by Kate Hewitt
When Tim had been on, he’d shone. He’d radiated charm and cheerfulness and everybody wanted to bask in his light. But when he hadn’t been feeling it, well…then the cosy little world of their family had felt depressingly dark. At least Laura had felt it. She thought Tim had done a pretty good job of hiding his mood swings from the kids, turning on the charm and interest when they were around, and descending into sullen silences when they were alone. But she didn’t want to think about all that now.
“So what homework do you have?” Laura asked before Maggie could disappear upstairs.
“Just some biology,” came the muffled response before Laura heard the thud of her daughter’s feet on the stairs and then the door shutting firmly. At least it wasn’t a slam. Small mercies.
“What about you, Sam?”
“I don’t have any.”
“You could read a book,” Laura suggested, somewhat half-heartedly. “Aren’t you supposed to read twenty minutes a day?”
“Mmm.” Having been separated from his iPad for the better part of the day, Sam was now hard at play. Laura sighed and switched on the kettle. She’d save that battle for another evening.
She’d just brewed a cup of tea when a knock sounded at the door, surprising her.
“Lindy.” She hadn’t seen much of her neighbour since they’d had coffee earlier in the week, and despite her tiredness Laura was glad to see a friendly face. “How are you?”
“Oh, fine, fine—I just wanted to stop by to ask if you’d like to go out for a drink next weekend, on Friday perhaps? I haven’t managed to get the whole tribe together—there are a lot of us now—but Olivia will be back from her honeymoon, and Emily’s keen, as well. Ava might come if she hasn’t given birth yet! And Alice, too.”
Laura hesitated for the merest second, because the thought of proper socialising with a group of people she didn’t know was more than a little bit terrifying. She hadn’t gone out in a group in over a year, and Lindy had just listed a load of people, never mind about the whole tribe. But then she thought about Pamela and Steve taking Maggie and Sam for half-term, and she knew she needed to make friends. She needed to get a life.
“Sure, that would be great,” she said. “Really lovely. Thanks.”
Lindy laid a hand on her arm. “It won’t be scary, I promise.” She gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Harriet’s not coming.”
“Harriet…?” Ava had also mentioned her, but Laura hadn’t met her yet, which seemed just as well, considering the comments that had been made.
“I’m just joking. Sort of. Harriet used to live in number two, with her three kids. Will is in Sam’s class, I think—she can be a force to be reckoned with, but she’s lovely. Honest.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“No, seriously.” For a second Lindy almost looked upset. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Harriet really is lovely. Just…forceful.”
“I believe you,” Laura said with a laugh. “Don’t worry. And I’m looking forward to Friday night.” Mostly.
“Who was that?” Sam asked after Laura had closed the front door.
“Our neighbour, Lindy. She invited me out next weekend.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yes, it is.” Laura smiled fondly at her youngest child. He hadn’t looked up once from the screen for the whole conversation, but she knew his interest was genuine.
“She mentioned Will?”
Laura hesitated, registered Sam’s slightly guarded tone. “Yes. Will is Harriet’s son, although I haven’t actually met Harriet yet.” A pause while Sam continued to play his game, his head bent over the screen. “Do you know him?”
“Mum, there are only thirty kids in my class. I know everyone.”
“I know, but…” Do you like him? Is he nice? Or is he mean to you? Questions she couldn’t—wouldn’t—ask. “I just wondered if he was a friend,” she said as lightly as she could.
Sam twitched a shoulder in the approximation of a shrug. “Not really,” he said, and there was a final-sounding note in his voice that filled Laura with a silent dread, because she’d heard it before, back in Woodbridge, when Sam had been bullied but hadn’t wanted to tell her.
But there was no need to get ahead of herself just yet. Sam had only had one week of school and he was starting a club; he seemed happy. She needed to let that be enough. She needed to live in the moment and be glad for what it was, and no more.
Laura glanced out at the night sky, a few stars twinkling like distant promises she longed to believe in. Life could work out here. There was every indication that it would—friendly neighbours, Sam and Maggie happy; well, enough, hopefully—in school, supportive in-laws. She had to see the positives. Perhaps she’d land a proper job soon, or at least some supply work. She’d get back into the land of living, instead of just drifting about, waiting for things to be over—a day, a month, a year. She didn’t want to live like that anymore. She wouldn’t.
Buoyed by optimism, Laura headed upstairs and tapped on her daughter’s door. “Maggie? Cup of tea?”
A sigh, as if she’d asked something absurd, and then a muffled “Okay.” Heartened, Laura turned to go back downstairs and put the kettle on again. As she reached the step, she heard Maggie speak again, the words faint, a bit grudging, but a balm to Laura’s wounded soul. “Thanks, Mum.”
*
The next morning was one of those brilliant wintry days where the whole world seemed to sparkle—and freeze. Laura did her usual lurk in the schoolyard, although she supposed a week on she could look James Hill in the eye without blushing. She hoped she could, anyway.
She tried to meet a few mums’ eyes, at least, and a couple gave her fleeting smiles with a look of confusion on their faces—do I know you?, Laura suspected, would be in the thought bubble above their heads.
No one made conversation, and Laura’s one attempt with another mum about the weather—cold—had been met with a vague smile before she’d turned away to talk to someone else.
Well, that was okay. She’d try again tomorrow. As Chantal kept telling her, it was about the trying. She watched Sam troop inside with the other Year Sixes and wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck, in preparation for the icy wind that funnelled down the high street.
“Mrs Neale? May I have a word?”
Laura turned around to see the head teacher smiling at her with the kind of sympathy that made her realise he must know about Tim. James Hill must have told him. That wasn’t really a surprise, of course, but she still had to steel herself against it.
“Yes?”
“I’m Dan Rhodes, the head teacher here. We’ve spoken on the phone a few times…”
“Yes, of course. It’s so nice to meet you properly.”
“And you. I wondered if you had a moment? Nothing serious, quite the contrary…”
“All right.” These unexpected chats were going to give her a heart attack one of these days.
Back into the school she went, although this time she had the privilege of being in Mr Rhodes’ office, which was slightly more spacious than the staffroom, with a desk, two chairs, a large houseplant.
“I hope I didn’t worry you,” Dan Rhodes said with a little laugh, and Laura had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d had a complete debrief of her conversation with James, including her over-the-top anxiety. Great. Hopefully James Hill hadn’t told him about her text, too.
“Not at all.” She gave him a polite smile, the kind that was meant to say, in a friendly way, Get on with it, please.
“Mr Hill mentioned you used to teach history,” he said without preamble. “And that you worked as a teaching assistant?”
“Yes…”
“Because as it happens, we’re in a bit of a bind. Our Year Three teaching assistant has been put on sick leave until the February half-term. We were about to apply to the agency, but it’s always better when there’s a personal connection, don’t you think?”
He smiled winningly at her while Laura st
ared blankly. “You want me…to provide cover?” she finally surmised, a few seconds too late. He was going to think she was thick.
“Er, yes, if you’re free…?”
Of course she was free, and yet…Laura hesitated. Why was Mr Rhodes offering her the position? It was obvious there was little personal connection, considering she knew no one at the school, and it would be just as easy, if not easier, to go through the agency.
“It would only be for five weeks,” he said. “And you seem more than qualified.”
Did she? How on earth would he know that? Then the penny dropped with a depressing thud. This was pity. He knew about Tim and he felt sorry for her. Laura resisted the notion, even as another part of her thought, well, so what?
It was still a job, and they could certainly use the money, and it was only for five weeks. Plus she could keep half an eye on Sam…
And what about James Hill?
Her stomach dipped at the thought, whether in terror or excitement or both Laura couldn’t tell. She’d been avoiding him for the last week, and yet now the thought of seeing him again brought a frisson of…something.
“Well?” Dan asked, and slowly Laura nodded.
“That would be wonderful, actually. I’ve already registered with an agency so you’ll have to go through them anyway, though…”
“That’s fine. We’ll sort out the paperwork and if it’s agreeable to you, you can start as soon as we’ve got it all cleared—hopefully in the next few days.”
Laura felt as if her head was spinning. How had she bagged a job so quickly, and without even trying? Whatever the reason, whether pity or Providence, she was grateful. “Great,” she told Dan. “Thank you.”
Chapter Seven
For heaven’s sake, the noise.
It had been awhile since Laura had been in a classroom—well, a few months anyway—and she’d forgotten just how chaotic they could be. She stood in the doorway of the Year Three classroom while thirty children got their reading records out of their backpacks and went to their tables for twenty minutes of personal reading—an activity that sounded as if it should be quiet, but wasn’t.
The clatter of shoes, the screech and squeak of chairs being moved, the shrieks of girls and the shouts of boys… It was a lovely, welcome, happy sound, but it was also giving Laura a bit of a headache. Fortunately her job this morning was to listen to a group of three, who were struggling with literacy, read from their books. Mrs Frampton, the Year Three teacher, had suggested she take them out to the school hall for some quiet while she got on with the rest.
“All right, Phoebe, Jake, Isla,” Laura said brightly, adopting the brisk cheeriness she used instinctively as a teacher, “shall we find a cosy place out in the hall?”
Rain drummed against the long, narrow windows as Laura arranged a small table and child-sized chairs in one corner of the draughty and decidedly un-cosy hall. It still seemed slightly surreal, that just three days on from her conversation with Dan Rhodes, she was now ensconced in a classroom, and employed for the next five weeks.
She’d been worried about Maggie and Sam’s reaction to her working, which had been clearly unnecessary, because they hadn’t been bothered at all. She was the one who felt the need to hover, not them.
She’d also been worried about Perry, who didn’t like being alone all day; when Tim had been alive, he’d often taken him to work, with Perry blissfully hanging his head out the window of Tim’s truck. The memory still made Laura smile, even as it gave her a pang.
In any case, Perry was taken care of, too; Lindy had offered to take him for a walk and check in on him several times a day. Laura would be home by half past three, so it was just about doable.
And then, lastly, she’d been worried about James, which was another non-starter because she hadn’t even seen him yet this morning, and she seemed unlikely to do much more than pass in the hall during the course of a school day. Which was, of course, absolutely fine.
“So, Biff, Chip, and Kipper,” she said as she glanced at Isla’s book. She’d had years reading these books with Sam and Maggie; they were standard across the entire country, and she remembered many of the well-loved stories. “The Lightning Key. That sounds exciting.”
The next twenty minutes passed peacefully enough, as Laura listened to each child read a page, gently correcting or helping them when needed. Around her the school settled into the day—children heading to the reception area with the registers, the dinner ladies starting up in the kitchen with a clatter and clang of pots.
Laura had forgotten how much she liked this—the hum of a busy, productive place, the feeling of community that could be felt even when she was sitting in a corner with three seven-year-olds. The last year had been, she acknowledged, even more isolating than she’d realised.
“Everything going all right?” Dan Rhodes asked brightly as he paused in the hall on his way to his office.
“Brilliantly, thank you,” Laura assured him. She’d once been in charge of a whole department, before kids, but she was perfectly content with the low level of responsibility she had now. This job might be a great way to get back into full-time teaching, but easy did it.
She didn’t see James until playtime after lunch, when she was standing on the side of the schoolyard, watching a frenetic game of stuck in the mud and enjoying the fresh, if rather frigid, air.
“So how are you finding it?” The smile he gave her as he walked up to her was entirely easy, which somehow disconcerted her all the more. It was almost as if they’d never spoken before, and all the while Laura had been hyper-aware of the admittedly brief conversation they’d had, the whole semi-flirty texting, although she realised now she’d undoubtedly read way too much into a single emoji. Of a lizard.
“It’s fine,” she assured him a bit too heartily. “Really fine. I realise how much I’ve missed teaching.”
“I’m glad—not that you’ve missed teaching, of course, but that you’re enjoying it now. I was worried I was overstepping by putting your name forward to Dan, but it seemed almost providential.”
“I’m grateful you thought of me.” She dug her hands into the pockets of her coat and gazed at the kids careening around the schoolyard, achingly conscious of James standing so close to her and trying not to be.
He was wearing pretty much the same outfit he had before—battered cords, a button-down shirt, brogues. Laura thought he probably wore the same thing every day, and it suited him. When she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, his own glinted with good humour, and for some reason that made her blush. Oh, dear. She needed to get a grip on this—whatever this was. To James, she was quite, quite sure it was nothing. And it should be nothing to her, as well because, oh, for about a million reasons. She kept her gaze on the kids and so did James, although she could see he was smiling faintly.
The playground supervisor rang the big brass bell, and the children, almost as one, began to troop inside. Laura made to move past James, and found he was looking at her, not with that small smile, but with an alarming sort of intensity.
“Duty calls,” she said with an uncertain laugh.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, and then, rather abruptly, he turned and walked away, jogging up to a couple of Year Sixes whom he began chatting to with laughing ease.
Laura stood rooted to the spot, going over his words, analysing them for far more meaning than they likely possessed. I’m glad you’re here. Was that a sympathy sort of thing, or something with more intent? Was she ridiculous to think it was anything but a bit of well-meaning kindness, the sentiment of someone who had felt sorry for her and was glad to have helped?
Of course that was what it was, she thought with a mental facepalm as she headed inside. Of course. And she was a fool to think for a second—to hope—it had meant anything more.
*
That evening Laura stood in front of her mirror, exhausted from the first full day’s work she’d done in months, gazing uncertainly at her reflection. She�
�d been unsure of the dress code for a night out with a few friendly neighbours, and so she’d called Chantal, who was eyeing her critically from her phone, which was propped against her mirror.
“Don’t look as if you’re trying too hard.”
“You’re the one who says I have to try,” Laura replied with a laugh as she pulled at the front of her stretchy top, afraid it showed a bit too much of her admittedly small amount of cleavage.
“Yes, but you’re not on the pull,” Chantal replied. “Are you?”
“Chantal.”
“It was a serious question. What’s the latest with Mr Insanely Gorgeous, by the way?”
“Oh my goodness, I wish I’d never texted that to you,” Laura exclaimed, shaking her head. She had a feeling she’d be hearing about it for months, if not years.
“Well, you didn’t text it to me,” Chantal replied serenely, “did you?”
Laura rolled her eyes. “True enough.” She was just thankful she’d got through the day without James referencing it, although stupidly, that had also caused a little contrary needling of disappointment. Had he forgotten? Perhaps he had women calling him insanely gorgeous every day of the week.
“Did you talk to him today, though?” Chantal asked. “I want all the goss, Laur.”
“We chatted briefly.” That slightly odd exchange in the schoolyard had been their only conversation all day, although Laura had seen him from a distance several times, not that she’d been looking for him. Not exactly, anyway. Goodness, but she was acting like a lovesick teenager. She had to stop that. Really.
“Well, there’s definitely potential there,” Chantal stated. “Now if there is any chance he might be at the pub tonight—”