The Learning Curve

by Melissa Nathan

  ‘I can’t drive,’ he said. ‘I’m drunk.’

  She shrugged and looked at his shoulders as she spoke. ‘You’ll have to kip at my place, then.’

  ‘Oh, OK. Cheers.’

  ‘’Sall right,’ she said.

  They walked out of the pub separately, Pete ahead by a few feet. When he got outside he kept walking for a bit, then turned round and waited for Ally, his hands in his pockets. When she opened the pub door into the night, he took a step towards her. She walked towards him and they met in the middle.

  30

  WHEN NED, ROB and Mark returned to the dorm at 11.30, it was already pitch black and silent. They collided into everything at least twice and made shushing noises to wake the dead. The only thing that was missing from a Ray Cooney farce was the laughter. If they’d known that none of the women were asleep it would have saved a lot of trouble.

  Janet had just returned from the children’s dorms where she’d been looking after a vomiting child for the past two hours. Nicky had been back for an hour after talking and cuddling a homesick child. She now lay with her face to the wall, blinking in the dark, unable to sleep. What on earth had the men been talking about all evening? Ned, Mark and Rob? Surely the only thing they had in common was the fact that they ate food. She was trying to work out whether she felt more relaxed now she knew where Mark was, or less relaxed because he was in the same room as her, when a terrifying roar of thunder filled in the dorm. Or rather, Ned farted. It was the most awful noise Nicky had ever heard, as if terrorists had exploded a stink bomb inside her head. But at least it stopped anyone being able to pretend they were asleep. Miss James sat up in her top bunk and ordered Ned to open the window and then drink two pints of water before going to sleep. Janet was to get the water and stay with him until he’d finished. Rob turned on the light and Mark went to shower. Meanwhile, Amanda and Martha laughed till they wept. Even Nicky smiled. When all their eyes had grown accustomed to the light and the after-effects of the explosion, they watched Ned stumbling up his bunk ladder to open the window, and all shared a rare moment of finding something in common to laugh at. It took him six attempts.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Ned,’ shot Miss James eventually. ‘I’m surprised at you. Really.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Sorry. Sorry.’

  ‘There’s no need to keep repeating yourself,’ said Miss James. ‘We heard you perfectly well the first time.’

  Amanda and Martha squawked with uncontrollable laughter.

  Rob turned to Nicky on the top of their bunk, his face level with hers.

  ‘That’s not the only surprise,’ he murmured. ‘Our Ned’s a bit of a dark horse.’

  When Mark returned to the dorm, wearing just his pyjama bottoms, and drying his hair on a towel, he found Rob leaning on Nicky’s bunk, murmuring softly to her. They were laughing together and her face was hidden behind his. God, thought Mark. It was so obvious once you knew. It was a miracle no one else had spotted it. When Rob walked past him to the shower, they smiled at each other and Rob slapped him on the arm. Mark made sure not to look at Nicky, even though he felt her eyes were on him.

  ‘Right!’ ordered Miss James hotly. ‘Let’s all get some sleep now. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

  Unfortunately, it was she who woke everyone up, half an hour later, when she got out of bed to go to the toilet and forgot she was on a top bunk. Fortunately, she landed on Ned’s duvet, which he’d pushed off him in his sleep, and his rucksack, which he’d forgotten to store under his bed. Unfortunately, she needed the toilet three times a night. Rob suggested she sleep on the bottom bunk but she said she was far too claustrophobic for that. After the third time she’d fallen off the top, Rob found a spare mattress and placed it next to her bunk. Ned woke on it the next morning, after one of the best night’s sleep he’d ever had.

  The next morning it was decided that, as there was no ‘weather condition’, Rob’s itinerary could be kept to, and all was well with the world. This meant a fun-packed morning at the aquarium, followed by a fun-packed afternoon at the fair. Then back to the hostel for tea, reading, showers, gradual winding down of the children and inevitable winding up of the adults, followed by lights out in the children’s dorm. Then bartering for nightcaps and night duties, and then Nicky washing her hair as early as possible so as to get in some vital sleep before Miss James started falling off her bunk to go to the toilet.

  Breakfast was finished within the hour and by nine o’clock a crocodile made up of pairs of nine- to eleven-year-olds accompanied by eight rapidly ageing adults reached the main section of Bournemouth’s pier.

  It was a typical British scene, with acres of white sky above and acres of white flesh below. On the main concourse stood candyfloss stalls, burger stalls and a merry-go-round. Further back from the sea was an expanse of freshly cut grass, complete with a pretty slip of a river, crazy golf and a real live bandstand. On it an amateur brass band played old favourites, some in tune, softened by the seashore sounds of the melancholy wail of seagulls and toddlers. Beautiful young foreign students wandered through it all with bemused looks on their windswept faces.

  The crocodile shivered at the aquarium door, waiting for it to open. Miss James stood at the front with Rob, while Nicky walked down the side of it, doing a headcount, just in case anyone had escaped on the ten-minute walk, which frankly, she’d considered doing herself.

  Oscar stood next to his dad. He put his hand in his and squeezed. His dad looked down and smiled, which Oscar thought made him look sadder. When Miss Hobbs walked past, ticking off everyone’s names, Oscar felt his dad sort of shrink. He stood closer.

  When they went in, Oscar used the opportunity to watch him more than the fish. He watched his dad like a hawk. Through vast water-filled tanks of sharks and piranhas he watched him gaze at the glass. At one point he even thought he was going to rest his head against it. And what about Miss Hobbs? She kept shooting his dad these sharp little glances of disappointment. What had happened?

  If only he could ask his dad. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t their way. Just like he would never ask his dad if he loved Miss Hobbs. He just knew his dad did, and he knew his dad knew he knew. But he had to find out what had happened. He asked Daisy and, as they went round the aquarium, she taught him the ways of cunning.

  ‘Rule number one: never ever say what you mean,’ she began.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, for example, if you want to go to swimming on Saturday, you don’t say, “I want to go swimming on Saturday,” because then your dad will say no. You say, “Did you know that eight out of ten children don’t exercise enough? And the most common cause of childhood obesity is lack of exercise?” Then you say, as if it’s just occurred to you, “Daddy, can I watch television all weekend?”’ She looked at Oscar with a self-satisfied grin. ‘See?’

  He looked at her in amazement.

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ he said in awe.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘And the beauty is, not only do you get your own way, but they think it was their idea.’

  As they came out of the aquarium and took their ice creams on to the pier, Oscar and his dad went to sit on the beach together. Oscar felt uncomfortable, as if he was lying. But he knew it was the only way to find out.

  ‘Dad,’ he started. He gave a little cough and hoped he wasn’t going red. ‘I like Miss Hobbs.’

  Mark smiled and looked at him. He stroked his head. ‘Good. She’s a good woman to like.’

  ‘Do you?’ Oscar mumbled, eyes down.

  Mark sighed. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘Yes I do. Very much.’

  There was a long pause. Oscar was embarrassed for his father at how easy this was. Somehow he’d expected more from him.

  ‘Like . . . you liked Mummy?’ he croaked.

  Mark gave him a look and Oscar looked away.

  ‘When did you grow up to be so clever?’ asked Mark gently.

  ‘D
oes she like you back?’

  Mark shook his head. ‘It appears she’s already taken.’

  ‘What? She’s got a boyfriend?’ Oscar blurted that bit out, but he couldn’t keep up the Daisy way. He felt a shocking sense of betrayal at this news. Just then, Rob walked past and, as if he knew what they were talking about, gave Mark a secretive sort of smile. Mark watched him go. Oscar quizzed him with his face and Mark said softly, ‘He told me. Man to man.’ Then he gave Oscar a kiss and handed him the rest of his ice cream to finish.

  Oscar finished it. He was upset, but ice cream was ice cream.

  Half an hour later, Daisy and Oscar were strapped into their climbing equipment and climbing a painted plastic wall in the middle of the pier. Daisy was ahead of Oscar.

  ‘Mr Pattison and Miss Hobbs?’ repeated Daisy, looking down at Oscar. ‘You are kidding me.’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Oscar hotly, fixing his foot on a step and pulling himself up to her level. ‘I hate her. How can she want him instead of my dad?’

  ‘She doesn’t. And anyway, Mr Pattison’s with Miss Taylor. Anyone can see that.’

  ‘No he’s not!’ shouted Oscar.

  ‘Yes he is!’ shouted Daisy back.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Oh, you know everything,’ muttered Oscar darkly.

  Daisy almost fell off her bit of plastic wall, she answered him so aggressively. ‘I do know, so there. If you want to ignore me, more fool you, Oscar Samuels.’

  They both looked down and saw the rest of the children queueing for their turn. In front of the children, Mr Pattison stood near Miss James, Miss Taylor standing at the back of the queue.

  Oscar looked back up.

  ‘Daisy.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you want to be a detective?’

  Daisy’s eyes lit up.

  That afternoon, they sat apart from everyone else at teatime. They were busy constructing a secret language and code. During reading time, they did surveillance. And by bed-time the plan was ready.

  The next day was the first day of the treasure hunt, to be done every morning until the end of the holiday. The questions to be answered each day came from the area of Bournemouth they had seen that day. During the treasure hunt, the children were under strict instructions to find an adult on the hour, every hour, to let them know they hadn’t been killed or abducted, or merely escaped to do something more fun instead. They were forbidden to go near roads or shops.

  On the top of the four-page quiz, next to Rob’s name as quiz deviser, was the address of the police station; the name of the friendly local policeman to ask for; the name and address of the hostel they were staying at; a list of questions, that, if posed by strangers, should be considered inappropriate, and a signal to run away and contact the police; plus all the teachers’ mobile phone numbers. Underneath was the instruction to HAVE FUN!

  Daisy and Oscar stared at the first question.

  Up, up, up and stay. Winking from above . . .

  ‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ she said finally, scrunching up her nose.

  ‘I know,’ said Oscar. ‘Why would anyone pick Mr Pattison over my dad?’

  Daisy looked up at Oscar. ‘I meant the treasure hunt.’

  Oscar was looking through her. ‘Look! Over there!’

  She shot round. Mr Pattison was standing on the grass section, near the bandstand. In one hand he held the sheet of papers on which to mark down the children’s hourly register, in the other his mobile, on which to tell the other teachers which children were still alive. He kept looking at his watch.

  ‘Right,’ said Daisy, standing. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Wait!’ hissed Oscar. ‘He mustn’t see us.’

  They watched him a bit more.

  ‘You keep an eye on him,’ said Oscar, ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Before she had a chance to argue, he’d gone. She held up her printed treasure hunt and watched Mr Pattison from behind it. He kept checking his watch every thirty seconds or so. He was definitely waiting for someone. Or he was very, very bored. She scanned the area. Her heart jumped when she saw Miss Hobbs ambling towards the bandstand, just approaching the crazy golf and the tethered hot-air balloon. A secret assignation! Maybe Oscar’s dad was right! Miss Hobbs was walking very slowly, her papers and mobile in a pretty bag over her shoulder, her head down. Just before she reached a bench, she looked round, as if she was looking for someone. She was definitely acting suspiciously. Daisy looked across the grass to see if Mr Pattison had seen her. Yes. He had. He had gone all still and was staring at her. Daisy couldn’t breathe. Was Mr Pattison going to approach Miss Hobbs? And if so, why? And if not, why not?

  Daisy stared.

  No. He didn’t approach her. Instead, he turned and walked away along the pathway, then up some steps towards the shops, nowhere near Miss Hobbs’s bench. Then he wandered round the other side of the bandstand, making himself no longer visible. Daisy followed him to the bridge crossing the little river beside the bandstand, then she stepped slowly towards the path leading behind the bandstand. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t allowed here. She looked back to Miss Hobbs. Miss Hobbs was now sitting on the bench, her bag next to her lap, her head up, eyes shut. She was sunbathing, her long hair fanned out behind her, falling down the back of the bench. Daisy stared at her hair. It looked different here. The curls had become even tighter, like ringlets, and the colour had gone light and glossy. It was beautiful. Daisy glanced further back, towards the pier. She couldn’t see Mr Samuels anywhere. Or Miss Taylor. When she looked back at Mr Pattison, he was now glancing left and right, left and right.

  Where the hell was Oscar? She looked back again and there he was; she could just make him out, running back to her, his socks falling down. When he reached her, she spoke quickly.

  ‘Postman Prat is definitely waiting for someone.’

  She pointed at Mr Pattison.

  ‘Good,’ said Oscar. He held up a disposable camera. They did a high-five. Then they looked back at Mr Pattison.

  He’d gone. Vanished. They stared left, then right. Then they looked up, towards the shops, behind the bandstand, and both gasped at what they saw. There was Miss Taylor. Coming down from the shops. In a rush. They raced back, and stood on the other side of the river, where they were allowed to be, pretending they were looking into it. They didn’t know Miss Taylor very well because she had never taught them. They didn’t know the limits of her temper, or the strength of her humour. They didn’t know her at all. She was swinging a carrier bag against her legs and a handbag over one shoulder. They moved behind a tree, and Oscar got his camera ready. But she was walking too quickly. When she reached the path, she turned right along it, away from the restricted area. They looked at each other. Why was she doing that? Where did it lead? It was a strictly forbidden area for the children, and all the teachers were meant to be contactable throughout the treasure hunt.

  They followed.

  The river went on for ages, leading them across the city centre where they both looked at the pebble mosaic of a mermaid, into the upper gardens and past the war memorial. She was now walking very fast. She checked her watch and sped up until she was almost running. And then, all too soon, she slowed down again. She was now approaching some tennis courts. And there, standing in front of them, looking cross, was Mr Pattison. Miss Taylor gave a small wave.

  He called out, ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ to which she replied, ‘Oh, gimme a break.’

  Daisy and Oscar stopped and slipped behind a tree. Oscar held his camera to his eye. He had to lean it against his face to stop it shaking.

  Miss Taylor and Mr Pattison met with a fierce kiss, their mouths like magnets. It actually made a noise and Daisy and Oscar stifled a snort. Then Daisy whispered, ‘Told you,’ and Oscar gave her a swift elbow to the ribs. Then he realised he had to wind on the camera. Luckily, Miss Taylor and Mr Pattison were still kissing. Daisy was staring with undisguised di
sgust on her face. ‘They look like they’re eating each other,’ she whispered. ‘I’m gonna vom.’

  Oscar held the camera in place and, concentrating hard, pressed his finger firmly down. The camera clicked so loudly that he and Daisy leapt up and fled, almost falling over in their haste.

  When they reached the bandstand, in a fraction of the time it had taken to go the other way, they collapsed on the grass in hysterics and caught their breath.

  ‘Do you think you got it?’ asked Daisy eventually.

  Oscar shrugged. ‘Who cares? I’ll just tell my dad.’

  At teatime, they sat apart from everyone else again, at the far end of the dining hall, observing the teachers. Miss Taylor and Mr Pattison acted like nothing had happened, and Mr Pattison was wandering down the aisles, teasing the kids, passing them anything they needed and occasionally chatting to Miss Hobbs.

  Oscar asked Daisy how she had known they were an item. She told him that she hadn’t known, she’d guessed, just from the way she looked at him during assembly.

  ‘What? All lovey-dovey?’ asked Oscar.

  Daisy shook her head. ‘No. Angry. Like my nan looks at her boyfriends when they annoy her.’

  Daisy then asked Oscar why his father thought that Mr Pattison and Miss Hobbs were an item in the first place. He told her that Mr Pattison had told him.

  Daisy took this information in slowly.

  ‘Well then,’ she said. ‘He’s a big fat liar.’

  ‘Or he’s two-timing Miss Hobbs,’ said Oscar. ‘That’s horrid!’

  ‘Well, most men are shits,’ Daisy explained. ‘My mum told me.’

  ‘My dad isn’t!’ retorted Oscar.

  ‘No.’ Daisy nodded. ‘You’re right. Not any more.’

  They turned to watch the reformed Mr Samuels, who was sitting with all the other adults, including Miss Hobbs, but not talking to anyone.

  ‘But on the plus side,’ Daisy continued, ‘it does mean that Mr Pattison thinks he needs to put your dad off. Which means he thinks – or is scared – that your dad and Miss Hobbs might actually get together.’