The Learning Curve

by Melissa Nathan

  ‘What the hell’s he doing here?’ whispered Nicky to Rob and Amanda.

  Amanda stepped down from the kitchen to stand next to Rob.

  ‘Gwen invited him at the Nativity Play,’ she replied. ‘He’s staff now. Hey! Maybe we should try and fix you up with him, Nicky.’

  ‘AHAHAHAHAHAH!’ laughed Rob, pushing Amanda back into the kitchen and following her.

  Nicky let them go and stood in the dark for a while. What had all that been about?

  She decided to continue her list to cheer herself up, but her mind had gone a complete blank. It was no good. All she could think of was that her local supermarket had started stocking organic chocolate. When she went back in, she found Gwen, her husband and Martha’s boyfriend tidying up the kitchen. She made her goodbyes and Gwen came with her to the front door. There they found Mark talking to a totally inebriated Martha. She was leaning against the wall and it was clear that were the wall not there, she would be lying on the floor.

  Mark glanced at Nicky and, when she returned the glance, he looked away with cool disdain.

  ‘I’m afraid you missed the best of the party,’ Gwen told Mark apologetically. ‘Most people have to get back for the babysitter just after midnight.’

  ‘So I see.’ Mark smiled. ‘I always try and see in the New Year with Oscar.’

  ‘Aaaaaaaaaah,’ sighed Martha, looking up at him dreamily. ‘Isn’t that lovely?’ She turned to Gwen. ‘Gwen, isn’t that lovely?’

  ‘Ooh yes.’ Gwen winked. ‘There’s nothing lovelier than a devoted dad.’

  ‘I think that is just lovely.’ Martha turned to Nicky. ‘Nicky, don’t you think that is just lovely?’

  ‘I do,’ agreed Nicky. ‘And the really lovely thing about it is that he only has to do it once a year.’

  ‘Aaaaaaah,’ agreed Martha. ‘That is just lovely.’

  ‘W-ell,’ said Mark uneasily, ‘I’m . . . I’m not doing it because I’m nice or anything. I mean it’s totally selfish on my part. I just want to be with him.’

  Martha gasped. ‘Oh! Did you hear that? Did you hear that? Oh! That is just lovely –’

  ‘You’ll have to excuse Martha,’ cut in Nicky. ‘She teaches Reception; she’s used to repeating things.’

  ‘Do you know . . .’ said Martha suddenly in a hushed voice, ‘I saw Amanda and Rob leave together.’

  She gave a very slow, very dramatic wink with both eyes.

  ‘Martha!’ exclaimed Gwen. ‘You are behind the times! They’ve been going out with each other since last term. Haven’t they?’ She turned to Nicky. ‘Poor Nicky missed her chance there. Unless the rumours are true and it’s a rebound thing.’ They all stared at her.

  ‘Ahahahahaha!’ said Nicky, her brain hurting. She had absolutely no idea what to say. ‘Ah well,’ she said, ‘time for me to go.’

  ‘Oooooh,’ Martha put her finger to her lips, ‘love triangle, eh? Say no more, say no more.’ She smiled. ‘Say. No. More.’

  Nicky pretended to yawn. ‘Thanks ever so much, Gwen. It was a lovely evening.’

  ‘I hardly saw you, my dear,’ replied Gwen. ‘You were in the garden most of the time, weren’t you?’ She winked. ‘In your cosy little love triangle.’

  ‘No I wasn’t!’ corrected Nicky. ‘I was in the kitchen! I was talking to Ned for hours.’

  ‘Were you?’ said Gwen, surprised. ‘Where was his lovely wife? Not like Ned to be separated from Theresa. Gosh, Nicky, what effect are you having on all the taken men?’

  ‘You’re right, Gwen!’ echoed Martha. ‘Not like Ned at all. Were you leading him astray, you wicked girl?’ She giggled. ‘Where was his lovely wife?’ She turned to Mark. ‘She’s lovely.’

  ‘She was with him!’ said Nicky, wondering if she was shouting. ‘She was with him and me! We were all together. Talking about sandwiches. All evening.’

  ‘Sounds thrilling.’ Mark smiled.

  She turned and stared at him. Then she turned to Gwen.

  ‘Thanks for a lovely evening, Gwen.’ She kissed her on the cheek. ‘You excelled yourself once again. Happy New Year. See you next term. Bye, Martha.’

  And she walked out without looking back.

  18

  NICKY GREETED THE brand new year with a big pot of filter coffee and an even bigger slab of organic chocolate. Then she settled down in front of the television for as long as it would take her to stand up again. She was estimating ten hours.

  It was half past nine and Claire still hadn’t phoned, and she was certainly not going to phone her. She did not need to be patronised today. Not when she had this much television to watch. And not by someone married to Derek. Nope. She would just sit in big fluffy pyjamas all day, eating crap and watching crap. There was something deliciously decadent about being lazy when you only did it once a year.

  Her fury at Claire had subsided somewhat, but only because it had been shoved out of the way by her resentment towards Mark Samuels, anger at Rob, hostility towards Amanda and disappointment with Ally and Pete. As she got comfortable on her sofa, it became apparent that the only way to deal with all these negative emotions was to find out how to make snowflakes out of doyleys.

  Just as she was learning, in reverse order, the ten best places to hang them up for maximum effect, her doorbell rang. Reluctantly, she muted the television. It went again. She padded over to the landing and waited. It rang again. She lay on the floor to see if she recognised the shadow of the feet outside her front door.

  ‘It’s me,’ shouted Claire through the letter box. ‘Are you going to let me in or do we have to do this through your front door?’

  Nicky considered this for a moment before swivelling on the floor, getting up and stomping downstairs to open the door. The sisters stared at each other. Nicky’s first thought was that Claire was beginning to look old. There were dark puffy bags under her eyes.

  ‘Well?’ said Claire eventually. ‘Are you going to ask me in? What’s with the scissors?’

  Nicky opened the door wide, standing back to let Claire in. She followed her into the kitchen, where Claire suddenly turned round and began.

  ‘I’ve had to leave Derek with the children to come here, you know,’ she said, accusingly.

  Nicky blinked. ‘Well, I’ll try not to let you all down,’ she said quietly.

  Claire ignored her, waited a moment, then, seemingly too tired and emotional to argue, suddenly seated herself on a bar stool. Nicky put down the scissors, moved the other stool a bit further away, and flicked the kettle on. She would have to live without discovering the top ten places to put her snowflakes. She saw Claire glance at the clock.

  ‘Well, you may have the whole day to watch television in your pyjamas,’ began Claire, ‘but I haven’t. What the hell is going on?’

  Nicky balked. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ she said slowly, ‘but I sense, from your tone, that you blame me for what’s going on.’

  ‘I most certainly do.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Hmm.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means that that’s rather intriguing, because I hold you entirely responsible for it.’

  Claire’s eyes almost sprang out of her face on sticks like a cartoon.

  ‘Did I walk out of a dinner party?’ she yelled. ‘Did I insult a perfectly nice friend of yours? Did I hurt your feelings after you’d gone to every effort to make a nice evening –’

  ‘NICE?’ exploded Nicky, and Claire jumped, a little squealy noise escaping from her.

  ‘You . . . patronising –’ began Nicky.

  ‘WHAT?’ Claire screamed back, a little recovered now. ‘Patronising? What the hell do you mean by that?’

  Nicky paused and tilted her head. ‘It means to talk down to someone,’ she explained softly.

  ‘How the hell was I patronising?’ roared Claire. ‘I was trying to help!’

  Nicky had trouble controlling her voice. ‘Have you any idea how offensive you were the other night?’ she asked. ‘And how crap you ma
de me feel?’

  ‘Offensive!’ exploded Claire. ‘I made a delicious dinner and invited someone over I thought you’d like. How the hell is that offensive?’

  ‘Calm down,’ ordered Nicky. She realised this might take some time. She made a pot of tea, put it on the worktop and took out two mugs. ‘Right,’ she began, pouring the tea. ‘Tell me – honestly – why you didn’t let me know Don was coming.’

  ‘Because I knew you wouldn’t come.’

  Nicky nodded. ‘Exactly! Because you thought you knew what was good for me and I don’t.’

  ‘No, because you’re too damn proud.’

  ‘Of course!’ roared Nicky. ‘It’s always my fault. It’s all my fault my life isn’t more like yours!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How would you like it if I put myself on a one-woman mission to find you a job because, you poor thing, you haven’t managed to find one by yourself?’

  Claire looked at her sister as if she’d finally lost the plot.

  ‘How would you like it,’ continued Nicky, ‘if every time I saw you, I brought a teaching job application with me and insisted you go for it?’

  ‘Wha—?’

  ‘If I insisted that instead of me visiting you at your house, you would have to come to me at school, because I was far too busy building my all-important career, and after all, you didn’t have one, so you had loads of spare time to visit me? And then, while you sat there in the corner, watching me teach, I brought in my boss and, with all the subtlety of a bitch on heat, introduced you both and listed your CV in front of you, as if you were unable to talk for yourself?’

  Claire was breathing heavily.

  ‘And then,’ continued Nicky, her voice rising steadily, ‘whenever you tried to tell me to mind my own business, I turned on you and criticised your personality, telling you that it was your fault you didn’t have a job.’

  Claire was staring at her.

  Nicky paused for a while, before asking, more quietly, ‘What do you think all that would do to your self-esteem? If I constantly chip-chipped away at you – for years – implying that your life was crap because it wasn’t like mine, and all you had to do was modify your personality to be more like mine and everything would be OK?’

  Claire blinked.

  ‘And,’ continued Nicky, ‘how do you think you’d end up feeling about me? Your only family in the world who cares whether you’re alive or dead, but who relentlessly reminds you your life’s crap?’

  She sat down. Then suddenly she stood up again.

  ‘And I do not want to meet a man like Derek!’ she cried emphatically. ‘I barely want to meet Derek!’

  ‘All right!’ croaked Claire. ‘Shut up. Just shut up.’

  Nicky stopped and stared at her sister. A tear was sliding down her cheek.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, amazed. ‘Why are you crying?’

  Claire shook her head, unable to speak. Nicky waited for her to say that she had never known such remorse in her life. If only her sister could find forgiveness in her heart –

  ‘I’ve thrown my life away,’ whispered Claire.

  Nicky blanched. ‘How can you say that?’ she murmured. ‘You’ve got three amazing daughters.’

  ‘But what about me?’ Claire thumped her chest with her fist. The tears were coming in pairs now. ‘What about me?’ She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Nicky forced herself not to respond and, after a while, Claire spoke again.

  ‘I genuinely thought I was helping,’ she sniffed.

  Nicky sighed. ‘Yes,’ she replied firmly. ‘I accept that.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But,’ continued Nicky, ‘that just proves that you genuinely believe I need your help, even though I’ve never ever asked you for it.’

  ‘You moan about your life –’

  ‘That’s completely different from saying “Please fix me up with someone. Anyone. Just as long as he likes the beautiful bleakness of Ken Loach.”’

  Claire let out a snort of laughter.

  ‘I just think sometimes,’ sighed Nicky, ‘that your emotions for me are founded on pity.’

  ‘Well,’ said Claire, ‘you were only a kid when Mum died.’

  ‘I know. I know. And you were fantastic. But I’m not a kid any more. And unlike you, I had a big sister to help me through that time. And no one to look after. So you could say that I had it far easier than you, not harder.’

  Claire stared at her. ‘I never thought of it that way,’ she murmured.

  There was silence.

  ‘OK,’ sighed Claire. ‘I hear what you’re saying. I’ve been . . . annoying.’

  ‘Patronising,’ said Nicky.

  ‘Patronising.’ Claire nodded.

  ‘And you’re really sorry,’ said Nicky.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ muttered Claire.

  ‘Well, are you?’ asked Nicky. ‘For making me feel my life is crap?’

  Claire nodded. ‘Yes! When you put it like that.’

  Nicky raised her eyebrows. ‘What? Like it is.’

  ‘Well,’ said Claire, ‘when you put your side of the argument forward. But that’s only one side, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it’s how I feel. There is only one side to how I feel.’

  ‘Yes, but my feelings are in there too.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Nicky, crossing her arms. ‘This should be good. What’s your side?’

  ‘We-ell,’ began Claire. ‘Has it ever occurred to you that I might be jealous of your career?’

  Nicky blinked. ‘No,’ she said firmly, putting her mug to her lips. ‘Not for one second.’

  ‘Well, there you are, then. You don’t know everything.’

  ‘What on earth have you got to be jealous of?’ asked Nicky.

  Claire shut her eyes and spoke with them still shut.

  ‘I . . .’ she whispered, ‘have to ask Derek for money.’

  Nicky stared at her sister. ‘What?’ she whispered back. ‘Don’t you have a shared bank account?’

  Claire shook her head. ‘No. He’s set up a monthly direct debit into my housekeeping account. It hasn’t gone up in ten years. If I need more, like if the girls need new shoes or I want to treat myself, I have to ask him. But, of course, if he wants to buy himself a new car, he just does it. And he uses his annual bonus on a treat for himself. Says it’s his bonus and he deserves it.’

  Nicky’s eyes were saucers.

  ‘Although he’s never said it,’ said Claire, ‘I know he thinks he’s better than me because he’s got a job and I haven’t.’

  ‘But you have got a job,’ insisted Nicky, ‘you’re bringing up his children. Fantastically. They’re going to be future world leaders, those three.’

  Claire shrugged. ‘Anyone can do that.’

  ‘Anyone except Derek,’ shot Nicky. ‘He can’t even tie their shoelaces without a map.’

  Claire let out a deep sigh. ‘I just always assumed I’d have a career,’ she said. ‘I completely took it for granted. Instead, I’m slowly watching that life drift off in the other direction. And the further away it gets, the less likely it feels that I’m ever going to have it.’

  Nicky’s eyes suddenly filled and then overflowed. Why did this keep happening?

  ‘What’s the matter?’ whispered Claire.

  Nicky shook her head and waited for the feeling to pass.

  ‘I just, I just,’ she sniffed, ‘I know how you feel,’ she whispered. ‘It’s terrifying.’ She suddenly got a flash fast-forward of her not pushing Rob out of the kitchen after their kiss and instead taking him into her bed and her life, giving him her key, marrying him a year later, and then popping out three children and baking Barbie cakes with Woman’s Hour on in the background.

  ‘But it’s not too late for you,’ said Claire. ‘You’re still young.’

  ‘Nor you! There’s loads of women going back into the workplace at your age. Older.’

  Claire shook her head. ‘I’m terrified. I haven’t had a bos
s for over a decade.’

  ‘No, you’ve had Derek! And three tyrants! You’re going to find a boss a piece of cake after all that. Bosses are only people in smart clothes.’

  After a moment’s silence, Claire sipped her tea.

  ‘Nice tea,’ she said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  They both seemed to suddenly run out of energy at the same time. There was a tacit agreement that the argument was over.

  ‘Tell me something,’ said Nicky.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Why do we feel that we can’t have both? There are loads of women out there with careers and family. It’s tough, but they do it. I work with enough of them. But how come you and I both seem to feel the two are mutually exclusive?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ pondered Claire. ‘Maybe Mum and Dad typecast us.’

  It had been so long since they’d discussed their parents that it almost sounded to Nicky as if Claire was making up some fairy tale.

  ‘Did they?’ Nicky whispered back. She tried to picture her mother and father as they were when they were together, but only saw shadows against the wall of their old family kitchen.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Well, I knew them for longer, I suppose.’

  Nicky felt a stab of envy. ‘Why . . . how do you mean “typecast”?’

  Claire shrugged. ‘You played with dollies and I didn’t? Something and nothing. They said you’d be a mother and I’d have a career. I always felt they were criticising me.’ Claire continued musing while Nicky sat in silence. ‘I suppose, I always felt they were opposing lifestyles. You were going to have the babies, I was going to have the career. And then I met Derek and happened to marry young. And then before I knew it I was a mother of three. I had your role while you were the one with the glittering career.’

  Eventually Nicky dared to speak. She spoke softly, and it felt a bit as if the voice wasn’t coming from her. ‘Sometimes, when I’m at your house, watching you with the girls, I feel like you got the kids . . . so I can’t have any.’

  Claire’s face whitened. ‘That’s very, very weird,’ she whispered. ‘Because that’s how I feel about you. You got the career. So I’ve got to make do with the kids. Don’t get me wrong,’ she rushed. ‘I love them. But sometimes I feel like I’m living their lives and not mine.’