The Learning Curve

by Melissa Nathan

  She slept well that night, and woke to blossom on the trees and a girlish skip in her heart. Spring seemed to have had its effect on everything. In the past few weeks, she had experienced global warming. Tectonic plates of relationships had shifted and ice-caps melted. She and Mark were close friends.

  It was no surprise that Nicky thought of him so instantaneously after waking that the two practically happened simultaneously. This led instantly to the thought that she was heading for trouble. Trouble like needing-a-mega-size-box-of-chocolates trouble. This led to the next thought that she couldn’t be that serious about her career if her first waking thought was of Mark and not of the headship. Which led, naturally, to the next thought that perhaps, then, she shouldn’t apply at all. She needed to discuss this with Mark. And then she spotted the deliberate mistake with this theory, realised that she couldn’t ever tell him what was really on her mind, and she was, in all probability, doomed.

  Coffee. She needed coffee.

  Caffeined up, it dawned on her that when Miss James had finally announced her deadline of one week for all applications to be in by, Nicky had had to hide her disappointment to Mark because it would mean no more excuses for their chats. He, on the other hand, had been cock-a-hoop at the news. The only possible conclusion a sane woman could come to was that these chats obviously hadn’t meant as much to him as they had to her. Not only that, but why such excitement at the possibility of her promotion? Beginning to feel like Miss Marple, but without the confidence or knitting prowess, she got dressed fast.

  At precisely 8 a.m., she arrived at Claire’s house. With more bitching, bossing and hierarchical in-fighting than a PTA meeting, Claire’s girls poured the contents of thirteen jumbo packets of sweets into a vast bowl. Nicky set up a system of counting in tens and within half an hour, they had counted the entire collection of sweets and only eaten half of them. Then Nicky poured them into an enormous glass jar and twisted on the lid. She made the girls swear and sign a declaration, one by one, that they promised not to tell anyone how many sweets were in the jar. She even made them give her their fingerprints, thanks to a new toy she’d got especially for the occasion. By the end of the process, even Sarah-Jane was excited.

  Thanks to the intimidating efficiency of the school’s PTA, this was all Nicky needed to do to set up her stall. Of course, she needed to show her face early, but tables, refreshments, rotas and even the marquee had all been organised and set up by mothers of pupils at the school. When the girls filed out of their house and cheered because the sun had appeared, Nicky merely assumed that the PTA had sent a memo requesting it to pull its weight.

  The girls had wanted to go to their beloved auntie’s school fête because it was always such great fun being at a school that wasn’t yours. They wanted to get there early to help, and Claire was only too happy to have a lie-in, so Nicky aimed to get there for nine with her trusty little helpers, three hours before the fête was due to begin.

  She drove to the school singing heartily to Busted’s latest album, easily making more noise than all her nieces put together. As she did so, she wondered if maybe this was as good as it got. Maybe being an auntie was her destiny. And if so, it wasn’t half bad. When she parked in the school car park her singing voice lost its verve due to a spectacular somersault in her stomach. Would she get her fix today? Would he bring a girlfriend? If so, would it be Oscar’s au pair? Or some slick City chick with perfect children of her own? As the girls leapt out of her car, collecting all the gubbins needed, she delved into the dressing-up box that was her boot and found her shades. Feeling slightly more confident behind protection, she led the girls out to the playing fields behind the school. Apart from a couple of the most keen PTA members, plus a handful of overexcited children, they were the only ones there.

  The smell of freshly cut grass and the girls’ excitement were enough to squash Nicky’s nerves and make her feel good to be alive. When one of the mothers offered her some home-ground, organic Kenyan espresso and freshly baked M&S flapjacks (state schools in certain pockets of north London had a unique set of parents), she felt a buzz of contentment.

  She and the girls sat on the grass and she began instructing them on how to make the Guess How Many Sweets In The Jar stall the most eye-catching, colourful one at the fête. Each girl was given their task. As the sun rose above the copse behind them, Nicky swirled her hair up on top of her head, using a pencil to keep it up, pulled out an A4 notebook, and drew lines down it, heading each column with neatly worded titles. When the sign was completed, she stuck it to the front of her desk, proudly displayed the jar on the table, and placed the pad and a pen next to it. Then she went to find as many chairs as possible, with the girls in tow.

  As they left the marquee and crossed the field towards the school, Nicky sensed movement out of the corner of her eye, near the car park. She sucked in her stomach, held her back straight and looked over. She was surprised to see Rob. They waved at each other.

  The school seemed dark after the light outside. The girls ran ahead to the assembly hall, shouting at each other, more excited by the freedom of a strange, empty school corridor than an empty field, and Nicky had a little word with herself. She was thinking too much. Mark was a colleague and friend and here she was turning that into a schoolgirl crush. If she wasn’t careful she was going to make a prat of herself. Why was she unable to have a friendship with a man without her mind going into warp speed (let alone warped speed) and turning it into something more? Just focus on work, she told herself firmly, apply for the promotion, and then get back to normal. Mark was the parent of one of her pupils, for goodness’ sake, and he was also the school bursar. But perhaps more important than that, he was a man who believed fervently that she had the perfect mind and body to be a junior-school head. Knowing the mind and body of the present junior head, Nicky could only conclude that this was not a man forcing himself to hide his base thoughts about her. Damn.

  She reached the assembly hall and called to the girls to stop them playing tag. They took a chair each and formed a neat little procession back to the stall. As she led the way, she continued her little chat to herself. Mark wasn’t even that nice. Don’t be fooled by this über-dad act; this was a man who had spent the first decade of his son’s life being an absent parent. She stepped out of the school into the light. Anyway, she continued, more importantly, he wasn’t interested in her as anything other than his next boss.

  She let out a sudden gasp! If she got the job, she would be his next boss! She’d spotted it! The reason Mark was so supportive of her decision to go for the job! He wanted her to get it instead of Rob! As she stood there, suddenly frozen in the sun, her skirt floating in the warm breeze, she remembered just how much Mark hated Rob. Great billowing arse! Mark would hate Rob becoming Headmaster because it would mean that Rob would be his direct boss. So he did have an ulterior motive for persuading her to go for the job after all. Maybe he even thought he could control her in some way. So that was why he was building on their friendship so intensely at this crucial time – to make sure there was real competition for Rob and to make an ally out of her if she won. Oh, why on earth hadn’t she thought of that before? It was so blindingly obvious now. What was it, she wondered, that made these men so competitive? And, while she was on the subject, what made them so much better at it than her? She simply had to stop this naïve romantic dwelling on Mark’s belief in her and, instead, focus on what she wanted out of life. He was just another competitive man after the best deal he could get out of life.

  ‘Hi!’ called out Mark, from her left. She almost dropped the chair. God, he looked gorgeous. Gorgeous like good-enough-to-eat gorgeous. He was wearing slim-cut pale linen trousers and a sheer, baggy open-necked white shirt. The sun filtered through it on either side of his V torso. There was no girlfriend, which was also gorgeous. He wore shades, which on anyone else would have looked pretentious, but on him were gorgeous.

  She pulled herself together and had another sharp word with herse
lf: he was the parent of one of her pupils. And more importantly, he wasn’t interested in her, other than as a means of achieving his own agenda.

  She smiled at him. He smiled back. His smile was gorgeous.

  ‘Can we help?’ he asked with an even more dazzling smile that turned his jaw to granite.

  She took a deep breath and had another little word with herself: he was the pupil of one of her favourite shades. And more importantly, he was an open-necked torso with smile.

  Oscar was standing on one side of him, Daisy on the other. They looked like a glossy magazine photo-shoot. While Nicky was thinking of something to say that would make her appear a) attractive, b) witty, c) attractive and a) fully in control of herself and own destiny, Mark approached Abigail who was struggling with a chair that was nearly bigger than she was. He knelt down, so he was her height, and asked her softly if she’d like some help with the chair. The little girl gave a Lady Diana tilt of her head, a wonkily coy smile and Nicky swore she almost fluttered her eyelashes. From behind the safety of her shades, Nicky watched Mark’s forearms as he gripped Abigail’s chair with one hand and then took Isabel’s chair with the other. His forearms were gorgeous, lined with soft blond hairs. Then she turned away to give herself a final, proper talking to: Now look, Nix, she told herself, this is the ulterior man with linen thighs and teeth, granite forearms and nipples.

  The swishing in her ears was strangely comforting.

  ‘Osc,’ Mark called out, ‘what are you waiting for?’

  Oscar scrunched his face up into an ugly question.

  ‘There’s a young lady needs help,’ said Mark, indicating Sarah-Jane with a nod of his head.

  Oscar thrust his head and shoulders down as if he’d just been given detention, and took her chair.

  ‘Thanks!’ she said breezily. ‘I’m Sarah-Jane.’

  Oscar grunted.

  ‘I’m Daisy,’ Daisy replied for Oscar. ‘How old are you? I’m nearly eleven.’

  As the children went on ahead, Mark and Nicky followed, and every now and then Nicky shifted her eyes from behind the safety of her shades across to his forearms.

  ‘So, how you doing?’ Mark asked her.

  ‘Fine!’ she replied. ‘Thanks! You?’

  Mark was prevented from answering by Rob’s approach. As the children ran into the field ahead of them, Rob gave a broad grin and side-stepped to Nicky’s chair.

  ‘Why, Miss Hobbs,’ he said, ‘what’s a pretty little thing like you hefting a great big thing like this?’

  ‘Piss off, Prattison.’ Nicky frowned, tightening her grip. ‘I’m a woman, I’m not a six-year-old.’ There. That would show both of them that she was a woman of her time, chasing her own destiny without either of their help. Then she dropped the chair on his foot.

  Rob delicately handed it back to her and gave Mark a conspiratorial grin. ‘Good old feminism.’ He winked. ‘They don’t let you carry their chairs but they let you shag ’em.’ He ran on to the school, only limping slightly. Nicky stopped still, her mouth an almost perfect ‘O’. Mark stopped too.

  ‘I can’t believe he just said that,’ she said in an almost whisper.

  Mark’s eyebrows made a brief appearance from behind his shades.

  ‘You know, you’re right,’ she said, as she started walking again. ‘He can be an arse sometimes.’

  ‘I didn’t say “sometimes”,’ muttered Mark.

  Nicky was trying to work out how to explain that she hadn’t ‘let’ Rob shag her, in such a way that would not make her appear either a) highly strung or b) totally barking, when she was suddenly squeezed round the waist from behind.

  She leapt up, banging her chair on her shin, and found herself staring into the somewhat crazed eyes of Miss James.

  ‘Hello!’ cried her boss. ‘Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello!’

  ‘Hello!’ cried Mark and Nicky.

  ‘How are we all today?’ cried Miss James.

  ‘Fine!’ cried Mark and Nicky.

  ‘Good, good, good, good, good!’ said Miss James. ‘Good!’

  Feeling anything but good – feeling, in fact, bad – Nicky tried not to swipe Miss James over the head, involuntarily or voluntarily, with her chair. Instead, she walked with Mark and her boss to the field, and contented herself with thinking dark thoughts. How did Rob always manage to turn things around so quickly? What on earth had made him say that? He was not a friend. When would she learn that? Men and women could not be friends. Maybe – she gasped again – maybe he and Mark were in it together? Right. That was it. She’d move to Sicily and learn how to fish.

  By ten o’clock, everyone staffing a stall had arrived and the place was jumping. Nicky busied herself helping other people and when there was no more help needed, she began playing games with the girls and various other children, to keep them occupied and, more importantly, to stop herself from thinking about the two scheming men in her life. Spending time with children usually sorted her mind out. And it did this time too. As she kept a game going, she actually managed to forget everything and just enjoy herself. The breeze in her hair, the grass under her sandal-less feet, the sun on her skin, being surrounded by kids’ laughter; all of it cast its spell. She was having fun.

  Mark stood and watched for a while. Oscar joined him.

  ‘What’s up, mate?’ Mark asked, nudging his boy.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Why don’t you join in? Daisy’s there.’

  They both looked over at Daisy and Sarah-Jane holding hands and laughing together.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ whined Oscar and he stomped off. Mark watched him go and then turned back to watch the game. A circle of children held hands on the grass, all chanting something that made them laugh with excitement. Nicky chased a niece round the circle, and then the niece suddenly slapped one of the children on their back and took their place. That child, in sudden nervous hysterics, now fled from Nicky.

  Watching, Mark saw, under Nicky’s skirt, a slender curve of leg – alabaster apart from a little bruise on her shin – flash past with every pace. Her hair flowed down her back and her cheeks glowed. But that wasn’t what struck him most about her. She wasn’t running like a woman, let alone a teacher, she was running like a child, unselfconscious, determined and without a care in the world.

  He watched until Oscar returned. Then he put a gentle hand on the back of the boy’s neck and guided him towards the game. When Nicky turned to them, let go of the circle, and welcomed them both into the game with a wide-open arm and broad grin that lit up her whole face, Mark realised that his feelings for her had finally overtaken those of his son’s.

  By noon, the place was filling up and by half past twelve, it was heaving. Nicky’s stall was one of the favourites and she hardly had a moment to herself. When Oscar and Daisy came to help, she was so relieved she almost hugged them. She ran to the Ladies and on her way she found the girls queueing to have their faces painted. She ordered them, on pain of the worst tickle in their life, not to tell Oscar and Daisy how many sweets were in the jar. She needn’t have worried, they were not going to relinquish such power that easily. When she returned, two tigers and a cat were taunting Oscar and Daisy with their knowledge.

  At one o’clock, Nicky took a break from her stall and bought a sandwich for lunch. She watched everyone as they mingled and queued for stalls and wondered how different she would feel if she were Headmistress. She tried to imagine it, but couldn’t. Then she spotted Rob in deep conversation with Miss James and felt eaten up with envy. She watched as Rob then walked towards the centre of the marquee with long, confident strides. He jumped up on to the platform, took the microphone and, with the ease of a practised performer, arrested everyone’s attention instantly. He introduced Miss James with a speech that was witty enough for the kids to enjoy, respectful enough for the governors to enjoy, and short enough for the parents to enjoy. Nicky watched, her sandwich uneaten. It dawned on her that she was probably watching the future Head. Morning assemblies would
be fun if Rob was Head. Were she to get the job, she’d need hypnosis therapy just to walk to the front of the assembly hall without blacking out.

  She became vaguely aware of someone coming to stand next to her. She couldn’t look. Needles pricked under her arms. Rob started the applause going before leaping off the platform.

  ‘He’s good, isn’t he?’ came Amanda’s voice in her ear, so close now that Nicky could almost taste her perfume. She answered with a nod and glanced round the marquee at hundreds of laughing, smiling parents. When she spotted Mark’s face, he was staring at her. Paralysed, she stared back. He started pushing his way through the crowd towards her.

  As Miss James began her shock announcement to the world, Nicky managed to pull her eyes away from Mark. He reached her side and Rob arrived beside Amanda. The vast crowd gasped in amazement at Miss James’s news.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said Amanda, as a slow applause began round the marquee. ‘Now there’s a turn-up for the books. I thought she was about twenty years younger. Didn’t you, Nicky?’

  Nicky stared at Miss James as she came off the podium and hugged her mother.

  ‘Oh I see!’ sang Amanda. ‘Apparently I’m invisible.’

  ‘Who said that?’ asked Rob. Amanda dug her elbow into him so fiercely that he swore. A couple of parents turned round and tutted. Rob apologised profusely before giving Amanda a look black enough for Trinny and Susannah to approve of. Nicky was vaguely aware of Amanda offering him a muted apology.

  Miss James left her mother and joined them.

  ‘Well!’ she breathed. ‘I’ve done it, people. And I want applications in within the week.’

  ‘You’ll get mine tomorrow,’ said Rob proudly.

  ‘Oh wonderful!’ exclaimed Miss James. ‘I do like a man who’s fast off the mark.’

  Rob beamed. He gave a little bow of his head and Miss James clapped. There was a moment’s silence. Suddenly scared that Amanda might beat her to it, Nicky spoke up.