School Run

by Sophie King

  She blew her nose. Maman was right. There would be other babies, maybe with her new friend. But, she promised herself, when she did have a child, she would make sure it behaved far better than those children downstairs.

  14

  PIPPA

  ‘And now the daily service . . .’

  Pippa pressed the off switch on the car radio. She wasn’t exactly irreligious but she wasn’t a firm believer either. Christmas and Easter, that was what church had meant to her since she had left home. Her uncle and aunt had attended services, of course, and when she’d been younger she had gone with them. But as she’d got older, it made less sense. A caring God wouldn’t have taken away her parents. A caring God wouldn’t have let a lump grow in her breast.

  ‘It might not be what you think it is,’ Derek had said again last night, when she had had a good cry in bed.

  ‘But how do you know it isn’t? You always think everything will be all right.’

  He had put down his trade magazine and rubbed his eyes. ‘And you always think the worst.’

  ‘Supposing I’m right this time,’ she had persisted, edging away from him. ‘Supposing I’m ill. And die. You’ll have to look after the kids. Have you thought about that?’

  ‘We’ll face it if and when it comes. No point in panicking until we know. You’ve got to stop worrying about everything, Pippa, or you’ll make yourself really ill. Right now, the thing that will make you feel better is a good night’s sleep.’

  To her surprise, she had slept. Deeply. When she woke this morning, her first thought had been that she still had the lump. The second was that she had an appointment with the doctor, who should be able to tell her if it was something to worry about. Pippa had read enough about breasts in women’s magazines over the years to know that a lump with a slightly jagged edge was one to be feared. But a smooth-edged one was usually all right. Or was it the other way round? Why couldn’t she think straight?

  ‘Live the day as if ’twere thy last,’ sang the radio. Weird. She was sure she’d pressed the off button. Besides, she hardly ever had Radio 4 on – the kids never let her. Derek must have changed it over when he’d taken the car for his squash game last night. Pippa switched to Radio 2 but the hymn line resonated in her mind. Live the day as if ’twere thy last. Suddenly the hideous waste of a life hit her: she hadn’t done half of the things she’d intended to do. Surfing in Australia. A walking tour in Italy. Translating something interesting instead of cookery books. Making wild, passionate love. And not, she realised with a pang of something that hovered between regret and excitement, necessarily with her husband.

  ‘And now for that unforgettable golden oldie by the Hollies . . .’

  Pippa drew a sharp breath as the radio broke into song. That particular tune always reminded her of Gus and the discos they had been to in the seventies. That amazing line about needing air to breathe still had the capacity to knock the breath out of her own body. Just thinking of Gus made her feel better – it always had, ever since they had met at university and discovered, to their mutual surprise, that they had something in common. Like Pippa, Gus was practically parentless. His elderly father had died a few months earlier and his mother had already remarried and was living in France. Pippa’s friends had been surprised by and envious of her new acquaintance. Gus was stunning to look at, with his dark chestnut hair, lopsided grin and chocolate-rich accent. Occasionally, Pippa fantasised about a romantic friendship but – apart from one near miss – it never happened, even after university. They had fallen out only once and that had been about Derek.

  ‘He’s boring,’ Gus had decreed, after she had introduced them. ‘I think you could find someone far more interesting. Besides, you’re too beautiful for him.’

  Pippa had flushed and waited for Gus to go on. He hadn’t. The following summer, desperate to create the family she had never had, she married Derek.

  The song was reverberating round the car, coursing through her blood.

  Now she pushed the off button. It was too painful. She had wasted her life – no, that wasn’t fair. The children could never be called a waste and she did love Derek. But was she in love with him? Had she – what an awful thought – ever been in love with him, experienced a passion that now, with the lump, might be lost to her?

  Pippa’s temples began to throb. If only life could be as it was last week. She’d give anything to be doing a routine task – even the school run. It felt weird to drive past the girls’ school and not stop. Even their rubbish in the car made her feel as though they should be there. Pippa glanced at the sweet papers stuffed into the side pockets. There was an empty crisps packet on the floor and Lucy’s maths exercise book, with the tattered purple cover, lay on the back seat. Maybe she should drop it off at school on the way back.

  She took a sharp left, swung into the surgery car park, stopped the car and made her way into the waiting room.

  Some time later she returned to the car. Trembling, she switched on her mobile. No point in ringing Derek: he never had his on unless it was a lunchbreak. Besides, it wasn’t him she wanted to speak to.

  ‘Gus? It’s me.’

  That was how they always announced themselves to each other and they always knew who it was, despite Gus’s entourage of admirers.

  ‘Pippa! I’ve been so worried. How did it go?’

  He’d been waiting for her call. Had Derek? ‘She wants me to have it checked out.’

  ‘Good. Much better than ignoring it.’ Gus’s voice was wonderfully reassuring and in control, as though he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. ‘Just as well I’m in town. What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?’

  ‘Sorry. Hang on a moment, can you?’ She leaned back against the headrest, forced herself to swallow the sob in her throat and blew her nose.

  ‘Are you OK, Pip?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Can you see me tomorrow?’

  Pippa thought of the Thursday deadline on the manuscript that was lying, unfinished, on her desk. ‘That would be lovely.’

  ‘Right. I’ll be at your place by twelve thirty. Get yourself dressed up and we’ll go somewhere special. All right, Gorgeous?’

  ‘Are you sure? Aren’t you busy?’

  ‘Pippa.’ Gus’s voice sounded deeper and more serious than it had for a long time. ‘Nothing is more important than this.’

  She drove back, feeling slightly better. She ought to ring Harriet too, but maybe she’d wait a couple of days. Her friend had been in such a state over Charlie, damn him, that Pippa felt she couldn’t put any more on her. As for Derek, well, she’d tell him when he got back. He’d have to take her seriously now.

  Pippa felt her eyes fill again. A mammogram! The doctor hadn’t dismissed it as an ordinary cyst that could be ignored. What would happen to the girls? How long might she have? Who would plant the geraniums that were still bumping around in the boot from Sunday’s trip to the garden centre? Why the heck was she worrying about geraniums?

  The car in front stopped at a zebra crossing and, for a ghastly minute, Pippa couldn’t remember where the brake was. She applied it just in time. The driver in front remained at a standstill as the man who was crossing came up to his window, obviously asking for directions. On another day the delay would have irritated her. Yet now, as she sat there with the traffic building up behind her, the interruption seemed meaningless. Nothing was important any more. Only life. Which she had taken for granted until now.

  Finally she pulled up outside the house, almost too tired to get out. She should have mentioned it to the doctor – the overwhelming exhaustion she’d been feeling for weeks, if not months.

  She stumbled up the steps and fumbled in her bag for the key with its ‘I Love Mum’ tag, which the girls had given her on Mothering Sunday. She shut the door behind her, then made her way to the bottom of the stairs, where the carpet was wearing thin, and put her head into her hands. ‘I don’t want to have a lump,’ she howled, hot tears streaming down her face. ‘It’s no
t fair.’

  Finally, when she’d stopped sobbing and blown her nose on the last square of lavatory paper in the downstairs loo, she picked up the phone and punched in Harriet’s number.

  ‘Harriet and Charlie aren’t in at the moment. Please leave a message and we’ll ring you back.’

  Pippa slammed down the receiver. At least she was seeing Gus tomorrow. He’d understand.

  15

  BETTY

  No Betty of Balham today. It’s my throat again. Too sore to talk. It’s always been my weak spot since it happened.

  The parents seem to be behaving themselves this morning. That wicked woman in the green-blue Discovery didn’t leave her little boy alone like she did yesterday. Still drive too fast, of course. All of them. Had a letter from the council about that today.

  Dear Mrs Holmes,

  Thank you for your letter dated 26 June. Your suggestion of a second speed camera is currently being considered. You are, however, aware that there is already one camera on the stretch of road you refer to.

  We were sorry to hear of your experience but assure you that road safety is important to us too.

  And so on.

  Waffle, like Terry says. Utter waffle. One of his favourite phrases.

  The trick is to keep myself busy, like Terry tells me. The leaflets take up a lot of my time but they’re worth it even if they just stop one person speeding. Had them typed out and copied at the shop on the corner. They know me so well they ought to give me a discount.

  GO SLOW!

  That’s the headline, as the girl called it.

  CALLING ALL PARENTS!

  PLEASE GO SLOW ON THE SCHOOL RUN OR YOU COULD HIT A CHILD.

  ONE DAY THAT CHILD MIGHT BE YOURS.

  That’s all. If you put too much, they don’t bother reading it. Today I’m handing them out by the library. Tomorrow it’s Boots. Terry prefers the library, don’t you, duck? All right, all right, I’m nearly ready now. You too? Off we go, then.

  HARRIET

  Harriet had only just put the key into the lock when she heard the phone ringing in the hall. Charlie! It had to be.

  She dumped her bag on the doorstep, flew in and grabbed the receiver just before it cut into answerphone.

  The sound of her friend’s voice was acutely disappointing.

  ‘Pippa! Hang on a minute. I’ve just got back from the supermarket and my bag’s outside. One sec . . . Right, I’m back.’

  ‘I’ve got a lump.’ Pippa’s voice was flat. ‘In my breast. The right one. I found it in the shower on Monday morning.’

  What?

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘I didn’t want to bother you, but I’ve been ringing you all day. The answerphone’s been on.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I had an appointment. Then I went to the gym and did some shopping.’ Harriet felt awful – she sounded so self-centred. She’d done nothing but think of herself this week. But a lump! Cancer! It put everything else – including Charlie – into perspective.

  ‘Have you been to the doctor?’

  ‘She’s sending me to a consultant.’

  ‘When?’

  Pippa laughed hoarsely. ‘Within a fortnight, apparently. It’s going to be the longest fortnight of my life.’

  Harriet tried to think rationally. ‘A lump doesn’t have to be . . . well, you know what.’

  ‘But it could be.’

  ‘Yes. But even if it is, there are so many things that can be done nowadays. My mother’s friend had a double mastectomy five years ago and she’s fine now.’

  ‘But I don’t want to lose my breast.’

  God, she’d said the wrong thing. ‘Pippa, don’t even start thinking about that yet. It hasn’t happened.’

  ‘Thanks. That’s what Derek says. He’s not even worried.’

  ‘I’m sure he is. And so am I, but I’m trying to put it into perspective for you. Now, forget about the kids. I’ll pick them up. Make yourself a cup of sweet tea and go and lie down for a bit.’

  ‘I can’t. I’ve got a deadline.’

  ‘Sod the deadline. Tell your editor you’re ill.’

  ‘If I do she won’t give me any more work.’ Pippa made a funny noise at the other end of the phone. ‘Then again, maybe I won’t be around for more work.’

  Harriet glanced at her watch. If she had more time, she’d go over there right now and put her arms round her friend.

  But if she did she’d be late for the children. ‘Let’s have lunch tomorrow. Or we could go to yoga – we haven’t been together for ages.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m seeing Gus.’

  Harriet had never met Gus but she had heard about him. ‘Good for you. Well, call me afterwards and we’ll do something on Thursday.’

  ‘That’s my deadline day.’

  ‘Look, I’ll see you tonight when I drop the kids off. Are you sure you’re all right on your own?’

  ‘Fine.’

  Harriet was reluctant to put down the phone. ‘Try not to assume the worst.’

  ‘OK.’

  Pippa wasn’t reassured, thought Harriet, rushing back to the car to unload her shopping before she dashed out to collect the kids. And frankly, if she were in her shoes, she wouldn’t be either.

  KITTY

  My dad’s in a place called Dewbi and he’s been there for ages. At first he used to ring us but now he dusn’t do it as much. He’s coming home this Friday and I’m really looking forward to it. I think he went away becos I am sumtimes nawty but I’m going to be good now. I want to be good becos I don’t want him to go away again. My mum sumtimes cries becos he’s not here. I’ve seen her. She puts her head on the kitchen table and cries into her arms so we can’t here her. But we do. Sumtimes she is very happy and larfs a lot espeshully when she is talking to her friend Pippa. When dad gets home, I hope she’ll larf even more.

  Kitty had got back earlier than usual, thanks to a lift from Susy Hughes, and put down the exercise book on the desk in her living room, which doubled as her bedroom. Poor kid. Guiltily she thought of all the times she’d been impatient with Bruce. If she’d known about the family situation she’d have been more understanding. Why hadn’t his mother told the school that something was wrong? On the other hand maybe nothing was. Lots of fathers worked away from home, and just because Bruce’s mother had a good cry every now and then it didn’t necessarily mean the family was breaking up.

  Kitty had a bit of a weep occasionally and it made her feel better. She looked round her room, which wasn’t hers at all but belonged to her landlady. It really was a dump, with the eighties flowered wallpaper and purple carpet. Next term she’d find somewhere nicer; maybe she’d even have saved enough for a deposit. ‘It would be nice to have someone to talk to in the evenings,’ she said aloud. Things must be bad if she’d started talking to herself. Was she really so lonely? Maybe she should have taken up Mandy’s offer of Rod’s friend.

  Kitty reached for her mobile. Should she or not?

  She’d get to the end of this batch of essays, then decide.

  TUESDAY P.M.

  ‘Nice to have your old dad picking you up, then?’

  ‘It’s OK. Hugo’s dad does it every day when he’s home.’

  ‘I like it, Dad. Evie hates us eating in her car.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s really boring.’

  ‘Still, Dad, your car’s in a bit of a mess, isn’t it?’

  ‘OK, we’ll clear it out.’

  ‘Five quid.’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Shit, Dad, we’ve left Josh and Alice behind!’

  ‘What? No one told me we had to bring them back.’

  ‘That’s right, sing it. Like this. H-Y-A-C-I-N-T-H.’ Well done, Kate. Maybe singing is the way to crack it!’

  ‘I thought we were going shopping. You just said that, didn’t you, so Jason couldn’t drive me back? You’ve got to let me grow up some time, Dad . . . Knightsbridge? Now you’re talking, Dad. Thanks. You’re the best. And I promise. Just a coup
le of shops and then I’ll do my homework.’

  ‘Ig-ig-ignoranus, Marty. That’s w-w-what you are. Ha, ha. Aynus, aynus, aynus . . .’

  Very well thought out, Bruce, and nicely structured. 9/10.

  WEDNESDAY

  16

  HARRIET

  ‘It's The Chris Evans Breakfast Show . . . The American school siege is now in its third day . . .’

  Harriet didn’t usually have this programme on but one of the children (Bruce?) must have been fiddling with the radio. At least the pleasantly mindless banter seemed to be keeping them quiet in the back, giving her time to squeeze her pelvic floor muscles and think about Pippa.

  A lump was one of the top five fears in any woman’s list – God, what must Pippa be feeling? Clearly Derek wasn’t any help.

  No, that wasn’t fair. He just couldn’t show his feelings. Yet Harriet had always thought she and Charlie were open with each other and had been taken aback when he had said he felt neglected. But that wasn’t keeping his emotions to himself: it was just plain childish. She shivered, wishing she’d brought her cardigan. It seemed cooler today.

  ‘Mrs Chapman, can you test me on my geography, please?’ called Beth. ‘Mummy didn’t have time last night.’

  Harriet took a sharp left; it was her new short cut to beat the traffic that was building up at the temporary lights ahead.