by Kate Hewitt
She was too old. She was being ridiculous, flirting with James, in her clumsy, cack-handed way. He was probably just humouring her, the way he had when he’d told her she was gorgeous. Maybe he knew she had something of a crush on him and he was enjoying the bit of ego stroking. Maybe she was just something different.
However it played, it still made her feel foolish and a little bit humiliated, and then she wondered if she was being ridiculous, overreacting because that was what she did, what she couldn’t keep herself from doing ever since Tim’s accident, and that made her feel even more foolish. It was a never-ending, vicious cycle. One she needed to break out of, and she could only do that with effort. By trying, like Chantal had said.
Impulsively Laura grabbed her phone off the countertop and took a sneaky photo of James as he set the table before going to get Maggie. As she headed upstairs she texted Chantal the photo with the caption: Guess who’s coming to dinner?
The response was instantaneous—a raft of emojis, relevant ones this time—hearts, fireworks, champagne, stunned face. He really is INSANE!
Laura struggled not to laugh out loud. All right, that had been reckless; now Chantal was going to think she was dating him, or something absurd like that. She’d just wilfully stoked the fire of her friend’s wild conjecture. But it had been fun, and she realised as she knocked on Maggie’s door, that she wanted to have fun. She wanted to enjoy having a handsome man in her house, at her dinner table. Was that so very wrong?
“Maggie, love, dinner’s ready.”
“Fine.”
“We have a guest tonight,” Laura said, because she thought her daughter would appreciate the warning.
“What?” Maggie’s voice was a near-screech as she opened the door to glare at Laura suspiciously. “Who?”
“Sam’s teacher. He walked Sam home from Minecraft Club and I’m thanking him by giving him dinner.” Laura spoke as lightly as she could and did her best not to blush. Maggie’s eyes narrowed further.
“Oh-kay,” she said, sounding unconvinced.
Laura smiled. “It’s just about ready.”
As she came downstairs, she saw the table was laid; James had even used folded paper towels as napkins.
“Fancy,” Laura remarked, and he ducked his head.
“I do my best. It’s not often I eat in company. Half of my meals are standing at the sink, the other half in front of the TV, I’m ashamed to say.”
“Well, enjoy eating at a table while you can,” Laura returned. Her phone, still in her hand, lit up with a text from Chantal. I want all the details!!! Plus emojis, including some questionable ones. Quickly Laura swiped it off and put it away where James might not actually see a stray text. They’d definitely had enough of that.
As Laura drained the pasta, Maggie sloped downstairs, giving James an uncertain look while he offered a wide smile.
“Hello, I’m James.”
“Mr Hill,” Sam corrected, and James replied easily:
“Mr Hill to you, Sam, yes, while we’re in school, but to your sister I can be James.”
Maggie stayed silent. Laura doubted she would call him anything, but she’d seen how her daughter’s eyes widened at the sight of James. For better or for worse, he really was that good-looking.
They all sat down, and Laura had a jarring moment as she looked around at their faces. Four people at the dinner table. It felt both good and strange, sad and sweet. She glanced at her children to see how they were finding it; Sam looked delighted, Maggie still wary.
James, fortunately, was an excellent conversationalist, especially with kids, which was a relief since Laura feared they might be fairly monosyllabic, save for Sam who only wanted to talk about Minecraft.
“Sam, you are such a nerd,” Maggie said, without any aggression at least, when he started talking about the cows. Again.
“If Sam’s a nerd, then I am too,” James said lightly, without any censure. His smile, aimed at Maggie, included everyone. “I love Minecraft.”
Maggie looked incredulous but a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips and she dropped the subject, reaching over to pour herself another glass of milk. Laura shot James a grateful look, and was surprised to see his eyes narrow as his gaze scanned Maggie before he quickly looked away. Had she missed something?
Trying not to spiral into that special brand of parental paranoia, Laura steered the conversation to nicer topics—half-term and skiing being top of the list.
“You must all be so excited,” James said.
There was a brief, awkward pause, before Sam said, “Mum’s not going.”
James glanced at Laura. “Oh?”
“I’m not a skier. And, you know, grandparent time.” They’d finished eating so she rose to clear the table, and James stood to help her. “Coffee?” she asked when Maggie had retreated upstairs and Sam was back on the sofa. It was not quite privacy, but an approximation of it. “Or do you need to get back?”
James hesitated, and Laura cursed herself for asking. She’d probably sounded hopeful. Desperate. Of course he needed to get back.
“Sure,” James said finally, and Laura almost said he didn’t have to, before she decided to stop being so sensitive and just go with whatever flow was happening. She turned on the kettle while James scraped plates into the bin. She could imagine Chantal crowing exultantly about this. He really is a keeper.
As Laura made the coffee, however, she didn’t think she was imagining the slight reserve that had come over him, like a chill. He wasn’t offering his usual easy chitchat, and whenever she glanced at him he looked preoccupied.
She handed him his coffee and then leaned against the counter, raising her eyebrows in enquiry as she wondered if she had the courage to ask him what he was thinking about, because it was clearly something.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked lightly, and he gave her an abashed smile of acknowledgement.
“Sorry, I was miles away for a moment.”
Which told her precisely nothing. Laura didn’t dare ask anything more. She probably didn’t want to know, anyway.
“So Maggie’s been finding it tough?” James finally asked, pitching his voice low enough that Sam hopefully wouldn’t hear.
“Mainly she’s been angry. She had a nice group of friends back in Woodbridge—at least I thought they were nice. But after Tim died she declared they were all fake and basically refused to have anything to do with them. I hoped we’d have a reset here, but it hasn’t worked out that way so far.” She tried to smile and almost managed it.
“No,” James agreed, and he looked so concerned for a moment that Laura’s heart lurched.
“What?” she asked abruptly. “Why are you asking?”
James hesitated, and then he put his coffee cup down. Laura started to feel the icy fingers of panic clutch at her.
“James…”
“Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”
Okay, now she was properly panicked, heart thudding, hands icy. She glanced at Sam, who was oblivious.
“Okay.”
They slipped outside, Laura closing the door behind them, in poor Perry’s face. He’d been hoping for a wee, no doubt, and then his bedtime biscuit, although it was a bit early.
“James, what is it?” Her breath came out in a frosty puff that dissipated into the night air.
“Look, I don’t want to panic you—”
“I’m already panicked.”
“I’m sorry, Laura. I might be overreacting, but…” He looked so serious, so sad, that Laura was having trouble breathing. Everything in her clenched with fear. She’d been in this place before, and yet she couldn’t be in it again now. What on earth could James be telling her? What could he possibly know about Maggie, who was safe upstairs in her bedroom, hopefully doing homework?
“When we were at dinner,” James explained heavily, “I happened to see the inside of Maggie’s arm, when she was reaching for the milk.”
“What…” The word was expelled like a
breath as she stared at him in confusion.
“There were some lines along the inside of her elbow. I’ve seen them before—both in pupils at school, mainly girls, but also on my own sister.” He sighed as he met her gaze unhappily. “I think Maggie might be self-harming.”
“Self…” Laura’s mind reeled as she tried to absorb what he was saying. “You mean, cutting herself? Her arm?”
“Yes.”
Laura opened her mouth to deny it, but no words came out. Maggie was angry, not depressed—and yet as soon as Laura had the thought, she knew it was wrong. Anger could cover lots of things—depression, sorrow, fear, grief. She knew that, of course she did, and yet somehow she hadn’t really seen it in her daughter, not when the anger was so often directed at her.
“But…” she began, and then she found she couldn’t say anything more. She felt, quite suddenly, as if she’d been punched in the gut, as if everything in her was crumpling. Then James’s arms were around her and he drew her against his chest, and the touch was so intimate, so unexpected, that Laura’s senses reeled again, an overload of pain and gratitude, of fear and comfort. She craved this, and yet she didn’t want to need it in this moment. Poor Maggie…
“I’m sorry, Laura,” James murmured. “I know you’re already dealing with so much. But I couldn’t not say something.”
“I know,” she whispered. “Thank you.” Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder and she closed her eyes, savouring the feel of his arms around her even as her heart ached and ached for her daughter.
“There are a lot of resources out there to help,” he continued. “And there’s a fantastic counsellor in Witney I’ve had some of my pupils see.”
“Year Sixes are self-harming?” The thought saddened her even more.
“You’d be amazed, and not in a good way. It’s hard to be a kid these days.” He squeezed her gently before stepping away. “You’re not in this alone,” he told her, and teary-eyed, still-reeling Laura slowly nodded. For once she believed him.
Chapter Eleven
“You’re Sam’s mum, aren’t you?”
Warily Laura looked at the woman who was gazing at her with a beady-eyed, brisk determination. It was Monday morning, and the Year Sixes were lining up with everyone else; Laura was about to head into school to start work.
“Yes…”
“I’m Harriet, Will’s mum.” She stuck out a hand, which Laura shook, mentally bracing herself for whatever came next. She’d heard about Harriet, of course, from several sources, about how she could be a bit much, in the nicest way possible, and how she ran half the committees in the village, and probably could do so with one arm tied behind her back.
She had three children, including the somewhat boisterous Will in Year Six. Laura remembered how Sam had been reserved in his judgement of Will, which had set off the clanging of alarm bells in Laura’s brain.
“I was wondering if Sam would like to have a play date with Will?” Harriet asked, and then wrinkled her nose. “I know they hate calling it a play date at their age, but I don’t know what other term to use. A hang out? Will would roll his eyes at that one.” She smiled encouragingly and, startled, Laura smiled back. This she had not expected.
“A play date?” she repeated, just to check.
“Yes, maybe later this week? If Sam is free?” Harriet raised her eyebrows in expectation while Laura struggled to come up with a coherent response. She couldn’t remember the last time Sam had had a play date.
“Um, sure, yes,” she finally managed. “Let me just check with Sam.”
“Of course. I think Will mentioned it to him at Minecraft Club this week—he’s been loving that, you know. And I love the lack of guilt over screen time.” She smiled conspiratorially and Laura smiled back.
“Yes, it’s so hard to pry Sam off that thing, but Mr Hill does say Minecraft is educational.” She stumbled over his name slightly, so accustomed had she become to calling him James.
It had been two weeks since he’d come to dinner, told her about Maggie’s self-harming, and given her a hug—three events that together felt as if they’d changed the shape of her life. After James had left, Laura had gone back inside, still reeling from it all, struggling to know how to talk to Maggie about what she’d learned.
After googling some helpful advice on various mental health and parenting websites, she’d spoken to Maggie the next morning, when they were alone, having taken a personal day from work.
The conversation hadn’t been the heartfelt unburdening she’d been secretly hoping for, but neither had it been terrible. Maggie had been defensive as usual, but not so angry, and when Laura had mentioned the marks on her arm—keeping James out of it—she’d rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, chill, Mum. Everybody does it. It’s, like, normal.”
“Hurting yourself is normal?” Laura couldn’t keep the dismay from her voice.
“It’s just a dare kind of thing.” Maggie pulled up the sleeve of her jumper to show Laura the marks—three straight lines on the inside of her elbow, just as James had said. They weren’t alarmingly deep, but neither were they mere scratches. She’d gazed at them sadly, feeling an overwhelming sorrow for all that had brought them to this moment.
“What do you use to make them?” she’d asked, trying to get her head around the whole horrible concept.
Maggie shrugged. “A razor, usually.”
“A razor…” Appalled shock had hardened into maternal resolve. She needed to take control of this situation, instead of always trying to appeal to some more reasonable side of her daughter that she was no longer sure existed. She was the mother. She was going to make the rules.
And so she’d insisted Maggie go to counselling in Witney; the counsellor James had recommended fortunately had space for weekly appointments. She’d limited Maggie’s time on her phone—a battle she hadn’t had the energy to face in the last year—and made sure it was charging in the kitchen every night at nine o’clock.
Maggie had resisted and raged against these measures, as Laura had known she would, but instead of giving in to the endless guilt and self-doubt she had done her best to stay strong. And Maggie had, amazingly, relented.
Over the last two weeks, through Maggie’s suspension and school after it, they’d made steps. Small steps, but progress nonetheless, and Laura was determined to look on the bright side. Chantal had said much the same, when she’d given her the rundown of what had happened, and her friend had been wonderfully pragmatic about it all.
“I haven’t even told you the half of what I got up to at that age,” she’d said with a theatrical shudder. “And I’m not sure I’m willing to, even now. I’m not saying you should dismiss it, of course, only that Maggie isn’t the only one getting up to things. And you’re taking the right steps, Laura. That’s what is important.”
It was, Laura knew, in no small part thanks to James that she’d had the strength to do any of it. He’d shared what his parents had done when his sister had been in a similar situation, and he’d checked in on her every day, sometimes just a smile and a lift of the eyebrow, other times a conversation in the schoolyard while Laura confessed she felt as if she were stumbling around in the dark.
“I imagine that’s how most parents feel,” he’d remarked equably. “It’s a fearsome responsibility, isn’t it, to raise another human being?”
“It certainly is.” She’d glanced at him, curious, and also bold enough now their friendship had been somewhat cemented to ask, “Do you think you want children one day?”
James had smiled and shrugged. “Well, I’ve got to meet the right woman first, haven’t I?”
Which surely wouldn’t be her. She was edging onto the shelf when it came to child-bearing. She looked away, not wanting any of her thoughts to be reflected in her face, because while James had been a brilliant friend, Laura was struggling not to crush on him, which was difficult when he was being so lovely.
But at least she’d got through the week of Maggie’s suspension, taking
the afternoons off work to spend time with her daughter, and Maggie had gone back to school peaceably enough. She had two counselling sessions under her belt and she seemed a little less angry, although her quietness still worried Laura, if she let it.
“So later this week?” Harriet prompted, and Laura realised she’d been miles away.
“Sorry, yes. I’ll check with Sam and get back to you tomorrow.”
“Great.” Harriet cocked her head, her smile turning sympathetic. “How are things? I heard through the Wychwood grapevine that you lost your husband a year ago.”
Laura knew she shouldn’t be surprised that Harriet had heard; she’d told enough people for word to get around. Amazingly, she didn’t dread the conversation about it as much as she might have even just a few weeks ago. She’d progressed in that way, too.
“Yes, a car accident the December before last. It’s been hard, but we’re getting there.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m sure everyone says that, but I do mean it. And the truth is, I don’t know what else there is to say.”
“Not much,” Laura admitted. “It’s not an easy conversation to have on either side, to be honest.”
“No.” Harriet was quiet for a moment. “I went through a rough time a few years ago—nothing like what you’ve experienced, of course—”
Laura held up a hand to stop that avenue of apology she’d been down too many times before, with no one feeling like they could share their own griefs, as if that would somehow be presumptuous or inappropriate. “It’s not a competition.”
“No,” Harriet agreed with a small, relieved smile. “Anyway, it was all a bit of a mess. My husband and I separated—he had what I suppose you’d call an emotional affair—we lost our house and the lifestyle to which I had become accustomed.” She made a face. “And that is as snobby as it sounds, unfortunately. I had a really privileged position, and somehow I thought it had been all up to me. Anyway.” She blew out a breath. “I was humbled in a big way, and that actually turned out to be a good thing. And I don’t even know where I’m going with this anymore.”