School Run (16 page)

Harriet was reluctant to put down the phone. ‘Try not to assume the worst.’

‘OK.’

Pippa wasn’t reassured, thought Harriet, rushing back to the car to unload her shopping before she dashed out to collect the kids. And frankly, if she were in her shoes, she wouldn’t be either.

KITTY

My dad’s in a place called Dewbi and he’s been there for ages. At first he used to ring us but now he dusn’t do it as much. He’s coming home this Friday and I’m really looking forward to it. I think he went away becos I am sumtimes nawty but I’m going to be good now. I want to be good becos I don’t want him to go away again. My mum sumtimes cries becos he’s not here. I’ve seen her. She puts her head on the kitchen table and cries into her arms so we can’t here her. But we do. Sumtimes she is very happy and larfs a lot espeshully when she is talking to her friend Pippa. When dad gets home, I hope she’ll larf even more.

Kitty had got back earlier than usual, thanks to a lift from Susy Hughes, and put down the exercise book on the desk in her living room, which doubled as her bedroom. Poor kid. Guiltily she thought of all the times she’d been impatient with Bruce. If she’d known about the family situation she’d have been more understanding. Why hadn’t his mother told the school that something was wrong? On the other hand maybe nothing
was
. Lots of fathers worked away from home, and just because Bruce’s mother had a good cry every now and then it didn’t necessarily mean the family was breaking up.

Kitty had a bit of a weep occasionally and it made her feel better. She looked round her room, which wasn’t hers at all but belonged to her landlady. It really was a dump, with the eighties flowered wallpaper and purple carpet. Next term she’d find somewhere nicer; maybe she’d even have saved enough for a deposit. ‘It would be nice to have someone to talk to in the evenings,’ she said aloud. Things
must
be bad if she’d started talking to herself. Was she really so lonely? Maybe she should have taken up Mandy’s offer of Rod’s friend.

Kitty reached for her mobile. Should she or not?

She’d get to the end of this batch of essays, then decide.

TUESDAY P.M.

‘Nice to have your old dad picking you up, then?’

‘It’s OK. Hugo’s dad does it
every
day when he’s home.’

‘
I
like it, Dad. Evie hates us eating in her car.’

‘Yeah. It’s really boring.’

‘Still, Dad, your car’s in a bit of a mess, isn’t it?’

‘OK, we’ll clear it out.’

‘Five quid.’

‘Three.’

‘Shit, Dad, we’ve left Josh and Alice behind!’

‘What? No one told
me
we had to bring them back.’

‘That’s right, sing it. Like this. H-Y-A-C-I-N-T-H.’ Well done, Kate. Maybe singing
is
the way to crack it!’

‘I thought we were going shopping. You just said that, didn’t you, so Jason couldn’t drive me back? You’ve got to let me grow up some time, Dad . . . Knightsbridge? Now you’re talking, Dad. Thanks. You’re the best. And I promise. Just a couple of shops and then I’ll do my homework.’

‘Ig-ig-ignoranus, Marty. That’s w-w-what you are. Ha, ha.
Ayn
us,
ayn
us,
ayn
us . . .’

Very well thought out, Bruce, and nicely structured. 9/10.

WEDNESDAY

16

HARRIET

‘It's The Chris Evans Breakfast Show . . . The American school siege is now in its third day . . .’

Harriet didn’t usually have this programme on but one of the children (Bruce?) must have been fiddling with the radio. At least the pleasantly mindless banter seemed to be keeping them quiet in the back, giving her time to squeeze her pelvic floor muscles
and
think about Pippa.

A lump was one of the top five fears in any woman’s list – God, what must Pippa be feeling? Clearly Derek wasn’t any help.

No, that wasn’t fair. He just couldn’t show his feelings. Yet Harriet had always thought she and Charlie were open with each other and had been taken aback when he had said he felt neglected. But that wasn’t keeping his emotions to himself: it was just plain childish. She shivered, wishing she’d brought her cardigan. It seemed cooler today.

‘Mrs Chapman, can you test me on my geography, please?’ called Beth. ‘Mummy didn’t have time last night.’

Harriet took a sharp left; it was her new short cut to beat the traffic that was building up at the temporary lights ahead.

‘Darling, as I’ve said before, please call me Harriet. I’ll do my best but it’s a bit difficult to test you and drive at the same time.’

‘You wrapped up Susie’s birthday present last week while you were driving,’ pointed out Kate.

‘Yes, but she shouldn’t have.’ Bruce was full of righteous indignation. ‘You’re meant to have both hands on the wheel.’

‘I was at traffic lights for most of the time,’ said Harriet. ‘Tell you what, Beth, why don’t you ask me the questions and then you can tell me if the answers are right? You could pretend to be the teacher.’

‘She’d like that,’ said Lucy. ‘She’s bossy enough.’

‘Shut up.’

Poor girls, thought Harriet. She didn’t know how much they knew about Pippa but she was pretty sure there’d be some tension at home. ‘Right, let’s have question number one.’

Beth coughed importantly. ‘What does CAP stand for?’

‘This isn’t biology, is it?’ enquired Harriet, doubtfully.

‘No, geography.’

‘CAP? Gosh, I’m not sure.’

‘Common Agricultural Policy,’ announced Beth, with relish. ‘It’s something that the EU introduced to make sure that farmers have a decent standard of living; that there’s a good balance of food in Europe and that everyone can afford food at a reasonable price.’

‘Beth, you
are
clever. Bruce, did you know that?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t care anyway. Look! No, idiot, over there! It’s my art teacher and he’s smoking!’

Harriet smiled at the indignation in the back. There had been so many anti-smoking talks at school that they were all deeply against it. She wondered briefly what they would say if they met her father. She hadn’t seen him for nearly two years but last time they’d met he was still getting through at least forty a day.

‘He shouldn’t smoke! He also teaches us PSHE and everyone knows smoking’s bad for you.’

The young were so unforgivingly moral, thought Harriet. ‘What about the next question, Beth?’

‘Give five examples of farming.’

‘Er, poultry, dairy, arable . . . I can’t think of any more. Sorry.’

‘Reindeer and diversification,’ sang out Beth. ‘Diversification is when the farmers. . . .’

Harriet tried to listen but her thoughts kept returning to her father. Since the divorce, she hadn’t seen much of him and the children had only ever visited him three or four times. She had blamed him for that – he never suggested they came up to Yorkshire – but her fears about Charlie were now making her wonder if she should have made more effort with her father. If she and Charlie split up, would the children still bother to visit or take their own children to see him?

Harriet sighed. Divorce had so many long-term effects, right down the generations. Was Monica right about children being more resilient than she thought? She’d been devastated at sixteen (only four years older than Bruce) when her own parents had split up. But they had been vitriolic towards each other and her mother had actively discouraged her from seeing her father. No wonder they weren’t close now.

In contrast, the children seemed to have accepted Charlie’s absence. Then again, they would. He often went away on business – if not for two months at a time. Would they be happy to see their father only at weekends? Would she be happy to sleep and sort out the day-to-day domestic crises on her own? She’d coped during the last two months. But she would feel a huge gap. She and Charlie had been together too long for her to start again.

‘Look!’ said Bruce. His voice, cutting into her thoughts, made her swerve.

‘Don’t point like that,’ she said sharply. ‘It’s distracting for the driver. You almost hit me.’

‘Yes, but look! Too late. You’ve missed it.’

‘What?’

‘A big photograph,’ said Kate, looking behind them. ‘Above those roses.’

‘It was a boy,’ added Lucy, full of importance at having seen it too. ‘Do you think he’s missing?’

Harriet wondered whether to tell the children the truth, if only to make them cross the road more carefully. Despite what she was always telling them, she’d seen Bruce and Kate fly across without checking. That was the trouble with taking them everywhere by car. They weren’t streetwise, as she’d been at their age.

‘People put flowers by the road when someone’s been hurt,’ she said. ‘Maybe that boy was run over there.’

‘Do you think he was killed?’ whispered Beth.

‘Possibly,’ said Harriet. ‘That’s why you need to look carefully when you cross the road.’

‘Stop going on.’ Bruce sounded impatient. ‘Mum, drop me here. Now! No, not by those girls! God, you’re so embarrassing.’

Kate giggled. ‘He fancies that one on the right – the one with the earring in her nose, don’t you, Bruce?’

‘Shut up.’

‘Don’t hit me.’

‘I didn’t. Crybaby.’

‘Calm down,’ said Harriet. There was no point in reading the Riot Act – not just before they went into school. It would only upset her
and
Bruce, even though he hid his feelings. Far better to praise him when he did something right. The first time she’d read that in an American magazine, brought home by Charlie after a trip, she’d dismissed it as rubbish. But when she put it into practice, she found that praising him and ignoring some of the bad things worked better than Charlie yelling at him.

Bruce didn’t bother to say goodbye. She watched him, in her wing mirror, walking past the girls and flushing when one turned to say something. He was only young, but already the opposite sex was playing a part in his imagination. Long may that last. The thought of a teenage bed-hopping Bruce was too much to contemplate.

‘Got everything, girls?’ she said, getting out and going through the boot to check they hadn’t left anything behind. Lucy’s violin, Kate’s shoulder bag – so heavy she could barely lift it – Beth’s hockey stick. ‘’Bye. Your mum’s picking up tonight, remember.’

‘Excuse me.’

Harriet turned round to see the broad-shouldered man from the waiting room yesterday. He was parked alongside her in a red Fiesta with an L-plate on the front, but there was no sign of the daughter he had mentioned.

He was holding something out to her. ‘Hi. It’s me. Nick. From yesterday. Remember?’

She nodded, embarrassed.

‘This must have fallen out when your bag fell open. Sorry – I must have picked it up by mistake.’

‘My phone!’

The man patted his top pocket, grinning ruefully. ‘Couldn’t live without mine.’

The back of his car was packed with camera stuff – tripods and big black boxes. ‘Well, I expect you need it in your job,’ Harriet said.

‘Yes. Actually, I was wondering . . .’

On Nick’s behalf Harriet made an apologetic sign at the van behind. The driver was hooting.

‘I’d better move on,’ he said. ‘See you, then.’

She got back into the car, deflated. He was nice – at least, he seemed nice. God, Harriet. Just because your husband might or might not be leaving you, doesn’t mean you have to start noticing every bloke who smiles at you.

She turned on the mobile and pressed the unlock key. She’d been looking for it all over the house, ever since yesterday, wondering if Charlie had phoned again. When she’d rung it from the landline, in the hope of locating it, she had connected with its answerphone. MESSAGE, it now said. Message! The kids had taught her how to text soon after Charlie had gone to Dubai. It was part of a campaign that was being run in schools nationwide, sponsored by the parents of that poor girl who had been murdered. ‘Teach Ur Mum 2 Text’, it had been called, and Kate had taken it seriously. As a result, Harriet could just about send a message to the children – and receive one.

‘Bck early. Thursday. Flight arrives 11.10. Will get taxi.’

Shaking, she scrolled down to reply: ‘Will meet u at airport. Luv H.’

It was only after she’d sent it that she realised he hadn’t said ‘love’ in his text or even dropped in one tiny X.

Harriet drove home as fast as she dared. Thursday! Tomorrow. And still so much to get done. Her hair for a start – thank goodness she’d got her appointment this afternoon for her highlights. And the house – she’d have a good tidy-up. Charlie hated mess. Oh, God, the bathroom cabinet! Bruce had accidentally brought it down off the wall. His story was that he had just opened the door and it fell off. Kate had said he was clambering on top of it. Harriet had been intending to get someone in to Rawl-plug it back but, with so little time, she’d have to do it herself.