A Silver Lining (7 page)

At the end of the school day, Frankie popped her head in the door of room 17. ‘Are you going straight home, or would you like to go somewhere?’

Rose gathered up her things and walked towards the door. ‘A coffee sounds good. I think I’m in caffeine withdrawal; I just can’t bring myself to drink that stuff they have here. Where do you want to go for coffee?’

Frankie sighed. ‘Anywhere, anywhere at all. I just want to put some distance between me and this school, and I’m not ready to go home to Nana yet.’

Fifteen minutes later, the two women were ensconced in Shirley’s Tearooms, a single roomed establishment with plastic furniture, linoleum flooring and strip lighting. It served strong coffee which, along with the friendly staff, went some way to making up for the poor décor that made the bland functionality of the St. Jude’s staffroom look like it deserved a double page spread in an interiors magazine. There was a nicer coffee shop down the street which was chocolate box cute, with red gingham tablecloths and mouth watering homemade cakes, but a lot of their fellow teachers tended to congregate there after work. Rose and Frankie reckoned that they did enough small talk during their working day without continuing it after they clocked off. Shirley’s was much safer.

‘So why were you so desperate to get out of work?’ asked Rose as she emptied a sachet of sugar into her coffee. ‘Just the usual? Or was it something more particular today?’

Frankie blew on the coffee in her cup and took a sip before answering. ‘Oh you know it’s just those godforsaken departmental meetings. All the German teachers have a free class last thing on a Thursday, so we had the joy of our first meeting of term on our first day back. Sally was on my back today, yet
again
.’

Sally Richards was the head of the German department at St. Jude’s. Teaching was so tough in the school that Roger had come up with a departmental structure, to give some of the senior members of staff incentive to stay by giving them a title. The illusion of progression. Which was all great in theory, but subject departmental meetings were a pain for all concerned. Frankie had it tougher than Rose, teaching French, German and English, whereas Rose taught history, English and Classical Studies. Theoretically, this meant that they should both have three meetings every fortnight, but as Rose was the only member of staff who taught classical studies, and therefore constituted the entire Classical Studies department, she’d long ago elected to chair her departmental meetings at home in the bath with a large glass of wine.

Frankie was doubly cursed, as Frau Richards was known throughout the school as a cantankerous pain in the arse. She was disliked by the majority of the staff, mainly due to her tendency to comment on all aspects of their lives. Boyfriends, weight, dress sense or lack thereof – no subject was considered too personal for Sally to stick her oar in.

For most people Sally was just a nuisance, but she really had it in for Frankie. This probably had a lot to do with the fact that Frankie was a popular teacher and liked by the majority of her students, whereas Sally just wasn’t. Frankie extended her up-to-the-minute style to her teaching methods, bringing in DVD’s of cult television shows dubbed in German to encourage her students to develop an ear for the language. Because many of them were familiar with the storylines, they managed to follow a good proportion of the dialogue. With the senior students she introduced German soap operas. Sally Richards disapproved of her methods, but as Frankie’s classes managed to get decent grades on average (meaning that a large proportion of them passed) there was little she could say or do. She made up for this, however, by managing to make Frankie’s life as difficult as possible.

‘What’s the old bat done now?’

Frankie sighed. ‘She doesn’t think it’s appropriate that I allow third years to watch a sitcom with an age certificate of 15 because two of my students won’t be fifteen until the summer. It’s ridiculous!’

‘You’re joking? Sure, half of the class see worse when they’re drinking on the green! I mean, one of your students is
pregnant
. What does she think will happen? That their parents are going to call the schools in droves, complaining that their darlings are being corrupted?!’ asked Rose incredulously.

‘I don’t know, but she has a point. I don’t have a leg to stand on,’ said Frankie. ‘She said if the parents gave them written permission then they could watch it.’

‘Would you think about doing that?’ asked Rose.

Frankie shook her head slowly. ‘No. It just wouldn’t work. The girls like the fact that I treat them as adults, as much as I can. Asking them to get written permission to watch one episode of Gossip Girl in German per week would undermine that. You know yourself, if you gain their trust then break it they’ll make your classes hell. I’ll have to find something that cow can’t find fault with. God, there’s something about strip lighting and old linoleum flooring that make me long for a cigarette’.

‘There’s something about that last sentence that makes your life sound like a sequel to Trainspotting,’ said Rose.

‘Me? I’m as good as gold me. You’re the one who’s just moved in with an out of work actor boyfriend, that’s much more exciting. Nana Anna is great, but people don’t exactly envy me living with her.’

Rose wasn’t so sure about that. Nana Anna was in her early seventies and, despite problems with her hip, refused point blank to go anywhere in shoes with less than a three inch heel. She smoked like a chimney, so her and Frankie had lived together in a companionable cloud of smoke with their two cats, Badger and Florence, for the past ten years. Nana Anna loved television, and claimed that anything made less than twenty years ago was ‘new-fangled rubbish.’ Luckily, she’d taped lots of shows over the past thirty years and watched them on her ancient VCR, or watched classic DVD box sets that she got from her grandkids for birthdays and Christmas. She’d recently discovered the joys of UKTV Gold. Rose hoped to be half as interesting when she was that age.

‘Are you going home to London anytime soon?’ Rose asked offhandedly.

Frankie rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve lived here, for like, ten years. This is home now.’

Rose waved a hand impatiently. ‘Yeah, whatever. Anyway, are you going over to visit your parents soon?’

‘I might go for the Easter break. They’ll actually be in Nice then, so I’ll visit them there. That way I can see them and Dad’s family at the same time.’

‘That’s sounds lovely,’ said Rose wistfully. ‘Can I come too?’

‘You’re more than welcome to. Except then you might have to meet my mother.’

Rose ordered another coffee. ‘Come on Frankie, she can’t be that bad’

‘If I had a cigarette this is the point where I would take a long drag and look at you in a cool and appraising manner’, said Frankie.

‘I’ll never understand why when you have to narrate your smoking habits in public places.’

Frankie shrugged. ‘I can’t help it. I feel naked without my cigarettes.’

‘She’s your mother though, you must love her. You could contact her more,’ said Rose, returning to their original conversation.

Frankie placed both hands on the table and leaned slightly forward to emphasise her point. ‘Yes, I do love her but, you see, my mother is
crazy
. I left England to get away from her; it would be kind of pointless to indulge in long telephone conversations from here.’

‘All mothers are slightly crazy.’

‘Rose, when she found out I was teaching in a school that didn’t have a history spanning back over two hundred years, a horrid blazer and an eye-wateringly large fee she told everybody I was a secret agent.’

Rose spluttered into her coffee. ‘She did
what
? You are joking?!’

Frankie shook her head. ‘I’m deadly serious.’

‘Why didn’t she just lie and say that you taught in a private school?’ asked Rose, incredulously.

‘I suppose people would ask too many questions. Anyway, Ireland is a small place. They would have found out eventually that I actually didn’t work in any of the handful of schools that they would consider suitable. If she says that I’m a secret agent of some type or another she doesn’t have to answer any more questions.’

‘But surely secret agents don’t actually
tell
people their occupation? And pray tell, what is there to spy on in Ireland? It’s not exactly Russia, is it? The only state secret we have is exactly how many bottles of whiskey our government consumes in an average year.’

Frankie gave an exaggerated Gallic shrug. ‘I don’t know. She is crazy. I love her, true, but we’re better when we only have contact sporadically. I email Dad a lot, so I keep communication up that way.’

‘In English or French?’ Rose asked curiously.

‘Does it matter? We speak both. God, you Irish! You think anyone who can speak more than one language has discovered the secret of spinning gold from thin air.’

Rose decided to change the subject. ‘Are you doing anything next Tuesday night?’

‘No. Why, do you have something interesting planned?’

‘One of the groups that Daniel works with is holding an open mike night on Tuesday, where actors come and perform one person pieces.’

Frankie raised an eyebrow. ‘It sounds like one of those things that could either be fantastic or truly shocking. Anyway, I’ll tag along and see for myself.’

Rose smiled. ‘Thanks. Maybe you should bring your hip flask as a contingency plan. I better head off. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.’

CHAPTER THREE

On the way home, Rose went to a chemist-one of the large chains that stocked ranges of cosmetics that wouldn’t bring her face out in a rash. She needed to get some lip balm, she’d run out and the harsh January air had left them cracked and sore. She’d planned on just running straight in, making her purchase quickly and getting out before she could be seduced into putting anything else onto her already overloaded credit card. Unfortunately, she was weak and couldn’t resist the allure of the perfume counter. Rose could while away hours at perfume counters: there was something so grown up and sophisticated about them. She loved spraying herself with new scents, smelling undertones of vanilla and high notes of rose, feeling the weight of the heavy glass bottles in the palm of her hand. It brought back memories of being a child, sneaking her mother’s perfume out of her handbag and spraying her wrists with it. She bought into the adverts too, glossy pictures of beautiful women in romantic situations. They seemed to encapsulate that childlike dream of what grown up life would be like. It was comforting. Perfume was the only thing that Rose was fanatical about. She collected it and had dozens of bottles, from the heavy glass bottles of French perfume that Frankie tended to give her for her birthdays to fragrances from the large cosmetic houses, and even the cheap bottles that she saw in the school lockers of the second and third years. It was her passion – beautiful, romantic, and timeless. She found one fragrance she particularly liked, but replaced it regretfully. Moving in to the apartment had been more expensive than she’d thought. Daniel wasn’t earning a lot right now, so she’d have to start supporting both of them. She couldn’t afford to buy herself presents.

When Rose let herself into the apartment it was in darkness, so she instantly knew that Daniel wasn’t home. She wondered idly where he could be. The flat was freezing so she put on the heating but couldn’t bear to take her coat off. She opened the fridge; there was nothing much for dinner in there. She thought Daniel had said last night that he would pick up some groceries, but he obviously hadn’t. Luckily, she knew there was some pasta somewhere if only she could find it. She rooted around in the back of the cupboard, eventually managing to dig up a bag and, by dint of a miracle, a packet of stir-in pasta sauce. She’d cook that and open a bottle of wine. It wasn’t exactly going to be a spread worthy of a domestic goddess but hey. If Daniel had wanted that he should have chatted up a domestic science teacher.

She was just lifting up the pasta when she heard the sound of a key in the lock.

‘Perfect timing!’ she called out, placing two steaming bowls of pasta on the table. Daniel came in, his blonde hair plastered to his head from the rain that was still pouring down relentlessly outside.

‘I wish I’d been born in a less moist country’, he said as he gave her a kiss on the top of her head. He was tall and well built, with Scandinavian colouring and eyes so pale that it almost hurt to look directly into them.

‘Yeah? Well, I wish you’d got some shopping in,’ she said tartly.

‘Sorry I was busy’, he said ruefully, giving her a delicate kiss on the top of her head. ‘I was in the library.’

‘You, in a library?’ said Rose incredulously. ‘Why?’

Rose, as befitted an English teacher, consumed books faster than most women consumed chocolate. She had joined her local library because paying ten quid for a book that she’d get a day out of at best was a more expensive habit than smoking twenty a day. Daniel on the other hand rarely bought a book, and when he did he read it slowly, so slowly that months would go by as he meandered his way through it. So for Daniel to say that he had spent the day at the library was like saying that he’d spent his day trawling around the lingerie department in Brown Thomas.

Rose sat down as Daniel uncorked the wine and poured two glasses which the overhead light caught turning the drink a burning ruby red. He handed one glass to her and took his seat at the table.

‘Jenny called me.’ Jenny was his agent. Daniel regularly blamed his lack of work on his agent, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Agents were like gold dust, and with hundreds of aspiring actors and actresses clamouring for every decent part he needed to have someone in his corner. Daniel was a ‘struggling actor’. He managed to get parts in plays, and the occasional television part. As yet he hadn’t been cast in any big productions, or managed to receive the critical acclaim he’d need to kick-start his career. The only regular income he received was from the teenage acting classes that he helped teach at Stage Door Left, a drama school funded by government grants and donations from patrons of the arts. It didn’t pay well, but Daniel liked to be involved with it, because he felt it kept his acting CV up to date and allowed him to mix with people in the industry.