The Learning Curve (17 page)

‘I don’t care about other children in the world!’ she shouted at her mother.

Lilith stared in surprise at her daughter. Daisy was standing in the doorway, her fists clenched, her breathing heavy, her eyes defiant. Lilith knew she should probably be cross but the strongest emotion she felt at the moment was
one of pure sympathy. It was a lousy answer to always give the kid, but she’d got stuck in a groove, like a bad record. She knew exactly where her girl’s temper came from and understood only too well how wretched Daisy was feeling. She also knew that Daisy probably wanted to hit something very hard right now, and if she couldn’t, it would feel like a waste of a filthy black mood. She must buy her a punch-bag for Christmas.

‘I don’t,’ heaved Daisy, ‘care about other children in the world! Bethany Jones has a trampoline in her garden! We don’t even have our own garden! Oscar’s got a whole playroom full of toys and a television and computer in his bedroom but he comes here and plays
his
stupid games on our shitty old –’

‘That’s enough, young lady –’

‘THEN STOP TELLING ME TO COMPARE MYSELF TO OTHER CHILDREN!’ yelled Daisy, her crying turning into convulsive sobs. Her legs started running on the spot as if they had a mind of their own and her body needed to expel something, but her arms remained fiercely by her side, probably to stop her from breaking something. Lilith hid her mouth with her hand as her daughter tried to exorcise her demons. By the time Daisy had ground to a slow stop, after executing some fine knee jerks, Lilith had composed herself. Finally Daisy stood still in the doorway, her breathing becoming even and her fists relaxing. Lilith paused before speaking.

‘Thank you, Daisy,’ she said. ‘If I’d wanted to see
Riverdance
, I’d have paid for a coach tour.’

With a roar, Daisy stamped out of the room, slamming her bedroom door behind her. Lilith, feeling a great sense of
motherly pride and empathy, knew her daughter would be feeling much better after that display, and so turned to the matter in hand. Taking off her coat and placing the keys on the coffee table, she dialled Mark’s number.

‘Mark Samuels,’ announced Mark brusquely into the phone.

‘Your son wants to go home. My daughter wants him to go home even more, which means I want him to go home even more than that. Come and pick him up NOW or you will officially lose your free childcare facility.’

There was a moment’s pause. She could almost hear Mark swivelling his chair away from his colleagues.

‘I
can’t
,’ he hissed into the phone.

‘Yes you can,’ she hissed back.

‘How?’

‘You can stand up and walk out of that fucking office where you spend more time than your home and be with your son. I mean, last time I looked, you were his father.’

‘Lilith,’ hissed Mark, ‘I do not have time for this. Nor do I have any choice about it. I –’

‘No,
I
do not have time for this,’ she cut in fiercely. ‘And he is
your
child, not mine. And don’t you dare talk to me about
choice
. Your life is full of choices, because you are a man in a man’s world, and you are rich in a rich man’s world, so don’t talk to me about choice. Believe it or not, you are not the only single parent in the world with a fucking job.’

Mark tried to interrupt, but she was on a roll.

‘Now correct me if I’m wrong,’ she continued, ‘but I don’t remember us ever getting married, so I don’t need to take this self-obsessed, sexist, abandoning
shit
from you. Come
and get your son NOW and make three people happy instead of just you for a change. Or I am putting him out on the street so that my daughter can have the fraction of our tiny little flat that she calls home to herself again.’

‘I’m not
happy
with this –’ exploded Mark into the phone, but she’d hung up.

She slammed the phone down and whizzed round. She saw a pale-faced Oscar standing by the door.

She smiled grimly. ‘Daddy’s coming home soon, sweetheart.’

Oscar turned and walked away.

A WARM, FIDGETY
body snuggled into bed next to Mark. Mark smiled and turned lazily away, flat on his back, so his son didn’t get a premature lesson in how the adult male’s body worked. He forced himself to stop visualising curvy women with long, corkscrew hair and snug, tight jeans, and when done, stretched out his hand to touch his boy on the arm. The years of cuddling up together in bed were long gone, but sometimes, if Mark played it right, Oscar didn’t move away. This morning, Oscar turned his head towards his dad and they lay there with their eyes shut for a while. Eventually Mark risked it and opened his eyes. Oscar was staring at him, his eyes almost questioning.

He smiled at his son.

‘Hello, Osc,’ he croaked.

‘Hi.’

‘We’ve got the whole day to ourselves. What do you want to do?’

‘Go swimming!’ said Oscar.

Mark visualised curvy women with long, corkscrew hair and snug, tight swimming costumes. He swivelled his hips away from Oscar. ‘You’re on,’ he said. ‘Give me five – no,
ten – minutes and I’ll catch you up downstairs.’

Oscar cheered.

True to his word, ten minutes later Mark shuffled downstairs for breakfast. While Oscar ate toast and stared vacuously at vividly coloured, violent TV cartoons, Mark picked up the post from the front-door mat. Whenever he did this he got a snapshot of Oscar the toddler running to the post and thrusting it, crumpled and torn, into Helen’s hands with the proud words, ‘’Ost, Mama.’

He wandered back into the kitchen, filled the espresso machine and stood at the counter. He didn’t think twice before opening the brown envelope with the typed address on it – all his letters were bills of some kind. But he stopped when he realised what he was reading:

Dear Mr Samuels,

I do hope you don’t mind me contacting you in this unorthodox manner, but I am increasingly concerned that Oscar is the only child in my class who has, at present, no one representing him at Parents’ Evening.

As you know, Oscar is now in Year 6, and next year he will be commencing secondary education. Both myself and Heatheringdown’s headmistress, Miss James, feel that it would be appropriate for you to attend this Parents’ Evening, so that you feel fully involved in your son’s education at this crucial time.

The evening begins at 6.30 p.m. and ends at 8 p.m. and we feel that this timing should allow for all parents to attend, however tight their business or work schedules might be.

I do look forward to seeing you there.

Kind regards,

Miss N Hobbs

Mark stared at the letter, incredulous. He was being
told
to come to Parents’ Evening.

Right, he thought. Oh boy, was he going to be there. And he was going to give this interfering bitch the biggest rocket up her fanny she’d ever had in her life. What did she know about bringing up a child? He hadn’t slept a full night in six months because he was working so hard to give his son the life he deserved. He bet this old cow hadn’t worked a
proper
full day in her long, dull life.

He was still fuming when they got to the pool an hour later.

After he and Oscar had held hands and jumped into the deep end, screaming ‘Geronimo!’ as tradition insisted, Mark decided to use this opportunity to find out more about Miss Hobbs. When they came up from their jump, they trod water opposite each other, letting the cool water splash over their shoulders. Mark decided now was as good a time as any. It was even worth ruining the perfect moment.

‘Osc,’ he started, ‘tell me about your famous Miss Hobbs.’

He prepared himself for a sudden change in the mood, a sulk maybe, or just a tight-lipped monosyllabic grunt. But to his amazement, Oscar’s face lit up.

‘She’s great, Dad,’ said Oscar. ‘I love her. She hasn’t got a mum either.’

‘
What?
’ said Mark. ‘How on earth do you know that?’

‘She told me.’

‘She told you she hasn’t got a mother? Just you or the rest of the class? When?’

‘The first day, she came and sat down next to me on the pavement outside school. It was cool.’

‘You mean . . . the first day of term?’

‘Mm.’

‘After school?’

‘Mm.’

‘How come?’

Oscar shrugged. ‘I said. She came and sat with me. On the pavement. It was cool.’

‘So . . . let me get this straight. She followed you out and started telling you intimate stuff about her private life?’

Oscar nodded. ‘’Spose.’ He dived off backwards into the pool.

Jesus Christ, thought Mark. This was serious. How insane was this woman? And why was she seeking out his son?

‘You
have
got a mother, Osc,’ he started, swimming after his boy. ‘She’s just . . .’

‘. . . in heaven, I know,’ said Oscar, through the water. He let himself float away from his dad. Mark followed.

‘Has she been nagging you about Parents’ Evening, Osc?’

Oscar kept his eyes down. He mumbled a yes, and Mark persisted.

‘Has she been . . . annoying you?’

He shrugged. ‘A bit.’

‘How often does she mention it? Every day?’

Oscar laughed. ‘At least.’

‘Right,’ said Mark, decided. ‘I’ll be there at Parents’ Evening.’ Oscar’s face shone back at him. ‘And I’ll find out all about your Miss Hobbs. Don’t you worry, young man!’

‘Yippee!’ yelled Oscar, and splashed his dad to celebrate.

Mark’s face was grim as he watched his son swim away from him. Now he had to work out how to leave work early enough to make it to the school before the 8 p.m. deadline.

Meanwhile, a few yards away in the ladies’ changing room, Nicky drew back the plastic curtain, looked down at her eldest niece and did a double take.

‘Cherub,’ she said in shock, ‘you’ll get us arrested.’

Claire had phoned her an hour previously, in a state of desperation. She needed to buy Abigail some new school shoes before Monday, because some bully had nicked hers. (Nicky knew how much Abigail hated her shoes, but kept mum.) Claire had managed to fob Isabel off on Derek, which made a change, but Sarah-Jane was refusing to join either and was insisting she spend the morning with Aunty Nix.

Secretly, Nicky was rather relieved. She’d been getting depressed at how much her work was eating into her spare time, and she desperately needed to get out of her place. And a spot of exercise would do her the world of good, clear her brain. Especially at that posh pool near her sister’s place, where the changing rooms didn’t make you want to rush round with a mop before taking off your clothes.

‘OK,’ she had told her sister, ‘I’ll take her swimming, on one condition.’

‘Anything,’ Claire promised.

‘Afterwards, over a big bottle of wine, you listen to my sordid little love-life problem and help me sort my head out.’

Claire cheered so loudly down the phone Nicky had to move it away from her ear.

So now, here she was, staring at her niece, feeling suddenly old.

‘When the hell did you grow up?’ she asked.

Sarah-Jane laughed. ‘Shut
up
.’

‘No, really,’ said Nicky. ‘Last time I looked, you were in nappies.’

They walked through to their lockers.

‘You do realise that if you go out like that, I’m going to have to follow you round as your chaperone?’ said Nicky.

Sarah-Jane snorted.

‘I’m telling you,’ said Nicky, ‘I’ll be beating them off with a stick.’ She looked around the changing room muttering, ‘Now, where can I find a stick?’

Sarah-Jane bent down to pick up her towel.

‘Whoa!’ cried out Nicky. ‘Since when did they make bikini bottoms out of string?’

Sarah-Jane laughed again, blushing furiously.

‘Sarah-Jane, chuck, I’m seriously concerned. You’ll have old men following you round the pool.’

Sarah-Jane stopped smiling. ‘Really? That’s horrid.’

She held her niece by the shoulders and walked her over to a full-length mirror. They looked at each other in the mirror and smiled. Sarah-Jane was only half a head shorter than her.

‘You are a beautiful girl,’ Nicky told her niece. Sarah-Jane beamed. ‘But, sweetheart, you’re dressed like a woman. You’re only ten years old.’

‘And a half.’

‘And a half. Sweetheart,’ she said softly, ‘you look like a sixteen-year-old.’

Sarah-Jane’s mouth opened and her eyes sparkled. Nicky spoke softly.

‘A sixteen-year-old hussy.’

The sparkle in her eyes moistened.

‘And you’ve got the rest of your life to look like a sixteen-year-old hussy.’ She winked and Sarah-Jane smiled. ‘Do you have a different swimming costume on you?’ she asked gently.

Sarah-Jane nodded. She had the school one her mother had packed. She went and changed into it. When she pulled back the curtain, Nicky wolf-whistled.

‘Shall we get some jewellery beads afterwards? We can make a bracelet,’ she said. Sarah-Jane nodded enthusiastically.

By the time they reached the edge of the enormous pool, it was almost full.

‘Remember,’ warned Nicky, ‘I’m a bit short-sighted. I can’t see further than that column over there. Don’t go too far.’

And Sarah-Jane dived off, splashing Nicky in the face. Nicky edged to the nearest steps down into the pool and started a slow, even breaststroke along its edge.

She didn’t hear Oscar at first because her ears were too full of water. But after a moment, she realised that the wildly gesticulating boy in front of her was him. She squealed back at him and gave his cheek a little pinch. She somehow felt it wouldn’t be appropriate for her to get too close – not while wearing a bikini. She trod water, keeping everything underwater except her face.

‘I’m here with my dad!’ cried Oscar.

‘Oh, really?’ replied Nicky. ‘Fantastic! Perhaps I could say a quick hello!’

Oscar’s face brightened. ‘I’ll go and get him. He’s coming to Parents’ Evening!’

‘That’s wonderful! I’ll wait here.’

Oscar dived off and swam away at great speed. As she waited, Nicky did wonder if this was the best way to finally
meet Oscar’s father, seeing as she was basically wearing brightly coloured underwear. She scrunched up her eyes to see where Oscar was, but he’d gone out of her visual range. She leant on the edge of the pool, and scanned the slightly blurred faces over at the deep end. She wondered which of the men was Oscar’s father.