by Katy Lilley
‘PE,’ Pam said.
‘And the six and seven year olds who have had the luck not to be in reception with the new teacher up at the school,’ Maisie said. ‘Is there anything I need to know before school starts?’
No one mentioned anything. Maisie checked her watch. ‘Then by my reckoning the bell will ring in five minutes. Good luck everyone.’ If no one else needed it, she reckoned she did.
Chapter Six
By the time the bell rang at the end of the day, she was weary. Not that there had been many problems other than first day nerves from some of her reception class. They’d all spent a day and a half in school the previous term, and taken part in sports day, but she well understood how different it all was when it was for real.
One tiny five year old was in tears because she was worried her mum would forget she wasn’t at nursery and not collect her. Maisie reassured her, saying as her mum had brought her to school surely she’d pick her up in the same place. Luke and Lisa had grinned when they’d dashed by at playtime and nudged each other before chorusing, ‘Hello, Miss MacLean,’ and giggling. One stroppy ten year old had insisted he wasn’t allowed to go outside, but in lieu of a doctor’s note, and Pam’s brief shake of the head and a mouthed, ‘load of cobblers’, Maisie said firmly fresh air would do him good. He sulked and scowled.
‘I’m gonna tell me mum you’re mean.’
Maisie smiled. ‘That’s not mean. You’ve not seen me anywhere near mean yet.’
She’d adjudicated over one disputed drinks bottle, one chocolate bar with a bite out of it, and weirdly a plimsoll.
That had caused the most trouble.
‘S’my dap and he’s stolen it,’ a truculent seven year old said, after the alleged perpetrator and the injured party had been sent to her. ‘S’not right it’s s’not. How can I do PE with only one dap eh? You tell me that, Miss.’
‘Why would he need it?’ Maisie asked, mildly. ‘He can’t use three. He’s only got two legs.’
‘He stole it cos it means I can’t trial for the running. And so he’d get in a’cos I’m faster.’
‘I think I’ll have a word with Mr Dent,’ Maisie said, thinking fast. ‘Maybe get you both to do it barefoot.’
Child two burst into tears. ‘No, Miss, I’ve got a verruca and it aint ‘alf sore. So I’s thought if I borrered his shoe it would help it. His are newer ‘un mine. Me mum says no new ones til I’ve outgrown t’ones I got.’
That took a bit of conversation to sort out and a promise to talk to child two’s mum. Maisie hoped she instilled some ethics into two small brains and wondered why the child hadn’t seen a doctor. A memo to check out what the school’s usual response was in such a situation was jotted down.
The following day, Liz Kidder took one look at her and smirked. ‘You look dreadful. It does take a special sort of person to cope with being a head. Too much for you? Do you wish you’d turned the job down? There’s a lot to deal with.’
Maisie saw red. ‘Oh, there is. To deal with. As for too much? Not at all, unless you count lack of respect and support from staff. But then I suppose that’s some people’s way of coping with their inadequacies.’ She wanted to withdraw the words as soon as she said then, but of course, she couldn’t.
Liz went red, white and red again. ‘Are you saying I’m inadequate?’ she asked shrilly. ‘Because if you are, I’ll…’
‘Yes? You’ll what?’ Maisie asked in the type of voice anyone who knew her would get ready to duck. ‘I don’t understand. Did I mention you? Say anything about you?’
Liz tightened her lips and scowled. Maisie nodded. ‘Exactly so.’
Pam and Ken entered together. Pam glanced from one to the other and smiled at Maisie. ‘Great to see you, I’m so looking forward to the new broom you.’
Maisie grinned. ‘I’ve been called a lot of things, but never a broom. Thank you.’
Liz snorted.
Maisie ignored her. ‘I’m happy we’re all here and raring to go. Now, as the bell is about to ring, I suggest we get the rest of this term started.’ And I can get a glass of water. What’s the best thing to get rid of a dodgy tum when the tablets don’t work? She made a note to Google it.
Google wasn’t very helpful, and she decided if she believed everything she read, she’d be a shivering, gibbering mass of insecurities and sure she had something unpronounceable and no doubt incurable. She resolved to concentrate on sorting out everything she needed to discover at school. By the end of the week, she knew most of the school children’s names, relieved there wasn’t too many called after the current pop star or mega million worth sportsman, so tired she was ready for bed by eight, content the week had gone better than she could ever have expected, and still feeling sick.
She was going to have to visit the chemist.
The following day she understood something else.
She had to make a tricky phone call.
Ten minutes later, Maisie put the phone down and sighed. That was one hurdle over with a positive, albeit negative result.
She pondered about whether to cop out and text Stanley, but really, she had to see him face to face. When she finally got through to Stanley, by dint of leaving a message on his answerphone saying, ‘I have some news that might interest you, regarding something very important,’ he rang back within minutes with a very grumpy, ‘What?’
‘Sadly, I need to see you about something important.’
There was no response.
‘Stanley, are you still there?’
‘Yes, why?’ He didn’t half sound grumpy. ‘It’s over, there’s nothing more to be said.’
There is you know. ‘I’ve got some news that you need to hear.’
He huffed impatiently. She could picture him, red faced and tutting. ‘Tell me now then. I don’t have time to see you,’ he snapped. ‘Get on with it. We don’t have anything important to say to each other. Unless you have my car’s MOT certificate, I can’t find it here. We’re not all able to swan around with so many weeks holiday a year. I’ve got a lot to do.’
‘Too busy in Runcorn or whoever’s knickers I suppose.’ Ouch. When was she usually so catty? When she was pregnant and had to tell her ex.
‘If you’re going to be like that, I’ll…’
‘No don’t hang up,’ Maisie said in a hurry. ‘I’m pregnant.’
The silence lasted all of a second before he sighed loudly. ‘We’re not together anymore, not my problem. Nothing to do with me.’ He was dismissive. ‘Don’t expect me to be involved. I’ve never wanted children, and I took precautions as well as you. If you did of course? Is this you trying to trap me, because if it is, you’re on a losing streak. Cheryl doesn’t want kids either, so I’m going to have a vasectomy.’ He sniffed. ‘Don’t try and pin this on me, Maisie it’ll do no good. I’m with her. In fact, I should have been earlier, but didn’t want to upset you with all the stuff about your job going on.’ He even had the gall to sound smug and self-righteous.
You bastard. ‘Upset me? Load of codswallop. When you were having your cake and eating it instead of being in Runcorn, you were screwing her. Were you ever going to tell me you’d found someone else? Or were you happy to keep me in reserve? You absolute asshole. You better keep your pecker in your pocket for a while, Stanley. Do you realise once you’ve been snipped, the ability to procreate doesn’t immediately cease?’ she asked sweetly. ‘It would be ironic if you had an accident. However, I am so glad you don’t want to be involved and that you don’t want kids. What child deserves to be saddled with a plonker like you as a father?’
The phone went dead. She’d worried about telling him something so momentous over the phone, but it seemed she needn’t have bothered.
Well, that was the end of Stanley. Cheryl was welcome to him. Now what?
Get a doctor to confirm what seven pregnancy tests had said.
And then…?
Maybe she needed to make a list. She found a pad and a pencil, made a cup of decaffeinated coffee and h
eaded into the garden. Okay, so let me see. She started with ‘get to docs’, ‘get dates’, and then dropped her pencil. Went hot, cold and hot again.
Dates.
Oh, bloody Nora. Dates. Dates for conception and dates. As in last time I slept with Stan. And, as in Cam of the one night stand. Shower sex. Shit. It was enough to bring anyone out in a cold sweat. The need to have her pregnancy and a due date confirmed was getting more and more imperative.
It looked like she really was pregnant. How would she cope? Shit, I’ve just started a new job, I’ll be a single mum, in charge of other people’s children. Will I be seen as a bad example? Will I even be able to keep my job? Or cope? Or…Enough. Get it confirmed at the doctor’s, then panic if need be. At least they didn’t have moral turpitude as an offence in the UK, but Maisie could well imagine Liz’s reaction when the news of her impending motherhood was revealed.
Luckily, she’d signed on at the local surgery and unusually the doctor did a Saturday session once a month for those who couldn’t do the 8.30 to 11, or 3.30 to 5.30 with ease. Someone had cancelled and she got the appointment. Sadly at 8.40, but she didn’t care. She’d have gone at 6 am if it meant getting everything sorted out there and then.
Apart from the dash to the loo, the weak tea and dry toast she had a feeling was going to be her breakfast for the foreseeable future, and the horror of setting her alarm on her precious weekend, Maisie was happy she was going to find out if all those tests were true.
They were.
Alas, when the doctor did an examination, her conclusion with regards to the possible date of conception, was no help at all.
Maisie thanked her politely, said she’d look forward to her hospital visit, and that no, the father was no longer in her life, and left the surgery with her vitamins, and her head reeling.
Just who was the father of her child?
If it was Stanley, then that was that. She’d told him, he wasn’t interested which was fine, more than fine by Maisie. If it was Cam…
She closed her eyes in despair. Oh lordy. Yes, he’d used protection—she’d gloss over that shower session for now—but as the doctor had said no protection was infallible…apart from no sex.
Oh God, I was right, I am a slut. I deserve shooting. Who on earth can be so bloody irresponsible? Okay, it took two to tango, or trip the light fantastic, or have unprotected sex—intentional or not—and it was very definitely not—but she would be the one to bear the consequences. She wandered towards her car parked near to the supermarket—she might as well get the shopping over and done with—and did her sums as she thought back over the doctors words.
‘If we work from your last period, which was when?’ The doctor had raised her eyebrows.
Why not ask me something simple, like Einstein’s theory of relativity. Which she was somewhat hazy about. Her period date was not as easy as it sounded.
‘Hmm. I’ve missed one, and had a light one, but put it down to the stress of moving and splitting up with my two-timing, philandering boyfriend.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Obviously not. So around mid July I reckon. I seem to have forgotten to write it down. It was near the end of term and by the time I’d written reports, sorted out squabbling kids and navigated through London traffic, it took all my time to remember to eat, let alone update my diary.’
‘Easily done.’ the doctor said in a sympathetic voice. ‘The hospital will be more specific about dates, but end of April is as good as it gets at the moment. As there’s no father around, you might need to think about a birth buddy.’
By Maisie’s reckoning, that meant telling Bryony, and hoping she’d be the encouraging partner with regards to the push and pant stuff. All being well and good Maisie reckoned she could work until February half term. Then she’d take her maternity leave of course, and then…
And then? God knew what would happen then. At least she’d checked and she would be able to take maternity leave and still have a job, but logistically it could well be a nightmare. Nannies, childcare, sleepless nights and… and she went all gooey inside. And my child.
The doctor had handed her a sheaf of leaflets, a prescription for vitamins and cheerfully told her that with luck, her sickness wouldn’t last long. She hoped the woman was correct.
‘Earth to Maisie, what are you doing up so early? I thought Saturday lie-ins were sacrosanct?’
Maisie swore under her breath and thanked her lucky stars she’d put all the gumph from the doctor into her bag. Of all the people she could bump into it had to be Bryony. Bryony of the eagle eyes, who knew her better than almost anyone. ‘They are normally, but I needed milk,’ she lied glibly. ‘And thought if I was going to get milk, I might as well do a shop. It’s still a novelty not doing it online. I get this weird enjoyment over choosing the exact banana I want or deciding if it’s three big onions or four small ones.’ What a fib when not long before she’d decided it was time to go back online. However sometimes, needs must.
Bryony nodded. ‘Yeah. Well I’m off to pick up a prescription I forgot to get the other day. Baby brain strikes again. You wouldn’t believe how many people say their brain goes AWOL when they’re pregnant. I have to agree.’
Great. That was all she needed. ‘Sounds dire,’ Maisie said, and meant it. ‘Want a cuppa in the cafe?’ She held her breath. She wasn’t sure her fragile stomach would cope with the smell of bacon, fat and fried bread, but she thought she’d better suggest it.
Bryony sighed. ‘I’d love one but better not. Dario’s got something gruesome to sort out, and Theo evidently is good to sound off to but not so good to give a considered and constructive answer. You still on for lunch tomorrow?’
Maisie nodded. At least with Bryony also pregnant there was little chance of food not suitable for ladies in their situation.
‘See you then, then. Enjoy your shopping.’
The supermarket, which was closest to Little Bristow, was smaller, and didn’t have such a good selection as the mega store she was used to, or as online, but it was easy to get round, and with a cool box, easy to take the food with her. If she had to shop in person, that was a bonus in Maisie’s opinion. And she could choose her banana, and peek surreptitiously at the kids clothes and toys, and go all over gooey at how tiny they were.
She nipped up and down the aisles and admired some bloke’s bum as he leaned into a freezer and handed the woman next to him something. Nice taut and rounded and…enough.
I’m pregnant. I don’t know who the father is. I should not be ogling some random bloke’s ass. However, pregnant didn’t equate to blind, and it was a very fine specimen.
She moved on smartly before he or the woman noticed and tossed the bare necessities into the trolley, several ready meals included. It was going to be easy cooking. Thank goodness she’d taken her microwave with its all singing all dancing options to Little Bristow and handed back the just about reheats a meal one with thanks. Heartfelt thanks; it had helped when help was needed.
She wandered down the pharmacy aisle, checked there was no one around who might know her and handed her prescription over. The doctor had made a point of saying the iron tablets and vitamins were not just for pregnant women, so to Maisie that meant there would be no need for her to do the walk of shame or whatever it was called these days. She could say her pale face was due to an iron deficiency if needed. Luckily there was no need. Maisie got her tablets, added some nice soothing bath oil to her trolley and headed for the checkout.
Halfway there she changed her mind and went to find some ginger biscuits and camomile tea—just in case she needed them. Hovered over the anti-sickness armbands, decided that was stupid and walked away. Only to retrace her steps and put them in the trolley.
The next knotty question was which queue to choose? Was this indecisiveness the beginning of pregnancy dithering, like Bryony said she got? Maisie hoped not, it was sending her demented already.
She glanced along the row of checkouts.
There didn’t seem to be much difference in th
e lengths and every checkout was in operation. On a Saturday morning. Fantastic. Her old local supermarket seemed determined to herd you to the self-service check out and them keep you waiting for ages for someone to eye you up, agree you were over eighteen and press the correct button so you could buy your wine. Something she’d not be needing much of for the next few months.
Maisie headed for checkout number thirteen just because she knew lots of people avoided it. She arrived there just as two other trolleys met head on at the end of the queue next to the one she aimed for.
Was there going to be an unseemly fracas over who got there first? She grinned and made sure she was far enough behind them to avoid any trolleys used as a dangerous weapon— or thrown punches.
One woman glared at the other. Shoved her trolley a few inches further.
‘You need to watch where…’
‘Idiots swerve?’ the other said in dulcet tones and matched the movement. ‘Oh, believe me I know.’
The first woman muttered something unintelligible. Retreated a few inches—with her trolley and then went forward again.
‘Pardon?’ Woman two was frosty as she mirrored the manoeuvre.
Oh ho. That’s a bad move. Maisie decided to get out of the way before her toes were the next victims, took a step back and hit someone.
Oh, shit. Was she going to become involved in another battle? She turned and apologised to an elderly lady who grinned and patted her arm. ‘No harm done, my love, and I can’t blame you dodging. It’s shaping up to be the most entertainment we’ve had in here for ages. Those two look about ready to go the whole five rounds. Better than boxing on the telly.’
One woman’s rock of a ring glistened under the store lights. How on earth dare she wear something so valuable when you went rummaging in the freezer cabinets. Maisie wondered with awe. She knew if she did, she would be more likely to lose a stone than find the fish fingers. She concentrated on the battle-to-be. As the elderly lady had commented, it was better than boxing on the telly.