Happily Never After_A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Emma Robinson

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rory couldn’t get the lady with the ‘interesting’ extension out of her mind. Sheila arrived mid-afternoon bearing homemade lasagne, and Rory didn’t even attempt to stop her from rearranging the contents of her freezer to fit it in.

  Sheila paused with a box of caramel Magnums in her hand. ‘Is everything all right, dear?’

  Rory needed to get a hold of herself. ‘I’m fine – just thinking about the house, what still needs to be done.’ There was no way she could talk to her mother about her feelings. Sheila would be putting out bunting and baking a cake if she got the merest whiff of a possible romance.

  Sheila swapped the Magnums for a frozen curry, which clearly didn’t meet with her approval. ‘You’ve done wonders with the place. I take my hat off to you, I really do.’

  ‘Well, I can’t take the credit really. Belle helped out with the early stuff and John has done so much since.’

  Sheila pushed the freezer drawer closed. ‘Ah, yes. Mr Prince. I was hoping I might see him today. I wanted to ask if he could come and hang some pictures in my flat.’

  Rory groaned. ‘Mum! He’s not at our beck and call, you know.’

  Sheila reached behind her for the kettle and started to fill it. ‘I would pay him, Rory. I don’t expect him to do it for nothing. Anyway, how is Charlie settling in?’

  ‘Really well; he’s no trouble. I’m sure he and Belle will really hit it off. When she’s here, that is.’

  ‘Have you met her boyfriend yet?’

  ‘No. And I know what I said, but even I am starting to find it a bit strange.’ Belle still hadn’t brought any of her friends from college home. Even Fiona hadn’t been to the house, except for a quick look round when they’d first moved in, and she’d been like a second daughter to Rory when the two of them had been revising for GCSEs.

  Sheila got two mugs out of the cupboard, peered into them and then took them to the sink to wash. ‘Just talk to her, Rory.’

  Rory wasn’t keen on the idea of sitting Belle down for a talk. ‘Anyway, how did your rosemary chicken go down?’

  Sheila dried the mugs and set them down in front of the kettle. ‘Okay.’

  Rory had been expecting an enthusiastic recount of every ingredient. ‘What do you mean, okay? Don’t tell me they didn’t love it.’

  Sheila filled the mugs from the kettle. ‘The dinner was fine. Olive asked if her mum had cooked it for us, so I pretended I’d used her recipe, which made her happy. It just got a bit weird afterwards.’

  Rory could see that Sheila was upset. ‘What do you mean?’

  Sheila gave Rory her tea and leaned back against the cupboard. ‘After the dinner, and the wine George bought, we were in a bit of a party mood. George put on a CD of old songs and we were up and dancing. Three old codgers jigging about the lounge. Then Olive got tired.’

  Sheila stopped to sip her tea. Was her bottom lip trembling? ‘And?’

  ‘She wanted us to keep dancing. She wanted us to dance “properly”. So, we did.’

  Sheila started to fiddle with the cups on the draining board. She clearly needed prompting. ‘And?’

  Sheila sighed and leaned against the kitchen cupboards. ‘He’s a lovely dancer, Aurora. I haven’t been guided around like that since your dad. There isn’t much room in those flats, so we had to keep quite close together. We started out laughing, but then we quietened down. The track changed to something slower and so did we.’

  Rory felt a prickle of concern. ‘What happened, Mum?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just that, when the music stopped, we realised that Olive was sleeping in her chair and it felt… well… wrong… the two of us dancing like that. Luckily, Olive woke up and she asked for pudding, so I busied myself in the kitchen. By the time I came out, everything was normal again. But I feel awful. I love Olive.’

  Bless her mum and her sense of propriety. ‘I’m sure it will be fine, Mum. You haven’t done anything wrong. She was right there with you.’

  Sheila had found a cloth and was wiping the kitchen counter. ‘I know. I’m probably being silly. It’s bloomin’ Barb and all her talk of men. Oh, we met the infamous Fred this week! Barb’s fancy man. And you could have knocked me down with a feather!’

  Rory was pleased to see her mum smiling; she hated it when she looked sad. ‘Why? What was he like?’

  ‘Chubby, bald and about ten years older than her – the complete opposite to the movie stars she always goes on about. No wonder she was reluctant to introduce him to us. He is a very nice man, though, and he clearly dotes on Barb. Treats her like a queen. She was like a young girl while he was here. I’ll admit to feeling a little bit jealous.’

  There was a lot of that going around. ‘Really?’

  Sheila shook her head and wrung out the dishcloth. ‘Oh, just ignore me. It’s been a really funny week. How are you? How’s work?’

  ‘Just as bad. The deputy head is observing my lesson on Tuesday for my performance management, joy of joys.’

  ‘Performance what?’

  ‘Management. They have to observe our teaching to make sure we’re up to par.’

  Sheila kissed her on the cheek. ‘Well, you will be amazing as always, but good luck.’

  ‘I don’t need luck,’ Rory smiled. ‘10-G have got my back.’

  * * *

  Tuesday rolled around quickly enough. At least she’d had Monday to warn the class that Mr Finch was going to be in their lesson. And maybe tell them a little bit about the lesson she would teach. And maybe practise some of it. Or all of it.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind that I’ve chosen such a low ability class to observe.’ Nathan Finch almost slid into the room. ‘But I’m very interested in seeing how you manage behaviour. You have quite a reputation with the tough classes.’

  That was because no one else ever wanted them and Rory liked them. ‘No problem at all.’

  ‘And you don’t mind that it’s an afternoon lesson? Classes like this are always worse in the afternoon, aren’t they?’

  Of course, they were. The kids were knackered from four hours of teaching followed by a sugar-fuelled gallop around the playground. Afternoons could be hell. Rory wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting this. ‘I never mind being observed and, as a new member of the Senior Leadership Team, I was hoping you might have a fresh perspective. It's always important to keep focused on your professional development, isn't it?’

  Nathan looked like the cat that got the cream. ‘Quite so, quite so. If only all the staff here had a similar attitude. We would have our outstanding rating in the bag.’ Rory almost laughed aloud at the prospect of everyone having her current attitude. He wouldn't be wishing for that if he knew what her current attitude was.

  As the pupils started to arrive, she couldn't look them in the eye. Harry in particular gave her such a huge wink of solidarity it was like a Carry On film. The comedy didn't stop there. Perfect uniform, pencil cases full of equipment and silent, uplifted faces; they were like a class from a 'Become a Teacher' promotional video. Charlie had reminded them all that morning and he’d done well. When Lacey walked in calmly, greeted both teachers, ‘Good morning, Miss; good morning, Sir’, and then sat down – on her actual chair – Nathan Finch almost fell over in excitement.

  The lesson went perfectly. Of course, it should have done, as Rory had taught them the exact same lesson the day before. They raised their hands to speak. Gave their prepared responses perfectly. They even wrote almost a full page each. She could have kissed them.

  Nathan didn't stay until the end. Deputy heads were far too busily important to waste a whole hour in a classroom. As he left, Rory could tell from his expression that he was impressed. Very impressed.

  As the door clicked shut, she quickly put a finger to her lips. ‘Wait!’ There was absolute silence as they listened to the snap of his footfall ebb away to the end of the corridor. Going, going, gone.

  ‘That was bloody brilliant!’ Harry p
ulled a Snickers from his pocket.

  ‘When Charlie said that thing, what was it?’ Lacey mimicked a posh accent. ‘“That's a very good point Lacey; I hadn't considered that.” I thought I was going to wet myself!’

  Rory should stop them, but they were right – it had been an absolutely text book outstanding lesson. Nathan would really have to rack his brains to even think of a target for development. She was so proud of them. ‘You were amazing, all of you. Although I hope you realise I am going to be expecting work like that every lesson from now on.’

  * * *

  She was still smiling about it at the end of the day when she was packing up their books to take home and mark. She did her usual check of Harry’s book – to see if he had managed to introduce his pen to the paper – and she saw a little message: Did we do good, Miss? And a smiley face. She grinned back at it. She bloody loved that lot.

  Charlie had gone home without her. There was ‘no way’ he was going to wait around until six p.m. for her to go home and it would be ‘too embarrassing’ to go home with her, anyway. Rory was just about to leave when Nathan appeared in her doorway. Did he never take a minute off?

  He turned to make sure the door was closed behind him. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here.’

  Rory held up her bag of exercise books. ‘No rest for the wicked.’

  ‘Ah. Indeed.’ He looked a little nervous. That was strange. He was also slightly more dishevelled than earlier. His tie had been loosened.

  ‘Did you enjoy the lesson?’ Rory couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. That’s what I’d come to talk to you about. Kind of. I haven’t written up my notes, so I’ll give you my formal feedback later in the week. But I was very pleased with what I saw.’

  Pleased? Was that all? Bloody Socrates couldn’t have done any better. ‘Good.’

  ‘Yes, well. I also wanted to ask you about something. I’m new to town and other than the staff here, I don’t know anybody.’

  Rory’s last cup of coffee rose up in her throat. Surely he wasn’t going to ask her out? ‘Oh.’ It was almost a squeak.

  ‘Yes. And the thing is, I have this event which…’

  Just then, the door smashed open. ‘Let’s get out of this hell-ho… Oh!’ Susie screeched to a halt and the colour drained from her face.

  Nathan stood up straight and nodded. ‘Miss Clark.’

  ‘Mr Finch,’ Susie mumbled, then looked to Rory for help.

  Before Rory could make up something about it being a comedy act that they were working on for the school talent show, Nathan made a move to go. ‘I’ll catch up with you later in the week.’

  Susie breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he’d gone. ‘Was that your feedback? How did it go?’

  ‘It was pleasing, apparently.’ Rory didn’t tell Susie about the rest of their conversation. For a start, she would never hear the end of it. And secondly, she didn’t want to say it out loud.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As soon as she tried the bedroom door, her heart sank.

  It had seemed such a good idea, to put all the storage boxes into the loft. Tired of living in a mess, she’d thought it would help to get rid of anything that wasn’t needed right away. Putting the Christmas tree, suitcases and empty plastic boxes out of sight would at least be a start in getting straight and organised. Then she had been distracted by the photograph box.

  Almost an hour had passed as she’d sat in the small bedroom below the loft hatch and sorted through the photographs. Although she still hadn’t managed to organise them into albums, she had at least stuck by her resolution to print photos of Belle every year. All together, they looked like one of those time lapse animations of a flower coming into bloom. Did everyone look at their child and think they were the most beautiful creature alive?

  Then there were Rory’s own baby photos, and pictures of her parents. Her dad had been very handsome as a young man. There he was, collecting his athletics trophies. He could only have been about sixteen. Not much older than Belle was now. The circle of life. Rory wiped her eyes.

  Maybe it was the distraction that had gotten her into this mess. Although, how was she supposed to know that the stupid loft ladder would get stuck? And what a design fault, to have the loft ladder blocking the door which opened into the room. She couldn’t get the door open with the ladder down, and she couldn’t push the ladder back up. She was well and truly stuck.

  It was 2.15 p.m. on a Saturday. Belle was at Fiona’s house and wouldn’t be back until dinnertime. Charlie was visiting his mum. Rory had already considered calling her own mother, but what exactly would Sheila be able to do? Susie and Penny would have come to her rescue but, after leaving them both a voicemail, she’d remembered that they were on a shopping trip. They were intending to find Susie some new underwear in case her new relationship got to the third date. For a moment, Rory considered calling Scott, but he was to a crisis what Kate Moss was to a chocolate fountain. There would be little point. She had no other choice. As she scrolled through to find his name, she realised that her phone had automatically made it one of her frequently contacted numbers.

  Within fifteen minutes, John Prince was outside the window.

  Rory leaned out. ‘Thanks for coming. I’m sorry. I didn’t know who to call.’

  He pretended to salute. ‘I’m the fourth emergency service, Ma’am.’

  ‘Isn’t that the coastguard?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll be the fifth, then. What is that hanging out of the window?’

  Rory looked sheepish. ‘It’s a couple of old blankets tied together. I found them in the loft. I was considering trying to climb down them, but I’m not sure they would have held my weight.’ She pulled the makeshift rope back inside the window.

  ‘Not a bad idea, actually. It might come in handy – I’m not sure that my ladder is long enough to reach to the second-floor window. I’ve got a longer ladder at home, but I was on another job when you called.’

  ‘Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were working today.’ Rory’s face grew warm. Was he working Saturdays on that job he told her about? The ‘interesting’ extension for the woman who Rory had imagined to be a lookalike for Megan Fox.

  ‘No problem. It was just a favour for a friend. I’d pretty much finished but she was trying to press a third slice of cake onto me. You saved me from myself.’ He patted his waistline.

  She? He had another female friend he helped? Of course, John wasn’t her friend: he was her handyman. Builder. Whatever. ‘Well, thanks. You’ll have to add the time to your bill.’

  John pretended to write on his hand. ‘Noted. You know it’s double time on the weekends?’ He looked at her in mock seriousness.

  ‘Stop playing about and get me down from here.’ Not only was she feeling ridiculous and like a weak and feeble woman, she didn’t want to tell him that she’d started to need the toilet ten minutes ago.

  John unbolted the ladder from his van and propped it up against the side of the building. He was right: the ladder was too short. ‘I’m going to have to go home and get my bigger ladder.’

  ‘No!’ Rory was really regretting the huge glass of juice she’d drunk before going up into the loft. ‘I need to get out now.’ She racked her brains for an excuse that didn’t involve her having to talk about her bladder. ‘I’m feeling claustrophobic.’

  John looked sceptical, but he didn’t argue. ‘Okay, I’ll come up and try and force the loft ladder back up.’

  Rory was surprised by how quickly he made it up the ladder. It was hard not to appreciate how fit and lithe he looked from this angle. When he got to the top rung, he attempted to grab the window sill, but it was just out of reach. ‘Throw down your blankets.’

  She anchored the knotted blankets to the bed frame and threw them out of the window. John used them to pull himself to waist height, before swinging his legs into the open window. Impressive. He did a mock bow and then made a start on fixing the ladder. By this time, Rory was
crossing her legs. ‘Can you fix it?’

  John stood back and scratched his head. ‘This thing is an antique. I’m going to need to get some tools out of the van.’ He turned to go.

  ‘No! I need to go.’ Rory gave up the claustrophobia pretence. ‘I need to go.’

  A smile of realisation dawned. ‘Oh, I see. Well, I have a bucket I can bring up from the van?’ Rory looked at him with daggers in her eyes. ‘No? Well, then I guess I have to take you back down with me.’

  The ladder was steep and scary. But she was about to wet herself. Which was worse? Weeing. ‘Will you go down first?’

  ‘Of course. Come on.’ Expertly, John swung himself out of the window and, holding onto the blanket ladder, lowered himself onto the top rung of the ladder.

  Involuntarily, Rory called out. ‘Be careful!’

  John looked up and smiled. ‘Luckily for you, my Health and Safety qualification is fully up to date. Although they might take it away from me if they saw what I’m about to do.’ He tied the bottom of the blanket ladder to the top rung of the real one. ‘Out you come.’ Clumsily, Rory stuck one leg out of the window and then tried to bring the other out to meet it without falling forwards. ‘It’s easier if you back out.’

  That was worse. Imagining the sight of her backside lowering downwards towards John’s outstretched arms. But his hands felt strong and capable. He guided her feet, legs and hips down towards the proper ladder. Why was she thinking about his arms? Concentrate. ‘This is scarier than I imagined.’

  ‘It’s okay, I’ve got you.’ As they inched their way down the ladder, he stayed just behind her, his hand on the small of her back. There was a warm feeling in her stomach, and it wasn’t just her need to use the bathroom.

  Finally, they were on solid ground. Rory breathed for what seemed like the first time in the last ten minutes. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My goodness! How exciting, what happened?’