by KL Slater
Before we left home, I’d ended up agreeing that if it was humanly possible, I would pick her up from school. I said this knowing full well that with a three o’clock interview, there was no way on earth I was going to make it back to St Saviour’s for three thirty.
I disliked myself for doing it, but the little fib had been worth it to put a smile back on Evie’s face, and it had made our journey out of the house so much smoother.
I sat for a moment in the car and programmed the postcode of Gregory’s Property Services into the satnav. It said the journey would take thirteen minutes and I was allowing thirty. Barring an alien invasion, there would really be no need to panic.
I pressed back into the headrest and took a few deep breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth, just like the relaxation app had suggested. I thought about the little brown bottle I’d salvaged from the bathroom cabinet and tucked away in the zipped compartment of my handbag. Just in case.
I’d done it just for insurance purposes, to make me feel a little more secure. A tablet might help with my heart rate and anxiety but I needed my wits about me more than ever today, and I had to drive, too.
I pulled away from the kerb and turned left out of the estate. Cinderhill Road was busy. It was a road that carried lots of traffic towards the big island at the top, funnelling vehicles on to the A610 and eventually the M1 motorway beyond that.
Today though, I was travelling in the opposite direction and the traffic flowed fairly lightly. The road swept steeply down, past cramped rows of terraced houses with weathered bricks and peeling cream sills, long overdue for a lick of paint. I continued over the tram lines at the bottom.
I glanced at the satnav screen and took a right turn at the mini roundabout and then headed out past Moor Bridge and towards Hucknall town centre. I passed young mothers pushing brightly coloured strollers and a group of hooded youths lounging on a bench with beer cans.
This morning, Evie and I had walked to school and it had taken us just under fifteen minutes. I’d silently rebuked myself yet again for missing our appointment to look around St Saviour’s. Unfortunately, they had been unable to fit us in again before the start of the new term.
Evie had been quite the little chatterbox right up until the school’s wrought-iron gates came into view and then she’d become suddenly quieter, the nerves kicking in.
‘It’s going to be fine, darling.’ I squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll have such a lovely day.’
‘But I won’t know anyone,’ Evie remarked. ‘Daisy, Nico and Martha are my best friends and none of them are here.’
The four young friends had been inseparable in reception class at North View Primary, her old school. My stomach twisted at the thought of her sitting alone in class.
And then I remembered.
‘There’ll be lots of children here who don’t know anyone,’ I said as we neared the propped-open side gate. ‘I bet you’ll have tons of friends by the end of the day, and besides, you do know someone. Someone important.’
‘Huh?’ Evie looked up at me, her little forehead furrowing around two angry-looking stings.
‘Miss Watson, of course,’ I said brightly. ‘You already know the teacher, so you’ll be the best girl!’
Her face lit up. ‘Yay, I’ll be the best girl!’
She sang it on repeat as we approached the gate. I was so grateful to leave her happy and smiling. Of course, when I came away, I was the one who felt choked. I could see that most of the other parents of the new five-year-olds felt exactly the same.
But for us, it was even more significant. I was being a fairly crap mum at the moment, but when it came down to it, Evie being happy was number one in my priorities. If her first day at school went well, that would be a massive step towards carving out our new life.
My beeping phone broke me out of my thoughts, the satnav informing me I had now arrived at my destination. I parked up on a little side street and bought a parking ticket for a two-hour duration.
Slipping on my jacket, I grabbed my handbag and tried to ignore my heart battering against my ribcage.
I set off across the road towards the double-fronted, professional-looking estate agency that was Gregory’s Property Services.
My heart felt light and hopeful; my stomach was riddled with knots.
19
Three Years Earlier
The Teacher
After lunch, Harriet Watson led the small group of children into the infant library area.
The library was used only for literacy hour in the mornings, so she didn’t anticipate being disturbed. Despite it being an open-plan design, she had a good view of the corridor outside in both directions.
Harriet had selected four children for today’s group session. The idea was to remove children with particular difficulties or needs from the main class, making it easier for the teacher to manage and yet giving the small group more focused attention.
Years ago, the teacher was expected to run the whole group with no complaints, but of course, these days, they spoon-fed them. They fell out of university with their teaching degrees, and a whole roster of expectations and demands that were expected to be met by other hard-pressed staff like herself.
Fortunately for Harriet, this was the second year she’d acted as teaching assistant to Jasmeen Akhtar, a thin, meek young woman who seemed to rely on Harriet’s advice and opinions far more than she ought. But Harriet wasn’t complaining. It meant she got to choose the children she worked with. And she always chose the more pliant or interesting ones.
She glanced around the group. Some of them she recognised from last year’s reception class. She’d take a group every now and then to get them accustomed to ‘big class’, as it was informally known within the school.
Today, there was Matilda White, an insipid-looking girl who barely said a word, Jack Farnborough, who was dyslexic, and Thomas Manton, who was just plain stupid, although, irritatingly, nobody was allowed to use that word to describe a child nowadays.
And, of course, there was the new girl who had caught her eye from the off: Evie Cotter.
Harriet relished being the one in charge in this neat little space. It was the best thing about her job, being able to get on with things with the children without Jasmeen quoting from her Teaching and Learning Strategies textbook. Harriet found it laughable; Jasmeen was barely out of nappies herself.
Harriet handed out the worksheets, the same ones she would use most weeks. Not as though this hopeless shower would notice.
The other children’s faces already displayed bored expressions, but Harriet watched as Evie pulled her worksheet towards her and studied it carefully.
She also noticed that Evie kept glancing up at Harriet, as if seeking reassurance that she was doing OK, doing what the teacher expected of her.
This was always a good sign.
Harriet sat down at the head of the large, round table and looked around at them.
‘Well, we are a lucky bunch today because we have someone here who is a newcomer to Nottingham,’ she began. ‘Welcome, Evie.’
Evie’s eyes flickered over at the others before she looked down at the table again. She adjusted her worksheet and pencil so they sat a little straighter on the desk.
‘Welcome, Evie,’ Harriet said again.
‘Thank you,’ the girl mumbled, still looking down.
The others stared.
‘I thought it would be nice if you told us a bit about yourself, Evie,’ Harriet said, watching her blank face. ‘Such as where you lived, before coming to Nottingham, and what sort of activities you like to do out of school.’
The rest of the group looked at Harriet and then expectantly back at Evie, as if a table tennis match was about to start.
The girl rubbed over her worksheet with an index finger, like she was trying to erase the print.
‘Well?’
‘We lived in Hemel Hempstead before,’ Evie said slowly.
Harriet remained silent.
‘And I like playing with Lego and watching television after school. And I like drawing.’
‘Interesting.’ Harriet nodded. ‘Has anyone got another question for Evie?’
‘Have you got any pets?’ Jack Farnborough asked.
The girl began rubbing the corner of her worksheet again but she didn’t speak.
‘Evie?’ Harriet prompted.
‘We had a rabbit at our old house,’ Evie said. ‘A black and white one. His name was Carlos.’
‘Carlos,’ Thomas Manton repeated.
‘What happened to the rabbit?’ Jack asked. ‘Did you have it put down when you moved house?’
An expression of pure horror crossed Evie’s face.
‘We gave him to Mr Baxter,’ she said. ‘For when his grandchildren, Daisy and Tom, come round to visit.’
‘Any more questions?’ Harriet looked around at the blank faces.
Nobody spoke.
Evie breathed out and looked down at her worksheet.
‘What about your family, Evie? Tell us a bit about them.’ Harriet smiled.
She watched as the child’s breaths grew shorter, noticing her cheeks turning pink. She didn’t speak.
‘Your grandma?’ Harriet prompted her.
‘Nanny had a cat called Timmy but he got old and then he went to live with the angels and now she has a cat called Igor.’
‘Igor,’ Thomas repeated under his breath.
‘And your mummy and daddy, what do they do?’
Evie lowered her chin and mumbled something incoherent.
‘Look up and speak clearly please, Evie, so that everyone can hear,’ Harriet said.
‘Mummy used to sell houses to people.’
‘And your daddy?’
Harriet watched, fascinated, as two dark pink patches appeared in the middle of the child’s cheeks.
‘He was a soldier.’ Her voice was barely audible.
‘He was a soldier?’
Evie fell silent.
‘Can I go to the toilet, please, miss?’ Thomas Manton asked.
Harriet glared at the boy and he shrank back down into his chair.
‘Explain to us what you mean by saying your dad was a soldier,’ Harriet said, turning to Evie again.
‘He had an accident,’ Evie said.
‘What kind of an accident?’ Jack said.
Evie looked down.
‘Jack asked you a question,’ Harriet said. ‘Again, Jack?’
‘What kind of an accident?’ Jack repeated.
‘He fell off a cliff, in Af – Af-gan-stan,’ Evie said, her voice cracking. ‘He died.’
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘He fell off a cliff, Jack,’ Harriet repeated.
Jack’s mouth dropped open.
‘Well, there we go. That’s Evie’s story,’ Harriet said brightly. ‘Her mummy doesn’t work anymore and her daddy used to be a soldier but he fell off a cliff and died.’
Matilda giggled.
Evie let out a sob.
‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Evie,’ Harriet said. ‘It’s unpleasant, but it’s something you must learn to face. And we are here, as your friends, to help you do that. Isn’t that right, children?’
‘Yes, Miss Watson,’ the blank faces chanted glumly and in unison.
20
Three Years Earlier
Toni
The estate agency was spacious and bright inside, and the layout was more or less exactly as I’d expected. There were four desks dotted around the large shop with an agent sitting at one of them, currently dealing with customers. I looked back at the windows and found that, just like my last office in Hemel, I could barely see out onto the street due to the property posters that were dotted over the entire glass frontage.
Not wanting to interrupt the busy agent, and having arrived ten minutes early, I pretended to be absorbed in looking through the available lettings folders. The shop was warm because of all the glass and I felt a trickle of perspiration snaking down my back.
I leafed blindly through the property details, wondering what Evie was doing in class. I hoped she was having fun making new friends and settling in well.
‘Can I help you?’
A tall, athletic-looking man in his late thirties came striding towards me. He had on a smart brown suit, cream shirt without a tie and, crowning it all, a shock of bright red and somewhat unruly hair. The result of this rather eclectic mix was unexpectedly attractive.
‘Toni Cotter.’ I held out my hand. ‘I’m here for the interview. I’m afraid I’m a bit early.’
‘Ahh yes, of course. Toni.’ He smiled and his green eyes creased up until I could barely see them. Close up, his face was a mass of freckles so dense, it looked like he had a patchy tan. ‘I’m the owner, Dale Gregory. Really pleased to meet you.’
We shook hands and I pasted on a smile, trying to remember how I used to act when I had confidence in my abilities.
‘If you’d like to come through, I’ll introduce you to Bryony James, our residential sales and lettings manager.’ He turned back and smiled at me as he walked. ‘Just the two of us interviewing you today, Toni. All very informal, so nothing to worry about.’
Did I look so obviously terrified? I actually felt slightly better. I liked Dale and the friendly atmosphere of the place was reassuring. I even dared to think that I could probably imagine myself working here.
If I could only get this job, it would be such a massive step forward for both me and Evie.
* * *
Dale led me through the shop and into a short, cooler hallway at the back that was lined with four doors. Dale pushed open the one that was already ajar.
A woman wearing an immaculate black suit and crisp white linen blouse, who I assumed was Bryony James, sat scrolling through property details on a tablet on one side of a large conference table that took up most of the space in the room.
Her jet-black hair fell in front of her face like a straight and glossy curtain. Her nails were long and oval and painted in the fashionable new slate-grey shade that I’d seen in the expensive fashion magazines I often leafed through on the shelves at the supermarket.
I bent my own short and bitten nails in towards my palms and pressed them to my sides.
‘Here we are. Please, take a seat, Toni.’
As Dale walked around the far side of the table to sit next to Bryony, she glanced up at him and smiled. I tried to catch her eye to smile too, but she looked back down again to flick off her screen.
I sat opposite them and waited while Dale turned off his phone and Bryony opened her notepad. At the side of her, I recognised a printed copy of the application form and CV I’d emailed over on Friday and I swallowed hard.
Bryony had small, pinched features that were set just a tad too close together on her face, leaving her forehead and cheeks appearing a little too wide to be beautiful.
Something about the way she repeatedly straightened her notepad, pen and tablet made me wonder if she always subconsciously made amends for this physical flaw by ensuring that everything else about her and around her looked nothing less than perfect.
The characterless room was small and airless and my previously loose jacket had started to feel tight and constrictive across my back and under my arms.
I jutted out my bottom lip and blew my fringe away from my sticky face.
Bryony choose this exact moment to make eye contact for the first time. She appraised me coolly and didn’t return my harried smile.
Dale introduced himself again and turned to her.
‘As I mentioned, this is Bryony James, our residential sales and lettings manager. If you’re successful, Bryony will be your line manager.’
I smiled again and nodded to Bryony, who simply pressed her narrow lips into a tight line by way of a compromise against remaining completely sour-faced.
Dale laced his fingers together on the desk in front of him and leaned forward slightly.
‘So, why don’t you
start by telling us a little bit about yourself, Toni, and why you’ve applied for the position?’
I started off well, giving a quick resume of my education and career to date. I was careful not to dwell on my senior position at the last agency and I made sure I retained eye contact with them both as I spoke.
‘You don’t have a degree?’ Bryony remarked.
‘No, I finished my formal education at A levels,’ I said. ‘From there, I worked my way up.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Dale said cheerfully. ‘Shows substance.’
‘I notice there are a couple of gaps in your CV.’ Bryony glanced down at her copy of my application. ‘Five years ago there seems to be a year missing and then it looks like you haven’t been working for the last couple of years at all. Fancy a bit of a break from selling property, did you?’
A flare of resentment spiked in my chest.
Actually, Little Miss Know-It-All, I’ve worked bloody hard these last two years, I wanted to say. Harder than I’ve worked in my life. Just to stay sane and get through the crap.
‘Five years ago, I took twelve months maternity leave when I had my daughter, Evie,’ I said, and wondered if I’d imagined the wisp of disapproval that appeared to flit over her face. ‘And two years ago, I had to stop working for personal reasons.’
I’d already considered how I was going to handle Andrew’s death if it came up in conversation. I’d decided I didn’t want to discuss it in an interview situation; it just didn’t seem right and I’d put myself at risk of getting emotional.
‘Personal reasons?’ Bryony raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I had no choice but to stop working temporarily.’
‘Go on.’
‘Circumstances were out of my control at that point in time but happily my situation has now changed.’
How many different ways did she want me to say it?
We stared each other out in silence.