by Hannah Tovey
‘He’s my hero,’ he said. ‘Who’s your hero, Miss?’
I tried to think of a public figure I admired but the only person who came to mind was Mel C. As I pondered this, Jamar got up from his seat, walked to the other side of the room and sat back down on his own again. I waved at him, but he ignored me and went back to tearing up pieces of paper. I thought about what Mr Reid had said about the importance of connecting with the children on a personal level. This was going to be a disaster.
Primrose wasn’t interested in the task either. She was too busy rummaging through the costume box. I watched her take out a white wig and small handbag. Hakim ran over to her, wanting to get in on the action, but she pushed him out of the way. Unphased by her robust attitude to play, he left her to it. Imagine someone being cruel to you like that, and you not caring about it? What an incredible skill to have.
At lunch in the staffroom, Mr Reid announced that I had made a gluten-free cake. Ten minutes later, the cake had been eaten, and I overheard someone say it was ‘Clerkenwell Bake Off standard’ – a blatant lie, but one I was very grateful for. The discussion moved on to charity bakes and who should organise what and why it’s important to get newcomers like me involved in extracurricular activities.
I sat there, nodding as I agreed to everything everyone threw at me. As I left the staff room Mrs Lyons said how great it was to have someone with my enthusiasm and energy. Everyone in the room smiled in agreement. I was elated. Mam was right: it was all about praise and popularity.
Just before the bell went, Jamar tugged at my dress. There was butter grease smeared all over his brow. I tried not to laugh.
‘Is everything OK, Jamar?’
‘Thank you, Miss Edwards.’
‘For what?’
‘I was sad this morning, but you’ve made me not sad.’
He smiled the loveliest, gummy smile that made me want to hold him and never let go.
‘I’m so glad. Today was a big day and you did really well.’
‘Can you play football with me again tomorrow?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘You’re not very good. But, we can practise together, if you like?’
‘That would be great. Maybe someday, I’ll be even better than you.’
‘No, you’ll never be better than me.’
He walked away, looking very pleased with himself and I breathed a sigh of relief. It was the first real connection all day, and it meant the world.
‘How do you feel?’ Mr Reid asked me, when everyone had left for the day.
I almost told him about Dilys. How she came into my head throughout the day and told me I had no right to be there. But I didn’t, because, as Dan has told me on countless occasions, referring to my brain in the third person makes me sound unhinged, and that wasn’t the impression I wanted to make on my first day.
‘Like I’ve been in a battle but won – marginally.’
‘That sounds about right. The next step is to work on a naming system.’
‘Was I that bad?’
‘You called Horatio “Horis”. Though, I think I prefer Horis.’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll get better.’
‘I find it helps if you try to picture their doppelgänger. Take Kitty, she looks like James Corden’s twin sister,’ he said. ‘And Horatio—’
‘Boris! He’s Boris Johnson!’
‘And Amit?’
It only took a second to come to me. ‘Al Capone.’
‘Precisely!’
I began to tidy the rest of the desks.
‘Before we go,’ Mr Reid asked, ‘do you like music?’
‘Yes, I love music. I’m an ardent fan of the Backstreet Boys.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘One Direction?’
‘Please, stop. My wife Mel and I do a gig night once a month in Shadwell; we play folk music. Why don’t you come along next weekend? It’ll be a great opportunity for you to meet some of the other teachers, get to know them outside of school. It’ll be good fun.’
‘That sounds great, I’d love to come.’
‘Sometimes, when Mel’s had a few too many, she insists on singing “Mama”.’
‘The Spice Girls one?!’
‘Yes.’ There was a look of the utmost seriousness on his face. ‘Please don’t encourage her.’
16
During the first term, I’d be in the classroom with Mr Reid from Monday to Thursday, then at UCL most Fridays for lectures, training and study sessions. I was to immerse myself in the school as much as possible but be strict about setting clear boundaries. I was to plan carefully but try to be spontaneous. I was to talk through any challenges I was facing, but to appreciate that things will go wrong. Make lists. Don’t burn out. Breathe. What could possibly go wrong?
I didn’t have much to compare it to – as Anna so often reminded me, I’d never had a baby to keep me up all hours of the night, so how could I possibly know what real fatigue felt like. But I felt hung-over every day, without having had the joy of drinking. I don’t mind being hung-over if the night before was worth it. In fact, I often think that I deserve to feel so rotten because I had so much fun. A titfor-tat situation, if you like. But this wasn’t like that. Things that had happened yesterday felt like they’d happened weeks ago. I found myself unable to hold conversations outside of the classroom. Mam couldn’t comprehend why I wasn’t able to message her every hour, on the hour. Mia said she’d lost her best friend. Dan said I might as well have moved countries. I spent most staring at the ceiling, worrying about the next day at school, whether I could keep up, let alone inspire the children and support Mr Reid. It had only been two weeks.
Sometimes at night, I logged on to Serendipity, just to get a little break from reading about educational theories. One night, I matched with Ian. He was an electrician, thirty-three years old, lived in Herne Hill. So far, so good. We spent the next few nights messaging back and forth. The conversation was always on the edge of flirty, but he’d not yet asked me out, which didn’t bother me, because I had no time to sleep, let alone date. Also, Serendipity had crushed all optimism I had about ever meeting anyone normal ever again.
I was sitting at home reading about how to bring equity, expertise and empowerment into the classroom, when Ian messaged, asking for a picture. It was 10 p.m. and he was drunk. I gathered this not because he’d asked me for a nude, but because he’d misplaced two commas in the text: ‘How, are you babe? Send me a, dirty pic :)’
I peered down at my chest. I was wearing an old sports bra and my breasts looked flat and deflated under the thick fabric.
After googling ‘How to take the perfect selfie’, I changed into a black lace bra that used to work wonders on Jamie. I took dozens of photos in various, unnatural poses but my boobs still resembled last week’s Victoria sponge.
Fuck it, I thought, took one final photo, and pressed send.
Immediately, I regretted it. I deleted the message, then sat down on the bed in a state of wild panic. What if Ian knew a parent at the school and showed them the photo? What if that parent sent it to the principal and I was sacked for sending nudes? I was contemplating leaving the country, when Ian replied.
‘Why the deleted message?’ he wrote.
I almost chucked my phone out the window, but seeing as I couldn’t afford a new one, I decided to block him instead. Then I deleted Serendipity. I was going to meet a man the old-fashioned way. Or I was going to die alone. Either way, no more nudes.
The next day, I had my first session with my university tutor, Dawn Wilkins. She was a towering figure who vaped excessively and was partial to a slogan tee. On our first meeting, her T-shirt had a picture of a vagina on it with the words ‘Anatomy of Freedom’. She inhaled on the vape as she spoke.
‘This is about collaboration and creating, but you must develop your own teaching and leadership talent.’
I was typing feverishly on my keyboard, struggling to keep up.
‘You will take
things from our university sessions,’ Dawn continued, ‘and immediately implement them in the classroom.’
She stopped in the centre of the room, and everyone looked up at her.
‘Does anyone have questions?’
I raised my hand high in the air.
‘Ivy, over to you.’
‘What do you think is the most demanding aspect of the study programme, and what’s your advice on how we can overcome it?’
‘Good question,’ she said.
The woman beside me, Courtney, nudged my elbow and winked. I felt a surge of pride wash over me.
‘The most demanding thing is time,’ Dawn said. ‘There’s so much going on; it’s imperative that you have the tools to maintain good mental health, so you can stay on top of it all.’
‘And how do we stay on top of it all?’ Courtney asked.
‘You must get lots of rest, exercise both body and mind. If I can urge you to do one thing this term, it’s to look after yourself.’
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone for a run, or managed more than thirty seconds of mindfulness, but I told myself that afternoon that I was going to smash it. I was going to find inner zen and balance and thrive in my first year. Or, I was going to fail miserably and work in a gift shop for the rest of my life. I could sense Dilys was gearing herself up to say something, so I shook my head vigorously to block her out.
‘Is everything OK, Ivy?’ Dawn asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, trying to look nonchalant.
She looked at me quizzically then carried on with the rest of the seminar. I wrote a note to myself on my laptop: STOP ACKNOWLEDGING DILYS IN PUBLIC YOU LOOK INSANE.
At the end of the session, Courtney suggested we go for bibimbap at a local Korean restaurant. I wanted Courtney to like me – she looked like a Scandinavian supermodel, wore head-to-toe Nike, and had personalised the entire contents of her pencil case – but I wanted to catch Eleanor before bedtime, so I said my goodbyes, and caught the bus to Anna’s.
‘Why didn’t you go out with them?’ Anna asked.
We were sitting in her living room later that night, eating a takeaway.
I yawned before I could even speak.
‘Don’t talk to me about being tired.’
‘This isn’t the Olympics of Fatigue, Anna. I need to knuckle down and focus; you know I’m easily led.’
‘What about meeting a nice, like-minded man? Someone who also cares about supporting the learning and development of young children.’
‘You’ve clearly not seen the men in my class.’
‘You’re being negative. You said last week you didn’t know anyone single – now’s your chance.’
‘I know single people … They’re either actors or don’t like vaginas – or both.’
‘I think you should say yes next time they ask you out. I’d like to see you finally meet someone.’
Anna had never made a comment like this to me before. She was like the self-help guru I never had; she was a straight-shooter, but she was never holier-than-thou about it – until now.
‘I almost sent a man a nude last week.’
I thought this might annoy her. I was right.
‘Ivy! What were you thinking? You can’t do that – what if someone got hold of it?’
‘It was a momentary lapse of judgement. Don’t make me feel even worse about it.’
Anna glared at me. Mark came back into the room with a bar of chocolate and handed me a piece.
‘I’ve come off Serendipity,’ I said. ‘I was drowning in a sea of wankers.’
Mark laughed. ‘I thought you said there was an algorithm?’
‘It doesn’t work – clearly. The whole thing is humiliating. Let’s just put on Notting Hill.’
‘I thought you said you couldn’t watch Richard Curtis films.’
‘That’s only when I’m heartbroken, Mark. I’m not heartbroken any more; I’m destitute.’
Nobody said anything. I got comfortable on the chair and devoured the chocolate.
‘Anyway, the good news is that my tutor liked my essay. She said she saw courage in my writing. I don’t know what it means, but it sounds promising.’
I didn’t get a response. I turned my head to look at Mark and Anna. They were both asleep. As I got up from the chair, Mark stirred.
‘I’ll leave you guys to it,’ I said, grabbing my stuff. ‘Besides, you were right: it’s too soon for Richard.’
Mark got up quietly, careful not to wake Anna, and walked me to the front door.
‘Do you think Anna will still want to come to Shadwell tomorrow?’ I asked him. ‘I invited her to my teacher’s gig.’
‘What kind of music is it?’
‘Folk, I think.’
‘That’ll be fine. If it was anything heavy she wouldn’t come.’
‘Do you think I’d be going if it was anything heavy?’
‘Why are you going?’
‘I want to get to know Mr Reid and the other teachers outside the classroom.’
‘That’s great, you’ll need a strong support network this year.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘You know Anna will only be able to come for a couple of hours anyway – Eleanor still won’t take the bottle, so she can’t leave her side for too long.’
‘I’d be happy with any time with Anna – even if it’s only a couple of hours.’
He smiled.
‘I know you would, Ivy.’
17
I was already en route to Shadwell when Anna called to say that Eleanor had a temperature.
‘You’re sure this isn’t an elaborate lie because you’re too tired to leave the house?’ I said.
‘I resent that accusation.’
‘I wanted to introduce you to everyone.’
‘As if I would ever lie about my child like that.’
‘Anna, can you lighten up a little, please?’
‘I know this is important to you.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Is Eleanor OK?’
‘I think she smelt my desperation and longing to go out and thought, you know what, fuck your plans, Mammy, I’m going to get sick.’
‘Yeah, that sounds like something she would do.’
‘At least Mia will be there with you.’
‘She’s not coming. She’s too busy prepping herself for tonight’s party.’
‘Is this the infamous annual end-of-summer party?’
Mia likes to throw an annual end-of-summer rave, like they do in Ibiza. She gets her friends to DJ, and there’s a lot of narcotics and topless snogging. Everyone leaves three days later, having lost their dignity – and their souls. It’s an exceptional night out.
‘Yeah, she’s asked Noah to widen the net and invite some fresh meat,’ I said.
‘Does her pre-party routine still involve the Cats musical?’
‘It’s much more nuanced now. She likes to do power yoga in the garden – naked – followed by a bath of natural oils that smell like a vagina.’
‘Whose vagina?’
‘God knows, I stopped listening.’
‘Right, well, enjoy. Try not to come home in such a state this time.’
‘I resent that accusation.’
I walked into the pub and spotted Mr Reid at the bar. I looked around, wondering where the rest of the teachers were. There were meant to be at least ten of us.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ Mr Reid said. ‘Nobody else can make it. There’s been an outbreak of diarrhoea in the staff room.’
‘Oh, shit.’
‘Literally.’
His wife Mel came up behind him and introduced herself. She had voluminous golden-brown crimped hair, a broad, welcoming smile, and she wore an acoustic guitar draped over her shoulder. I pictured her being this quiet old lady making jam all day, but she looked just like Shania Twain in the late nineties – I’d know, because Dad used to have a not-so-quiet obsession with her. He used to pick me up from art class after school
– it was easy to spot him in the car park; I just had to follow the sound of him singing ‘Man! I Feel Like a Woman!’ at the top of his lungs.
I told Mel how much I loved her jam, and she said how much Mr Reid was enjoying working with me.
‘That’s very kind,’ I said. ‘I feel like a complete fraud most of the time.’
‘We all do, trust me,’ Mel said. ‘I hear Nancy has taken a shine to you?’
‘I know you’re not supposed to have favourites, but she’s this perfect little ginger doll. I’m in love.’
Mel was about to say something when she spotted a man across the room and started waving in his direction.
I turned around and couldn’t believe who was standing there.
Scott.
It had been almost six months since I’d given him my number in that dark, sweaty, overpriced karaoke bar. He’d never called, or texted, but there he was, standing at the other side of the room, and all I could do was stare at the delightful curl flopping to the right side of his head.
As soon as he saw me, he stopped walking and smiled. He was so effortlessly attractive, it was impossible for me not to reciprocate. He was shorter than I remembered, no more than 5′10. He was wearing an army-green linen shirt that looked like it had been in a suitcase for months, and once again I was impressed by the fact that his jeans were not the tapered sort you find on every try-hard in East London. Part of his shirt was hanging loose, exposing a bit of his stomach. It was toned and olive in complexion. I started to feel a bit sick.
‘Hello, Ivy,’ he said, approaching us.
‘Hello again.’
We stood there scanning each other.
‘Do you two know each other?’ Mr Reid asked.
‘Yes, sort of,’ Scott said.
‘We’d better go get ready,’ Mel said. ‘Why don’t you both grab a drink … catch up.’ She turned to Scott. ‘And try to sit in the front this time. I hate it when you heckle us from the back.’
‘I’ve never heckled you,’ Scott said. ‘You know I think you have the voice of an angel.’
‘Stop being such a smart arse,’ she said, as she took Mr Reid’s hand in hers and walked towards the stage.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked him, when Mel and Mr Reid were out of earshot.