by Katy Lilley
‘Why Runcorn?’ Bryony asked. ‘A bit random. I mean I’m sure they have courses there, but his firm is based in London. Runcorn seems a bit odd.’
‘Who knows?’ Maisie grimaced. ‘I guess he chose it because I wasn’t likely to query why he didn’t come home each night from a course about his exams. Anyway, instead of revising in Runcorn, he was playing tonsil tennis in the park. It transpires she wasn’t the first. So, on your bike, Stanley. I was a bit of a bitch and dumped him via text, told him a few home truths, and invented a few non-truths to rile him, went out got drunk, and the rest you know. Short, succinct but maybe not sweet.’
‘Maybe not, but superb, I’d say. And now it’s move on, move south and welcome to Daps cottage and the rest of your life.’ Bryony said matter of factly. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of your life.’
Put like that it didn’t sound too bad after all.
Maisie spent just over a week in Devon, enjoying Bryony and Theo’s company while Dario wrote to finish his draft before deadline day. The weather was kind, and the sightseeing fun. As an almost local, Maisie found herself looking at places with different eyes.
Before Maisie headed back to Wimbledon, she and Bryony sat on the seafront eating fish and chips while Theo sucked and mushed her portion.
‘Repellent child,’ Bryony said as only a fond mama could. ‘Argh, it’s in your hair. And who will have to listen to the wails when I have to get it out.’ She slid a sideways glance toward Maisie. ‘Aunty Maisie?
Maisie laughed. ‘Oh no sorry, not me. I’m having an early night. I’m going back to Wimbledon tomorrow to get another car full of my stuff. Then I should be sorted. I’m determined not to spend all of the holidays on the motorway. Anyway, like you reminded me, I need to focus on looking forward not back. The Stanley era is over, long live the Maisie era.’
Bryony clapped and Theo put down her mangled chip to copy her mother. Maisie ducked to avoid a bit of flying fish Theo dislodged from her fingers and chuckled.
‘I’m not clapping because you don’t want to help me bath Miss Mucky-pup here you understand, but because of the rest,’ Bryony said as she wiped a protesting Theo’s hands. ‘You’re beginning to sound like the pre-Stanley Maisie I knew and loved.’
‘Understood,’ Maisie replied. ‘But was I so different?’
Bryony nodded. ‘Yeah, you turned into what you he wanted you to be, or what you thought he wanted you to be.’
Maisie thought about that for a second. ‘I see what you mean. Well, I’m not reverting totally. I don’t want to start chewing gum again, or only wearing odd socks on a Friday. My new me is going to be a really new me. Starting from this minute. Because apart from all that, this last week has gone so fast, it’ll be the end of the holidays in no time and I want to be all perfect for then. I have no intention of letting anyone think they made a mistake when they appointed me.’ Especially Liz Kidder, but she didn’t add that. Even though it was only Bryony she was chatting to, she had no intention of showing all her insecurities. ‘If nothing else I need to check over timetables and who’s got what, where, how, and when.’
With that in mind, Maisie set off early the next morning with the intention of getting ahead of rush hour and back to Wimbledon. As it was midweek and the middle of the school holidays, she had mixed feelings over how well the journey would go.
She got off well, the motorway was busy but there were no hold ups, and apart from the inevitable wee stop she made good time. By lunch time she was parked outside her house. Rumer was sunning herself on Mrs T’s doorstep. She glanced up at Maisie, yawed and went back to sleep.
‘Hello and welcome to you too,’ Maisie murmured as she put her key in the door.
The house had an unloved feeling. Strange when she’d only been away for such a short time. Maisie picked up her post and went to put it on the hall table.
There was already something on the hall table.
A door key with a distinctive purple fob.
Stanley’s key.
She dropped the post and stared at the key. Was it as well she’d not changed the locks or…?
After that it was no big surprise to discover everything of his had gone. Right down to his dirty socks and underpants he’d left next to the linen bin. She’d seen them and had been tempted to bin them and then in all the kerfuffle about the leaky roof she’d forgotten. Typical of him to take them, and forget—or not find the three cans of lager he’d stashed at the back of the fridge, in case anyone else decided to drink them and his football shirt which was screwed up in a carrier under the bed—but take the football pennant he’d given her, and the silver fountain pen she’d loaned him when he’d ‘lost’ his.
The shirt went into the bin, the lager, 2.5% and nasty, down the sink. Stanley was a lightweight but pretended he wasn’t, something Maisie couldn’t understand for there was no shame in not drinking much, anything but. She had great pleasure in putting a post on social media saying whoever had borrowed the pen, please send it back as it had great sentimental value. It hadn’t, not really, but she knew Bryony would see the post and share it as well. It wouldn’t get the pen back but the ‘oh where did you last have it’ comments could help it run and run. The fact people would deduce who the culprit was even naming no names gave her great satisfaction.
Maisie said a few choice swear words under her breath and started doing her big fat tidy up. Halfway through Mrs T appeared carrying Rumer who gave Maisie a narrow eyed, smug smile, and then once more ignored her.
Mrs T was upset. ‘I wouldn’t have thought a cat could be so annoying,’ she confessed. ‘You’ve given Rumer everything a cat could want, and now this.’ She was close to tears.
Maisie patted her shoulder. ‘You give the darling fresh fish every Friday. And her bed is everything any cat could ever want. Plus, most of all you’re there. Don’t worry, I’m happy she’s in good hands.’
‘If you say so.’ Mrs T didn’t sound convinced. ‘I know it sounds so bad, but to have a cat around again is so lovely. We keep each other company.’
Maisie nodded, and managed not to mention Ron, Mrs T’s gentleman friend, who if local gossip, and Mrs T’s coy remarks were to be taken as gospel, also kept Mrs T company. In more ways than one.
Lucky thing.
‘She’s much happier here with you.’ Maisie held up the kettle. ‘Want a cuppa?’
Mrs T looked worried again. ‘I better not, dear. Ron’s bringing dinner around soon. He’s made a lasagne. Or so he says.’ She smiled. ‘Last time he cooked, curry it was, he forgot to take the supermarket bill out of the carrier. Mind you he had gone for the better quality one, so I can’t complain.’
‘Definitely not.’ Maisie said straight-faced. ‘I hope you enjoy it. I’m stopping overnight and then heading back to get ready for the start of term. Thank you so much for offering to keep an eye on things.’
‘There now, if it means you’re not selling up I’m happy to rearrange the curtains and turn lights on and off.’
Not only did Mrs T reassure Maisie about the house, Dario and Bryony proved to be godsends. Both had advised her not to sell her home unless she was sure she’d get a good price for it, and it was what she really wanted.
‘After all,’ Dario said as they all sat in the Garden of Daps Cottage a few weeks later, just before school term started. ‘You might want a break there. You’ve got somewhere to live in Little Bristow, which if you love it, we can sell you, and if you don’t there’s always a loan from my loaded wife to buy where you want to live until Wimbledon sells. Which wouldn’t take long, I reckon. Hell, I want first dibs. We’ve talked about a base in town for years. Please don’t let it go until I’ve given you a proper offer. You know the get three quotes and ask for the average or above.’
‘Ah, okay.’ That was the last thing Maisie had expected to hear. ‘But I might keep it. Always visiting room for you three though.’ She thought a second. ‘And when you’re five.’
‘Great. Either way, good fo
r showing Theo and the new two when they come the sights, for meeting my publishers and for anything else we might think of.’
Maisie wasn’t sure what a 15 month old baby and two tiny tots would get from her parents showing them Buckingham Place, the Shard and Wimbledon at such young ages, but who was she to know? She had always loved having them visit and if she did decide to sell it was comforting to know she’d get an offer.
A few days later, she squeezed past three large as yet unpacked boxes and made a conscious decision to de-clutter Daps Cottage properly. It hadn’t got enough storage space for eleven pairs of boots—her downfall and of which she only wore three on a regular basis—and all the stuff she’d saved just in case.
Her Saturday morning clear out gave up five bin bags of clothes not worn for at least three years bound for the charity shop, and her rubbish bin overflowed.
All this zealous action was all very well, she mused, but it had given her a woozy head and a sicky feeling. Not what she wanted the weekend before school started.
‘Wash up, and then sit with a cuppa,’ she said out loud, and went to the sink to fill the kettle.
And baulked.
In front of her was her unwashed breakfast dishes. Maisie took one glance at the congealing egg on her plate and dashed to the loo, to lose what she had eaten for breakfast. Not a good start to the restful weekend she hoped for. What had she eaten? She rummaged in the freezer to get a clue and was appalled at the type of food in there. She needed to make a dent in the fish fingers, steak and frozen dinners. Why did she have four packs of fish fingers when she only ate them once in a blue moon? They weren’t even the gluten free ones Bryony could eat. Three of the frozen dinners were lasagnes. She didn’t like lasagne. They were from the Stanley era and for some reason had been shoved in a cool box and transported south.
Maisie found a clean and hole free t-shirt, a pair of jeans with a zip that stopped up without needing a safety pin through it and headed out.
She did her weekly hated shop in the local supermarket and dodged kids with their mini versions of a trolley, men who had one ear glued to their phones and asking such diverse questions, as ‘I can’t find those dishwasher tablets, will another make do?’ and ‘What the hell does fennel look like?’ Plus one woman who wailed into her phone, ‘he wants a cineraria for his office. What on earth is that? It sounds like some form of TV movie to me.’
There was silence and then a squawk. ‘That’s it; he can do his own shopping. I mean just think about it, yoghurt covered cherries are one thing, but enough is enough.’
Would you get those in Devon? Did they even exist? Would she be able to afford such things on her salary now she had moved? Maisie thought about it. She also thought it was time to suck it up and do her shopping online again, or at least not on a Saturday when everyone else seemed to descend on the place. The problem was, that dodging trolleys, fellow shoppers and eager demonstrators determined to sell her the latest newest whatever, notwithstanding, she liked to pick her own fruit and veg. Discover what was on offer and feel smug when she didn’t succumb to said offers that she didn’t need.
Maisie was glad to head home and sit in the garden.
The following day she didn’t even have breakfast before she had to dash to the loo and reacquaint herself with the inside of the porcelain.
Not good.
Not good at all.
A nasty suspicion began to form in her mind, and no matter what she did she couldn’t shake it.
Halfway through the morning she rang Deb.
‘Hi! How’s it going, all set? We’ve got in-service as well tomorrow, holidays went too fast, didn’t they?’ Deb rattled on cheerfully once Maisie identified herself. ‘Going to have to try and get down to see you. Maybe half term or are you off somewhere exotic?’
‘Doubt it. I just wondered, Deb, when did we last come on?’
There was silence. The hollow feeling in the pit of Maisie’s stomach got more evident.
‘Ah,’ Deb said. ‘I’ve had a couple since you left. Came on day before yesterday, in fact. Are you late?’
‘Yeah, but then it’s no wonder after everything that’s going on. I’ve got the cramps, but typical I forgot to red dot my diary.’ Relief flooded her. A couple of days what with everything that was going on was nothing in the grand scheme of things. ‘My body is having a whale of a time upsetting my 4.3 week cycle. Last month I was two days early. Thanks hon. So, you all set now?’
Half an hour Maisie put the phone down, relieved and a lot happier, checked her notes and lists for the following day, and went to make a much needed cup of coffee. No wonder her cycle was haywire. What with all the upheavals it was a wonder she hadn’t come out in spots and developed a cold as well.
Maisie sniffed the beans and wrinkled her nose. Did coffee go off? Because something had. It smelled awful. Bad enough to turn her stomach again.
She made tea instead.
****
In-service came and went. So did her dodgy tum. It reminded her of her mum’s adage, up and down like a lady of the night’s knickers. One minute on the up, the next not. The in-service day had been her first test. She sent out the itinerary, asked for anything people wanted to discuss and walked into school with butterflies in her stomach.
This was the first hurdle to get over. She had no intention of stumbling.
She survived Liz’s queries, also Maisie decided, known as nit picking; was grateful to Ken Dent’s cheerful acceptance of what she hoped he would do and Pam’s genuine welcome.
Liz would just have to get used to the fact her repetition of, ‘we’ve always done it this way’, wasn’t going to make any difference.
Maisie gritted her teeth, smiled sweetly and replied, ‘and now we are going to do it this way. All things change eventually. I’ve been tasked to do certain things and we’re going to do our best to achieve them. If you have any complaints after a reasonable period of time, we’ll address them then. To complain before we’ve tried things is a bit defeatist, don’t you think?’
Maybe not as conciliatory or polite as she could have been, but Maisie decided blunt speaking was needed. Liz scowled but didn’t reply. Ken nodded and Pam grinned.
‘Well said, boss. Not to move forward when needed will make us stagnant.’
‘Sludgy,’ Ken added and laughed. ‘Stodgy, stuck in a rut.’
‘So, let’s go for success,’ Maisie said in keeping with the ‘s’ theme that appeared to be going on. ‘Superior, sporting success, smashing school reports. Sorted.’
Ken and Pam high fived. Liz scowled and muttered something Maisie didn’t hear.
‘If you have serious concerns now, Liz’ she said in a no-nonsense tone, ‘then I suggest you wait back and discuss them with me now. Otherwise, see you all bright and early tomorrow.’
Liz shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’
Maisie nodded. ‘Fair enough, let’s all head home.’
She intended an early night, and to be at school before anyone else.
She managed it by five minutes. Liz’s disappointed expression when she saw Maisie in the staff room, with the kettle on and a box of pastries on the table was a picture.
‘Morning,’ Maisie said pleasantly. ‘All set for a new term?’ She waved towards the box of pastries. ‘I wasn’t sure what everyone liked so went for a mixture. You’ll have to let me know what you prefer.’ She waited to be told Liz didn’t eat sweet things.
She didn’t have to wait for long. ‘I won’t.’ Liz paused and added in a stilted little voice. ‘Thank you. Too much sugar is bad for you.’
‘True,’ Maisie said pleasantly. ‘And I won’t be providing them very often, but I thought as it was the first day of a new school year, my first day here, your first day working with me, and our first day as a team, it might be nice. But no worries if you don’t want one.’
‘More for me,’ Pam said. She’d entered, unnoticed. ‘Did you buy these, Liz?’ She turned her head towards Maisie and winked. ‘Tha
t’s so good of you.’
‘I didn’t. Miss MacLean did.’ She made it sound like bribery and corruption.
Pam’s lips twitched. ‘Miss M… oh hell, we don’t have to call you that between ourselves, do we?’
Maisie laughed. ‘Don’t forget to genuflect. No of course you don’t. I’d rather be informal when we can.’
Liz stiffened. ‘I happen to think that for the sake of our pupils they know us formally.’
‘Oh lordy, Liz, get off your high horse,’ Pam said. ‘Where are they? Hiding under the table? Ducked under the window ledge outside? If you think I’m going to start calling you Mrs Kidder you’ve another think coming. We’ve never done it before, so why start now?’
Liz shrugged. ‘We all knew each other.’
‘And before long we will all know each other,’ Pam said. ‘Get over yourself. Can I choose which pastry I want?’ she asked Maisie. ‘Just the thing to give me a sugar boost before I go and see what my little darlings might decide I have to cope with. Taking a class of a few seven year olds, a lot of eight year olds and three nine year olds is not going to be a picnic.’
‘If I didn’t think you could do it, you wouldn’t have them,’ Maisie said. ‘However much it would have meant changing things.’ She did a bit of fast thinking. ‘Liz is so suited to the older children and the perfect person to get them ready for senior school. You are the perfect person to get them ready for Liz’s class. We’ve got to have composites this year, and I’ve tried to sort it so every child can realise their full potential.’
Liz snorted and turned it into a cough. Maisie fished in her pocket and came out with a bag of throat sweets. She handed one to Liz with a challenge in her eyes. ‘Sugar Free.’
Liz took one and muttered something that could have been thank you.
‘What am I perfect for?’ Ken asked as he came in, poured a coffee ad looked over the pastries.