probably nothing but it’s rattled me.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she says. She doesn’t let the relief – he’s not leaving, they’re not over – show. But next to Daisy getting ill again that’s what she dreads most.

  ‘A member of staff has made a complaint about me.’

  ‘No prizes for guessing who.’ She doesn’t take her eyes off him as he talks, although he looks away, out of the window, at his hands, at the candle.

  ‘Got it in one,’ Spencer says. ‘Your friend and mine, Bridget Piper.’

  ‘What did she complain about?’

  ‘She says—’ Kate sees how Spencer takes a deep breath, looks at his hands, as though he’s ashamed to look at her. Her heart finds a little extra love for him. She would like to think that gossips don’t know how much pain they cause, though something tells her Bridget Piper knows exactly what she’s doing. ‘She says that I’m having an inappropriate relationship with the mother of one of my pupils—’

  ‘No—’ Kate says. She feels herself sit up a little straighter. Witness-box straight.

  ‘Yes,’ Spencer shakes his head, still can’t look at Kate. ‘And she’s saying that the relationship is putting children at risk and brings the reputation of the school into disrepute.’

  ‘Oh, that’s ridiculous.’ Kate’s voice has got a shade sharper; she reaches a hand across the table, puts it on top of Spencer’s. She sees that she’s shaking.

  ‘I know it is,’ Spencer says, ‘and you know it is, but—’

  ‘But what?’

  He sighs. ‘It’s not that simple.’ The look on his face almost frightens her, it’s so serious. It’s the face of a consultant about to say that Daisy’s drug regime isn’t working as well as it should, or a nurse trying to get her out of the room before they drain fluid from Daisy’s lung. Well, she knows how to handle those moments.

  ‘Hey.’ How she wants to see him smile. ‘I’ve got a First, you know. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re worried about.’

  He smiles, without happiness, and laughs, without humour. ‘There’s going to be an informal investigation. On Monday.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means,’ Spencer says, ‘that Jane Hillier is trying to keep the whole thing in proportion. It means that she doesn’t really think there’s a problem, but she has to do something so that Bridget Piper feels as though she’s been taken seriously. The fact that she’s doing it straightaway means she wants to nip it in the bud.’

  ‘That’s good, then?’ Kate reaches for her wine glass with her free hand. The tang of salad dressing claws at the back of her throat.

  ‘Yes,’ Spencer says, ‘though she also has to be seen to be doing the right thing. If it was serious, she would want to be seen to have acted quickly.’

  ‘But—’ Kate wants to say, of course it’s not serious. But Spencer hasn’t finished his thought. It’s as though he hasn’t heard her.

  ‘If she finds out something that makes her decide that she has to launch a formal investigation then I will probably be suspended and’ – she hears tears in his voice – ‘well, realistically, it’s the end of my career.’

  ‘But you haven’t done anything wrong, Spencer. I could go to school and tell them that. And Daisy’s being bridesmaid for Wendy and Jilly. Why isn’t that wrong?’

  ‘It’s a different relationship. A pre-existing one, I suppose. And Wendy is – well, she does everything right, doesn’t she?’

  ‘So do you!’

  He sighs, a long exhale. When it seems he’s empty, he takes a breath and starts talking. ‘I wrote the complaints down, because I knew I’d need to give them to my union rep. Do you want to see the list?’

  ‘Can’t you just tell me?’

  That strange, sad look again. ‘I’m having a relationship with the mother of one of my pupils which, while not technically wrong, would be frowned on in some quarters. I let you stay for the dress rehearsal when I didn’t offer the same courtesy to other parents who might not have been able to come to the show—’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. Who?’

  Spencer shrugs. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s the principle. According to Bridget Piper, anyway. I gave preferential treatment to a parent at a school function.’

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘When I saved you a seat in the front row. I hadn’t actually saved it for you – the photographer from the paper had originally said she was coming to the first performance, then changed her mind and came to the second. So, I knew there was one spare. But it looks as though I was playing favourites.’

  ‘Well, if that’s all they’ve got—’

  ‘And I failed to go through the proper channels in a medical emergency.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When Daisy was taken to hospital. There’s a whole lot of steps you’re supposed to follow.’

  ‘But you helped us. You supported us. That’s the point, surely. And if we’re allowed to have a relationship, then—’

  ‘I know, Kate. Oh, and I’m giving undue attention to one of my pupils to the detriment of others.’

  Kate shakes her head; she feels as though she is trying to clear water from her ears, after swimming. ‘What?’

  ‘Bridget came into the classroom one day before the holidays at the beginning of break. Daisy was struggling to get her coat on over her PICC line so I was helping her with it. The rest of the children were already outside, with Wendy.’

  ‘So? How is that wrong?’ He’s looking at her as though he’s waiting for her to understand, but she can’t see why he wouldn’t help a child with her coat. ‘She’s five years old, for heaven’s sake.’

  He shakes his head, looks away. ‘It’s a really bad idea,’ he says, ‘to let yourself be left alone with a child, because at best it looks like favouritism and at worst – well, if people are malicious they can – insinuate—’

  No. Surely not. ‘You helped Daisy with her coat and she’s accusing you of grooming her?’

  Kate’s hands are shaking. Spencer’s are, too, so their fingertips, loosely held across the table, bump-bump-bump. ‘No,’ he says, ‘she hasn’t gone that far. If she had I’d be suspended, and this would be a child safeguarding issue and even though I was only helping Daisy with her coat I might as well start looking for a job sweeping the streets.’

  Kate is surprised, for a moment, at the sourness in his voice: he sounds like someone else, someone jaded. She, on the other hand, can feel outrage fermenting in her. It’s not fair. She’s used to life being unfair for Daisy – though she does all she can to mitigate it. Life has not been fair to her, either, not really, though she had thought, lately, that things were about to start going well.

  ‘God, Spencer,’ is all she can think of to say. She looks at her hand in his; his face is hidden from her, his other hand across his forehead. She wonders what he’s feeling, an
d whether when he looks back his face will be a mask of formality and excuses before he ends things between them. After all, she’s the problem here. If they have no relationship then there’s no issue, and there would only be one more term before they don’t ever have to see each other again. And apart from the sick, panicked feeling of impending heartbreak, there’s the certain knowledge that the life she will go back to will seem worse than it was before, because for a little while it has looked as though Kate Micklethwaite was actually going to be loved, and love back; she was going to be an equal, a partner, part of a couple who adore each other. She was going to be with a man she could rely on. And because of that, she was also getting what she had worked for: the chance to follow a career, to be out in the world, to no longer be defined and constrained by the consequences of a teenage crush. (Not that she doesn’t love Daisy. Not that she regrets her. But it has been so good to see a broader horizon.)

  She doesn’t dare say anything. She just sits, as the candle flame asserts itself against the coming darkness. She breathes and she holds his hand, because he hasn’t taken it away, and she watches and hopes and dreads and knows that this sick, heavy feeling won’t leave them until this whole wretched mess is sorted.

  He looks up. She braces herself. He says, ‘If this is all too much I’ll understand. It isn’t what you signed up for.’

  The heaviness in her belly doesn’t shift, but Kate’s heart unclenches. ‘What do we do?’ she asks. Her voice sounds steadier than she feels. ‘Because I’m not going anywhere. And, Spencer, I know this is awful, and unfair, but you know there’s nothing to worry about, don’t you? It’s obvious that Bridget Piper is trying to make trouble for you. Don’t let it rattle you. You’ve done nothing wrong. And you never have.’

  He squeezes her hand. ‘I’ve called my union, and I’ll have someone with me if there are any more – conversations – about this. Jane Hillier will talk to whoever she thinks she needs to, to get a true understanding of the situation. Wendy, obviously.’

  ‘Well, that’s good.’ Kate’s hands have stopped shaking, or it could be that Spencer is holding tighter. But the more she thinks about it, Spencer is overreacting. She can see why – it’s horrible to be accused like this – but there’s nothing for a good person like him to fear.

  ‘It is good,’ Spencer says, ‘and then Jane will decide who else to talk to and that’s when we see just how much preparation Bridget Piper has done for this.’

  ‘Surely Wendy’s the only person she should listen to,’ Kate says.

  ‘Well, yes, but Bridget could say that Wendy’s been unduly influenced by me, or that she’s complicit in some way—’

  Kate puts her head in her hands. ‘But surely when she talks to me—’

  ‘She doesn’t have to talk to you.’

  ‘What do you mean? Surely the best way to sort this out is just to—’

  ‘Well,’ Spencer says. He looks away, out of the window. It’s dark; he will not be able to see Kate’s flat now. He rubs at his neck, as though the skin there is suddenly cold. ‘Headteachers can run informal investigations however they want to. And – well, if I was up to – no good – then I’d be hiding it from you. Plus, you’re not going to think that I’m biased towards you, are you?’

  Kate bunches her hand into a fist and puts it over her mouth, before she has even realised what she is doing. She feels tears in her eyes, at the injustice of it all. Spencer reaches over and touches the place between her eyes – a small, gentle stroke that she leans into. ‘I wasn’t joking,’ he says, ‘when I said that a school is a mini kingdom. It’s in the lap of the gods. Or rather, the lap of Jane Hillier. If Bridget has wound the rest of the staff up enough and they speak against me, then there’ll be a formal investigation, and I’m pretty much done for. They’ll go back through my records, and—’ He stops, shakes his head.

  ‘They won’t find anything, though? Or you wouldn’t have got this job. We don’t listen to gossip, remember.’ She thinks of something else he said at their first meeting: ‘I’m all modern. You need to watch out for me.’

  ‘Oh, Kate.’ He looks as though he might cry. ‘There’s always gossip.’

  ‘It just seems so wrong.’ Kate takes his hand, kisses the knuckles. ‘You haven’t done anything. All the rules for the kids, about being kind and listening and fairness, and the staff behave like this.’

  ‘I know,’ Spencer says.

  ‘You know I’m with you, don’t you?’ she says. And now the table is too great a distance and she gets up, stands behind him, wraps her arms around his shoulders, puts the side of her face against his face. His stubble rubs at her ear.

  ‘You always smell of summer,’ he says.

  ‘You smell of’ – imagination fails her – ‘you.’ She feels him smile.

  *

  They wake early, and Kate suggests that they go to Adventures in Bread for breakfast. But Spencer says he’s tired, so goes back to bed, although she hears him sighing and moving around under the bedclothes while she sits, with tea and a book, on the sofa. Trying to read is pointless, though: her mind cannot focus on anything except what’s happening to Spencer, not only that he can be accused like this, but that he can be investigated without Kate even being allowed to share her side of things. She thinks of all the ways he has loved her, cared for her, and that he has never so much as flinched when it comes to Daisy and all the complications that CF brings to day-to-day life. The malice of the staffroom has shocked her, but not surprised her: she knows what it is to be gossiped about, to have no way of either confronting, or running away from, whatever it is that people are saying about you just out of earshot. But at least, for Kate, the worst had happened: Mike was dead, she was pregnant, there was nothing anyone could say that either changed those facts or made the pain in her worse. For Spencer, though, the gossip is happening before the worst thing; is causing the worst thing. The gossip is making the disciplinary happen. Yes, maybe Spencer should have been more careful, but Kate very much doubts that anyone would have been concerned about a child like Daisy getting extra care if there wasn’t the added dimension of her relationship with Spencer. Perhaps she should go to the headteacher herself; perhaps she should write; but Spencer is sure that that would only make things worse, that if Bridget Piper hears about it she’ll make it seem as though Kate has been coerced or Spencer is being unprofessional in involving her.

  After an hour of watching these thoughts chase around her head, tea going cold in the mug in her hands, Kate realises that Spencer has gone quiet. She walks to the bedroom, and sees how solidly, calmly asleep he is; it’s tempting to get in next to him, warm and safe. But her own restlessness is too great, so, instead, she dresses and leaves, walking home the long way round. She hesitates at her mother’s gate, but finds she doesn’t want to have to try to explain the mess of outrage on Spencer’s behalf and hurt for herself that she feels. Especially when her mother still thinks she’s rushed into all this.

  She texts Melissa, and bags a table for three in the café. When Daisy rushes towards her she feels her heart exhale; and Melissa’s smile, the rattle of her earrings, the way she kisses Kate’s forehead, as though she, too, were a child, makes her want to cry. ‘Everything ok?’

  ‘I was about to ask you the same thing. You don’t look as’ – Melissa puts her hands over Daisy’s ears – ‘shagged out as I was expecting.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Kate says, and she wishes it were true.

  ‘Come on, Kate. The fee for babysitting is full disclosure. Daisy, do you want to have a go with Auntie Lissa’s iPad and her special headphones?’

  ‘Can I watch the monkeys again?’

  ‘The documentary? Sure.’ Melissa smiles at Kate. ‘See? We do educational things, too.’

  Resigned, Kate orders a coffee; and, actually, once she’s seen that no one from school is around, it’s good to talk. ‘It’s nothing,’ she says, at the end of her tale.

  ‘It’s probably nothing,’ Melissa says, ‘so long as
you believe he has nothing to hide.’

  ‘Not this again.’ Kate is already tired. She doesn’t need this, too.

  Melissa shrugs. ‘I just wish you were a little less – blind. I know you don’t want to hear this but there’s something he’s not telling you.’

  ‘There isn’t.’ Kate hears her own stubbornness, and doesn’t care. She’s right, she knows she is.

  ‘So, why did he leave his last job? Or the one before? Come to think of it, how come he’s on his third school already? How did he end up in Throckton of all places? Why was his mother so weird about Daisy having CF?’

  ‘She wasn’t weird, exactly—’

  ‘You said she was.’ Melissa puts her hand on Kate’s wrist. ‘I’m not saying there is a problem. I’m saying there’s no harm in checking that there isn’t a problem.’

  ‘Doesn’t that make me as bad as the gossips?’

  ‘No’ – Melissa looks at Daisy, who is laughing at baby monkeys chasing each other through treetops, oblivious to everything thanks to Melissa’s noise cancelling headphones – ‘because you’ve got skin in the game.’

  Chapter 19

  Mid-April

  I

  N A FIRST, DAISY asks to go to bed. ‘I’m tired after the Big Sleepover,’ she says. Kate sits on Daisy’s bed, and watches her wriggle into her pyjamas.

  ‘Story?’

  ‘If you like, Mummy, I’m going to close my eyes.’ Kate checks her temperature, but she’s fine – just tired. Kate takes a book from her shelf and reads a page or two; and when it seems Daisy is no longer listening, she puts the book back on the shelf. But when she bends to kiss her daughter’s forehead, Daisy says, ‘I liked it when it was just you and me, Mummy.’

  ‘Ssshhh, sweetheart. Time to sleep.’

  Kate sits, for a moment, in the dark. She thinks about Mike, about how he let her down, not by dying, but by letting her love him the way that he did. He must have been able to see that she felt so much more for him than he did for her. He was the adult; she was eighteen, adult-shaped at best, though like all eighteen-year-olds, she thought she had nothing to learn. She should have known better, but he should have seen beyond whatever lust or discontent had made him turn to her. He didn’t.