by Hannah Tovey
‘Scott! Sorry, how rude of me. I’m Mia.’
She held her hand out regally for Scott to take it.
‘We’ll have to get going soon,’ Anna said, looking to Mark.
‘We can’t leave now,’ he said. ‘Mia’s only just got here.’
He took Anna’s hand from across the table – his not-so-subtle way of asking her if it was OK for him to have another glass of wine.
‘I guess it’ll be me on duty tonight,’ Anna said.
Mia shoved a roast potato in her mouth and smiled.
‘Modern parenting at its finest,’ she said. ‘Here, a toast, to co-parents, here and everywhere.’
She sank what was left of her glass and went to refill it.
‘So, Scott,’ she said, ‘you’re from London, aren’t you? I love a good London boy. It’s so very glam.’
‘Crouch End isn’t glam. Though we do have a Gail’s now, which makes it officially middle-class.’
Mia liked this comment. She pretends to hate chains, but I know full well that she spends a fortune in Starbucks every month. She only goes there because the barista fancies her and tells her she looks like a young Meryl Streep, which she does – and she knows it.
Mia turned her chair so that she was directly facing Scott. She rested her chin on her palm and fluttered her lashes.
‘Tell us, Scott: what was your childhood like?’
Anna laughed. ‘Yes, Scott, how was your childhood?’
I put my hand on his knee for reassurance.
‘We were your typical, middle-class family. My dad worked hard—’
‘Ivy said your parents are divorced,’ Mia said, ‘that must be tough?’
‘It could be worse.’
‘Could it?’
Mark cleared his throat, but Mia took no notice.
‘It’s much better now than when they were married.’
‘I see,’ Mia said, nodding.
‘Mum is happy, which is the main thing.’
‘So, family is important to you, then?’
‘It is, yes.’
‘And do you want children?’
‘Mia!’ I said.
Scott laughed. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Let’s stop with the interrogations,’ I said.
She mimed zipping her mouth up.
‘Mia, how’s Noah?’ Anna asked.
‘He’s good. Busy working, as always.’
‘It’s great you guys have so much work on,’ Mark said.
‘Yes, I guess. I still don’t have a diamond, though.’
I was about to say something when I saw her hand go to Scott’s hair.
‘Ivy was right,’ she said. ‘You do have the most enchanting locks.’
Anna cracked up.
‘Mia, come to my bedroom with me,’ I said.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘I want to show you my new dress.’
‘You don’t have a new dress.’
‘I do.’
‘I want to sit here and talk to Scott.’
‘And I want to show you the dress.’
In my bedroom, she fell onto the bed.
‘Do you have any paracetamol?’ she asked. ‘I have a little headache.’
‘I knew it! You’re pissed.’
‘I’m not pissed.’
‘I thought you said your appointment ran over?’
‘It did! But … I met my producer for a little Prosecco after.’
‘You are unbelievable.’
‘Ivy! He was nearby! You know I love fizz on a Sunday.’
‘We have fizz here.’
‘Yes, I brought some too, as promised. I’m good like that.’
‘Pull yourself together. You’re going a million miles an hour.’
‘Sorry. I really like Scott. He has such great hair.’
‘I know, thank you.’
‘And he’s handsome. More handsome than in the photos.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Is it bad that I have to stop myself from calling him Jamie?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you still think about Jamie?’
‘Are you having a neurological breakdown?’
She fluffed up her hair and walked back into the living room.
‘Right, Scott, one last thing. Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie?’
‘Mia, what did I just say?’ I said.
‘Ivy, this is serious. Scott, answer the question, please.’
I willed for him to say Jen.
‘Jen,’ he said. ‘Obviously.’
She grabbed his face and smacked her lips on his cheek.
‘Yes! Welcome to the family, Scott.’
She proceeded to ask Scott about his last relationship, whether his brother was a spy, and what he thought of the Spice Girls. When it was Scott’s turn to ask the questions, he did his best to cross-examine Mia. He asked about her childhood, how she manages rejection, was she aware that the cheese she was shoving in her mouth was neither lactose-free nor vegan.
Foolishly, we moved on to port. Mia announced to the group that she thought I should ask Scott to marry me, and Anna admitted that she was morphing into Mam. We raised a glass to Margaret Edwards, argued over whether we should feel sympathy for the Royal Family and Mia did a rendition of ‘Don’t Cry for Me Argentina’ on the balcony, for all my neighbours to hear. After that, I sent everyone home. It was almost eight, I hadn’t yet looked over tomorrow’s lesson plan, and – despite every good intention – I was drunk.
We said our goodbyes at the door, and Scott rushed right back to the kitchen. There were red wine stains on the table, and gravy drippings on the floor. He got out a cloth and spray and started cleaning up.
‘You are so like your uncle,’ I said.
‘I won’t be able to sleep knowing your kitchen looks like this.’
‘Scott, it’s my kitchen, leave it.’
He put the cloth down. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘You’re not allowed to wake up in the middle of the night and clean it.’
‘I’ll try my best.’
I walked over to him and wrapped my arms around him.
‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is to have a house full of people.’
‘I had so much fun, Ivy. They’re great.’
The room began to spin a little. I moved away from him and poured myself a glass of water.
‘Are you drunk, Miss Edwards?’
‘No … Maybe. You were meant to tell me to stop drinking at five.’
‘Was I?’
‘I’m sure I asked you to … ’
‘You didn’t, and anyway, I could never say that to you. You’d punch me in the face.’
‘I would, you’re right.’
I drank another glass of water. He came up behind me as I was by the sink.
‘Will you dance with me?’ he asked.
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now.’
‘What do you want to dance to?’
‘Anything you like.’
I went over to my phone, knowing exactly what to play.
‘I used to dance with my grandfather to this,’ I said.
I put my hand in his and we slow danced in the kitchen to Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’. I could feel his heart beating against my chest and I tried not to get emotional. At the end of the song, he started kissing me, the gentlest kisses all over my face. I laughed, but he just kissed me harder, and when I moved away from him, our eyes met, and I knew right there and then that I was in love with him.
Gramps used to read me lots of Roald Dahl as a child, and there’s a line in The Twits that I’ve always loved:
‘If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.’
Lying in bed with Scott that night, I felt like all my happiness was shining out of me, and it took everything in me not to cry.
29
Social and emotional developmental milestones in four-year-olds:
>
Learning to express feelings.
Demonstrates more independence and seeks new experiences.
Finding balance can be challenging.
Struggles to navigate change.
Social and emotional developmental milestones in thirty-three year-olds:
See above.
*
It was time for my first formal observation, also known as an opportunity for me to get over my deep-rooted desire for everyone to love me and learn to accept feedback rationally. I looked for the handbook: How to unlearn thirty-three years of hard work; I was devastated to find that there was none.
My tutor Dawn always stressed the importance of finding balance as a teacher. In almost every session we had together, she asked us what we did that week to centre ourselves and relax. ‘How do we marry instinct with technique?’ I felt like I never had the right answer. She said there were no right answers, but I knew that was something teachers say to students when they’re trying to be sympathetic and inclusive. Dawn had a terrible poker face, and I was very much aware that she thought I was a blubbering idiot. I thought the impulse for seeking new information was a positive human attribute, but I realised early on in those lectures that there’s a difference between asking questions every two minutes and being curious: one means you’re disruptive; the other means you’re eager to learn. Unfortunately, I fell into the former camp.
Mr Reid put a lot of emphasis on preparing myself physically – how would I stand, what would my voice sound like. So, the week before the observation, I took Mia onto Hackney Marshes to practise projecting. I got used to standing on two feet, squarely, instead of shifting on my right leg. I worked on enunciation and breathing and what on earth I was going to do with my hands. I beat myself up about what could go wrong and lost sleep worrying about whether Mr Reid would find fundamental flaws in my approach – which of course he would; that’s what first observations are all about.
The night before the observation, Scott arrived at my flat at 7 p.m., armed with ingredients for a risotto, which apparently he thought was just rice.
‘I thought we could make dinner together tonight,’ he said, walking into the kitchen.
I tried not to let my frustration show. ‘By make dinner, you mean I make dinner, and you sit around playing on your phone?’
‘Yeah, sound good?’
‘You know you can’t make a risotto with basmati rice, right?’
He laughed; I didn’t.
‘I’ve got to prepare for tomorrow. I told you, I have my first observation.’
‘I know, I thought you could do with a break, though.’
‘I had a break last night, when we went out for dinner.’
‘Sorry, I thought … I don’t know what I thought.’
‘I can’t get distracted tonight.’
‘OK … Do you want me to leave?’
‘I’m sorry, but yes.’
He looked wounded.
‘You could’ve said that before I came over with dinner.’
‘I told you last night that I wanted to get an early night tonight.’
‘But you didn’t emphasise that you’d want to do that alone.’
‘I thought it was obvious.’
‘I’m not a mind reader.’
‘I never said you were.’
He picked up his bag from the floor. I moved towards him and gave him a hug.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow night, OK?’ I said.
He made his way to the front door. We kissed, but it felt nothing like our usual kisses. It was rushed and without meaning.
I closed the door behind him and sat on my bed, where I went back to reading a blog on formal lesson observations titled, ‘There is no failure. Only feedback’.
I didn’t believe that for a second.
I didn’t hear from Scott again that night. It was the first night we’d spent apart where he didn’t message to say good-night. I thought it was immature, but then again, I didn’t message him either – but that’s because I am immature.
*
‘Today, we’re going to learn about the importance of inner peace,’ I said. ‘And we’re going to think of some tools we can use to help us find peace inside ourselves.’
‘Ivy—’
I turned to Mr Reid, who was pointing to the back of the room. One of the chairs was empty.
I walked over and saw Amit lying on the floor in corpse position.
‘Amit, would you please sit back on your chair?’ I asked.
He didn’t answer. Some of the children started to laugh. I asked them to be quiet. The laughter got louder. I tried again, with the same result. Mr Reid told them to be quiet, and they promptly shut up.
I crouched down to the floor and asked Amit if everything was all right. He remained motionless, his eyes clamped shut.
I touched his arm and he started screaming. I moved a step back, and he stopped.
‘Amit, is everything OK?’
He said nothing. I could hear his breathing, rapid and short.
‘Amit, we’re going to be learning about peace today. I’d love for you to join in with us.’
He didn’t move. I looked to Mr Reid then back to Amit. I asked him what I could do to help but he started doing scissor kicks with his arms and legs and I almost got whacked in the face.
Mr Reid got up and walked over to us. He crouched down to Amit and whispered something in his ear. Amit’s eyes flicked open and he grunted loudly, before getting up and sitting on his chair. It was that simple.
I mouthed ‘Sorry’ to Mr Reid, and he half-smiled in a way that conveyed to me that the past ten minutes had been a complete and utter failure. I summoned all the confidence I had inside me and started the lesson again.
Using the markers, coloured pencils and crayons on their tables, I asked the children to draw an image of something that made them feel peaceful. I showed one I drew earlier, of a beach, with two people sitting down on the sand, sharing an ice cream.
‘Is that your boyfriend?’ Horatio asked.
‘No, that’s my grandfather,’ I said.
I saw Nancy’s face light up and I felt myself relax a little.
I told them to pick up a rock from their table, clasp it in their hands and breathe deeply into it.
‘This will fill the rock with peace,’ I said.
Sammy started to distract Jamar. I asked him to be quiet. He ignored me.
I thought of Gramps telling me and Anna off that time we got drunk at the rugby and embarrassed him by singing the Welsh national anthem in the wrong key. I channelled him, putting on a firm, confident, ‘make one more sound and I will destroy you’ voice.
‘I’m not going to say this again,’ I said. ‘Please be quiet.’
I finally had his attention.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Now, let’s start decorating our rocks.’
After I gave the initial instructions about how to decorate the rock, I asked for ten minutes of quiet time. They were meant to use the opportunity to lose themselves in their art, but, instead, two of the children needed the toilet, which then made everyone else think they needed to go, too. As I was telling them they could go after class, Sammy went over to the bookshelf and started pulling individual books out onto the floor. Mr Reid took him outside, where I hoped he would stay for the remainder of the year.
At this point, I had forgotten what my original objectives were. I wanted to stamp my feet and scream. I was a fraud, a four-year-old in a thirty-three-year-old’s body.
The bell was finally called, and it was the end of the day. Mr Reid put a consolatory hand on my shoulder and said I did a good job. He didn’t say great, he said good. He saw the disappointment in my eyes.
‘There is no such thing as a perfect lesson, Ivy. Especially not your first. There’s always more work to do.’
‘It was a car crash.’
‘It’s important to have perspective.’
‘I lost focus.’
‘Don’t get despondent,
’ he said. ‘I’ll give you thorough formal feedback once I’ve had time to reflect on my notes, OK?’
I excused myself to go to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and exhaled. I was about to crumble.
I ran into the toilet cubicle and slammed the door shut. I thought I was getting better. I had no idea how I’d gotten it so wrong.
I saw Amit’s nanny, Kate, by the see-saw. She was eyeing everyone up and gossiping with the other nannies about the mothers – as she always did at pick-up. Whilst I was still fuming over Amit’s display of rebellion that afternoon, I liked Kate – she had a naughty glint in her eye and a wicked sense of humour. Last week I overheard her tell one of the other nannies that Leopold and Tarquin’s parents liked to wife swap.
I walked over to her and asked her for a quiet word.
‘How’s Amit doing?’ I asked her.
‘Why, did something happen?’
‘He demonstrated some fine planking this afternoon.’
‘He likes to lie in corpse pose and scream at the top of his lungs.’
‘Is this a new thing?’
‘Not really, he enjoys the attention.’
‘Well, he certainly achieved that. Is everything OK at home?’
‘His mum’s got a new boyfriend, but I don’t think that’s anything to go by; everyone’s playing happy families.’
‘I didn’t realise Amit’s father didn’t live at home.’
‘It’s all very amicable.’
‘OK, well, it’s good to know everything’s all right. Thanks, Kate.’
I walked away, but not so far that I was out of earshot. I knew the minute I left Primrose’s nanny Susie would be back and that’s when the truth would come out.
As predicted, Susie moved back towards Kate.
‘What’s the new man like then?’ Susie asked.
‘He’s closer in age to Amit than he is his mother.’
‘No! Really?’
‘Only just turned thirty.’
‘How old is Rakhee?’
‘Mid-forties. Not that she’d ever admit it.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘He’s filthy rich. His parents have this ginormous estate up north; you know, like, proper old-school English toffs.’
‘Jesus. Well done, Rakhee! Does he work?’
‘He works for his dad, but I heard they don’t get along.’
Just turned thirty, estate up north, family drama. I felt my throat close. It couldn’t be?