by Hannah Tovey
As he put his bag down, a book fell out onto the floor. He hurried to put it back in his rucksack.
‘What are you reading?’ I asked.
He hesitated. ‘Oh, it’s … it’s a history of the feminist revolution … in Central America.’
‘Check you out.’
‘Sorry, that’s a lie. It’s actually a book about … ’
He looked nervous and I started to laugh.
‘What? Tell me!’ I said.
‘It’s about tidying up.’
‘Tidying up?’
‘Yes.’
‘Interesting … ’
‘It’s a masterclass in organisation, from a Japanese sorting guru. Japanese people are exceptional at decluttering. It’s in their bones or something.’
‘Why did you tell me it was about feminism in Central America?’
‘I read something in the Metro earlier and thought it would make me sound intellectual.’
I laughed.
‘You know you laugh with your whole face,’ he said.
‘Do I?’
‘Yes, it’s beautiful.’
It was the kindest thing anyone has said to me in about a year. I almost told him this, but stopped myself, in the knowledge it would make me sound tragic.
‘I bought you something,’ he said, handing me a small parcel. The wrapping paper was decorated with images of the Welsh flag.
‘Where on earth did you get this from?’ I said.
‘I spent weeks tracking this down for you.’
‘Weeks?’
‘I found it in some weird card shop on Carnaby Street yesterday. The manager said I was the first person to ever purchase this paper from them. Shocking, isn’t it?’
I opened the parcel to find a leather notebook, with my initials embossed on the front. On the first page he’d written, ‘Happy birthday, Ivy. I hope this is one to remember x’. The leather was the same colour as the satchel that Mia and Dan had bought me, and the lettering was embossed in the same font. I picked my bag up from the floor and showed him.
‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘I spotted it on Saturday. There’s this boutique in Highgate Village where I assumed Mia got it from, so I went in there on Sunday to get it for you.’
‘We hadn’t organised our second date on Sunday.’
‘I know, but I was being hopeful.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I need a notebook for school; we’ve got to keep a reflective journal, to record our experiences in class.’
‘I know, Finn mentioned.’
‘Thank you, Scott. I love it.’
‘You’re so very welcome, Ivy.’
We ordered drinks and talked about our days. He spoke slowly, like he was trying to make every word count. I told him about the pea, and he laughed so much that he spluttered out some of his drink. He wasn’t trying to be funny, but everything he said brought a smile to my face. After a couple of glasses of wine, I couldn’t stop myself from telling him that I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about his hair.
‘I’m using a new shampoo,’ he said. ‘I stole it from my friend’s fancy gym. It’s such a hit with the ladies.’
‘The ladies?’
‘Our company receptionist, who’s about seventy, and now you.’
‘What makes this gym so fancy?’
‘Well, it’s a hundred and forty quid a month.’
‘That is fancy.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not, like, gym-obsessed or anything.’
‘I’m not worried.’
‘Do you … work out?’
I made a face.
‘Sorry, that was a shit question,’ he said. ‘Can we forget I said that?’
‘That’s the sort of thing a creepy personal trainer would say. Someone who pretends to run their own private practice but in fact kidnaps young vulnerable people and hides them in their basement.’
‘Being a creepy personal trainer is my side hustle.’
‘How entrepreneurial of you.’
He took a sip of his drink, and I could see him grinning behind the glass.
‘What’s your favourite roast, Ivy?’
‘Roast?’
‘Yes, roast dinners. It’s important.’
I thought long and hard, which he seemed to appreciate.
‘It would have to be pork belly. Then again, I do love a good Norfolk chicken.’
‘Why does it need to be from Norfolk?’
‘It doesn’t, but they’re generally bigger and juicier. They’re looked after; it makes a difference.’
‘You have passed.’
‘Phew, I can rest easy.’
‘Do you cook?’
‘I do, yes. Though I’m not as imaginative as I’d like to be. It’s difficult when you’re cooking for one.’
‘What kind of things do you make?’
‘I’m trying to get back into baking.’
‘I love Bake Off.’
‘I’m not Bake Off level. But I do enjoy it. Especially now I can bake stuff for school. It’s an excellent way to win people over.’
‘How did you get into baking?’
‘You want the truth?’
‘Always.’
‘In sixth form, everyone started smoking weed. It used to give me a nasty cough, but I didn’t want to stop hanging out with them, because then I’d get massive FOMO. So, I started baking.’
He seemed confused.
‘I’d rock up with my biscuits so that when everyone was high, they’d have delicious treats to gorge on and I could still be included in all the fun.’
‘I thought you were going to say you started baking weed cookies.’
‘That would’ve made me sound much cooler.’
‘You’re adorable.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Would you judge me if I said I couldn’t boil an egg.’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s get this all out in the open, then … I don’t know how to turn on an oven.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘I eat microwavable food and/or takeaways.’
‘I thought you lived with your brother? Why hasn’t he ever taught you?’
‘He’s never at home.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I’m thirty-four.’
‘Wow.’
‘Don’t look at me like that! I need guidance, that’s all.’
‘What do you eat when you’re on your own?’
‘Before you start judging me—’
‘Don’t worry, I’m already judging you.’
He laughed again, and I thought about dry humping him right there on the chair.
‘I make a respectable stir fry.’
‘Respectable because you buy a ready-made packet and throw it into a wok?’
‘Yes. And then, without fail, I burn the wok.’
He excused himself to go to the loo, and I messaged Mia to tell her how well it was going. She sent numerous thumbs up before reminding me not to drink too much and to remember what my mother said about not calling him Jamie. I typed, ‘STOP MESSAGING MY MOTHER’, then put my phone away.
When he came back from the bathroom, he put his hand to the back of my neck and kissed me. I wondered how many more times he would need to do that before I dragged him to the downstairs loo.
He sat back down and put his hand across the table to hold mine. Neither of us spoke, we just sat there, grinning like two tipsy Cheshire cats. The waiter came over and asked us if we wanted another drink, and we both ordered without breaking eye contact.
A little while later, Scott asked me what made me want to train as a teacher.
‘It’s a courageous move,’ he said. ‘I hope that doesn’t sound condescending.’
There was something about him that encouraged a certain level of honesty, but I wondered whether there was a danger of being too open, too soon. I decided I had nothing to lose.
‘Last year was a difficult one,’ I said. ‘My fiancé left me. It was all
very sudden and, well, awful. I was getting back on track but then my grandfather, who was my best friend in so many ways, got sick. He was in hospital, then he got better, then … he died.’
‘Shit, I’m so sorry.’
‘I woke up one day late last year, unemployed and broke, with no real future ahead of me—’
I paused, realising I wasn’t exactly selling myself.
He smiled and told me to continue.
‘I used to work in a school years ago, and I loved it: I laughed all the time; I could be creative; I was making an impact on people’s lives. It inspired me.’
‘I get that.’
‘I lost my way a bit – a lot – last year. But with teaching, it’s not about you. You’re there to encourage them, to make them love learning. You can’t afford to be selfish. You’ve got to lead.’
‘You wanted to lead – I like that.’
‘It’s more than that. Have you ever felt like you wanted to reinvent yourself?’
He sat back in his seat as he pondered this.
‘I turned myself into a punk when I was fifteen. Does that count?’
‘Was it to impress a girl?’
‘No, it was when my dad left us … The first time around.’
‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK. It’s funny, I’ve not spoken about this in years.’
The waiter came and asked us if we wanted another round. We said yes.
When the waiter left, Scott asked me what my favourite kind of potato was. I said roasted, with duck fat, and very crispy edges. I said that I liked to eat the burnt bits, and he said they were his favourite, too. Then he leant across the table and kissed me again.
‘You’re not laughing this time,’ he said.
I didn’t say anything; I just closed my eyes and drank him in.
21
We stayed in the wine bar until closing, then ran across Soho, holding hands and stealing kisses, until we found a bar that was open until late. We paid £5 for the courtesy to get in, only to find out that they were holding a bizarre auction where middle-aged men in tracksuits were trying to fob off second-hand Louis Vuitton Supreme trainers to swarms of seventeen-year-olds.
Despite the odd setting, we stood on the dance floor, hands all over each other, kissing like there was no tomorrow. I could feel his crotch vibrate and I thought my body was going to burst into flames. We moved to the back of the bar and he pinned me up against the wall. I desperately wanted to take him home, but then I thought about school the next day, and those poor, innocent children having to endure my alcohol-infused breath.
‘I need to get home,’ I said, shouting over the grime music.
His face fell.
‘Really?’
‘I’ll be surrounded by screaming children in five hours. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘You said you had lectures on Friday?’
‘Oh, fuck! Tomorrow’s Friday! I’ve got a workshop in the morning, then I’m in school for the afternoon.’
‘Please stay, Ivy.’
‘I can’t. I have the fear.’
‘Of what?’
‘That I stink of booze.’
‘I think you smell fantastic.’
‘Stop it. You’re going to make me stay and I need to go home.’
‘Define “need”, Ivy?’
‘Scott!’
‘I’m meant to be hosting a breakfast meeting for a client at eight a.m.’
‘We’re fucked.’
‘Yes, but at least we’re fucked together.’
When we said goodbye, he held my face in his hands and kissed me – a long, lingering kiss that I thought about every second of every day for the next week. There was a moment where I almost reconsidered my decision, but I didn’t. At the grand old age of thirty-three, I had finally developed some willpower.
Anna rang me as I was walking to school the following afternoon.
‘What time did you get home?’
‘I don’t know, around two a.m.’
‘How come you were last seen at three forty?’
‘Why do you ask me what time I got home when you already know because you were stalking me on WhatsApp?’
‘I wasn’t stalking you; I was up feeding Eleanor. How’s the head?’
‘Either I’m still drunk or drinking water really does work.’
‘Good to see you’re finally learning.’
‘I treated myself to a bacon sandwich before class. I know I said I wasn’t going to buy any food out, but this was an exception.’
‘Ivy—’
‘I was on top form this morning. Dawn said I contributed a great deal to the discussion.’
‘Ivy—’
‘I think we’re going to do more social science stuff over the next few weeks, which sounds interesting. Anyway, I showered when I got home, and then again when I woke up, so I think the boozy aroma has left me.’
‘Ivy! Tell me about the date!’
I didn’t want to jinx it.
‘We had a nice time,’ I said.
‘Nice? What do you mean by “nice”?’
‘Fine, it was the best first date ever.’
‘There we go! What’s he like?’
‘He’s incredible.’
‘What does he think of you?’
‘The same, I think.’
‘Why do you sound so sceptical?’
‘I don’t want to get my hopes up, that’s all.’
‘Ivy, come on. You deserve this. When are you seeing him again?’
‘We’ve arranged to meet next Thursday. I would see him this weekend, but I have so much reading to do, and I need to prep for this presentation next week. Though now I think about it, I’ve got class all day next Friday and I can’t be hung-over for that because I’ve got to get up and talk about what I’ve learnt the past month. So now I’m thinking I should have just suggested that we meet on Friday, but if I message him asking to move the date then he’ll think I’m some loser with unlimited free time. No, you know what, I’m going to move it to Saturday.’
‘You’re overthinking this.’
‘I’ve lost the plot.’
‘I can’t believe you didn’t have sex with him. You always have sex on the first date.’
‘I’ve had sex with, like, four people on the first date.’
‘Is that all? It feels like more.’
‘It isn’t. Anyway, how are you?’
‘I feel much better than last week. I’ve come to terms with my fatness.’
‘Would you stop this? You’re not fat.’
‘I need to lose the last of the baby weight.’
‘You don’t need to do anything.’
‘I’ve not had more than one hour and forty minutes uninterrupted sleep since July and Eleanor refuses to play ball with my breasts, but other than that, I’m doing great.’
‘Your tone indicates otherwise.’
‘Did I tell you that my friend had a prolapse? It’s a miracle I didn’t have one, what with the shit show that’s going on down there.’
‘I don’t even know what a prolapse is.’
‘It’s when one of your pelvic organs—’
‘I’m going to stop you right there, Anna. I’m almost at school and I feel queasy enough as it is.’
Mr Reid gave me a knowing look when I got into the classroom. He said he hoped my evening was fun, but we didn’t speak about Scott, which is exactly how I wanted it to be. What was I going to tell him, that his nephew was the best kiss I’d ever had? That I wanted to curl up in his dimples and never leave?
I kept thinking about his kissable lips, the faint hint of green in his eyes, his infectious smile. He looked right at me when we spoke. He listened to every word. It had been so long since I’d met someone that I liked, that I wondered whether my feelings were genuine. Was this real, or was I just excited to be getting attention from a seemingly normal man? One who was actually interested in things I had to say?
I was daydrea
ming about Scott’s mouth when Mr Reid walked out of the classroom and, once again, the children went nuclear. It was as if they had orchestrated the delirium to erupt at the exact moment he left the room, just to make a point that I was clueless and lacking control.
It started when Primrose pushed Nancy off her beloved red chair. As I tried to explain the importance of sharing – for the hundredth time that week – I saw Amit take Leopold by the neck and smother glitter paint all over his face. In amongst them was Mabel, standing with her pants down to her ankles, shouting that she had a rash on her bum. She did have a rash on her bum, but I didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with that specific issue at that time. Was it too much to ask them not to touch their genitals for all of ten seconds? Was that so hard?
I ran to pull Mabel’s trousers up, took the chair off Primrose, and told Amit that if he didn’t let go of Leopold right this second, he was going to spend the rest of the day in Mrs Alan’s classroom.
I’d been reading about proactive approaches to discipline for weeks now, but no amount of literature could’ve prepared me for this.
‘Would everyone please be quiet,’ I said, as calmly and authoritatively as I could. ‘This is not how we behave in this classroom.’
My heart was racing, my headache had gone from a three to a ten and my salivary glands appeared to have stopped working. I was ready to break all the rules and ring Mam right there and then and ask her how on earth I was going to survive, when Sammy called my name.
‘What’s this, Miss?’
He was holding a drawing I’d done of Gramps, shortly before he died. It was only a sketch, and Gramps had hated it; he’d said it made him look like a geriatric. But it was the last drawing I did of him before he died, and I carried it around in my bag wherever I went.
‘That’s my grandad,’ I said.
‘That doesn’t look like a grandad,’ Sammy said.
‘It’s not all about talent. It’s got to come from your stomach.’
‘I’ve got a banana in my stomach,’ Amit said.
Everyone laughed, me included.
‘I’ve got strawberry jam in mine!’ said Mabel.
‘I want to draw a picture for my grandad,’ Nancy said.
‘You know what,’ I said, ‘that’s a brilliant idea.’
I laid out some wipe-clean mats to protect the floor, alongside paints in various colours, and asked the class to use their pieces of paper to tell us about something or someone they loved.