The Learning Curve (21 page)

‘Wakey, wakey!’ he sang into the phone, his voice raw from lack of sleep.

‘Wha—
Dad
?’ came Oscar’s morning voice.

‘Hi, gorgeous boy. Sleep well?’

There was a beat.

‘What’s up?’ asked Oscar.

‘Nothing!’ replied Mark. ‘Just wanted to speak to you before you went to school.’

He heard Oscar roll over and pictured him lying on Lilith’s sofa. He’d offered to buy a put-you-up for her flat – which in effect would be for Oscar – but she’d always adamantly refused it on the grounds that she didn’t need charity. But now that Oscar was growing so tall, surely she’d have to agree that they needed to do something about the sleeping arrangements. Maybe he should suggest bunk beds?

‘Did you sleep well last night?’ he asked.

‘Mm.’

‘What’s on for today?’

‘School.’

‘I met Miss Hobbs last night.’

Oscar’s voice was suddenly alert. ‘Did you? What did you think? How am I doing?’

Mark smiled into the phone. ‘You’re doing fine, sweetheart. It’s me she’s got problems with.’

‘What do you mean?’

Mark heard Caroline’s phone ring and knew he had seconds left.

‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he told his son. ‘If you’re asleep, I’ll wake you and we’ll have a midnight feast.’

Caroline popped her head round his door and he nodded at her.

‘Bye, Osc. I love you.’

He pressed number 4 on his phone.

‘Peter!’ he said.

‘So! So, so, so, so, so, so. What nuggets of information do you both have to tell me?’

Due to the longer post-Parents’ Evening meeting, Rob and Nicky were to miss assembly today. Ned would be taking Miss James’s place.

‘Anything?’ asked Miss James, staring from one to the other.

Nicky stopped breathing. Had Mr Samuels already complained? Was Miss James giving her a chance to confess all, before she had to extract last night’s appalling behaviour from her? Her headache was, of course, still there, but less dramatic than yesterday, leaving just a thudding heaviness. Four-hourly painkillers and lots of water would see her
through today. She knew it was on its way out because the sound of two hundred children rushing past Miss James’s office on their way to assembly didn’t physically hurt her cranium.

Miss James smiled at her two generals and then suddenly, without any warning, hurled herself towards the door.

‘TOBIAS MATTHEWS!’ they heard her yelling down the corridor. There was a pause. ‘Don’t think I didn’t see you laughing all the way through yesterday’s assembly, young man,’ she said. ‘Not really appropriate when we’re talking about the benign graciousness of Our Lord Jesus Christ, is it?’ There was another pause, as Tobias Matthews doubtlessly said a quiet no under the hubbub around him. ‘None of that behaviour this morning, young man,’ said Miss James, with only half a smile in her voice.

Then, just as suddenly as she’d leapt out of her seat, she returned to it, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Now!’ she said, rubbing her hands together. ‘Where were we before that charming little interlude? Ah yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Did we all have a
lovely
time meeting our lovely parents?’

Maybe, thought Nicky, just maybe, Mr Samuels hadn’t had time to complain yet. Too busy at work, probably. She might even have an opportunity to right the wrong before it was too late. Hmm. When would be a good time to confess to bollocking a parent who had come to his first Parents’ Evening in six years? Before, during or after puzzle time?

To the tinny sound of two hundred pupils singing an unrecognisable hymn, Nicky wished with a childish longing that she could watch Ned stumble over his lines instead of having to stumble over her own. This made her question for the umpteenth time that morning whether she was up to this
job. When a sudden explosion of laughter came from the assembly hall, she had to forcibly stop herself from running out to see what had happened.

Even Miss James looked startled. ‘Ooh!’ she said. ‘It all sounds very exciting in there, doesn’t it?’

‘I’m sure Ned’s doing a wonderful job,’ agreed Rob. Nicky nodded with them both, trying hard not to picture something more like the truth, such as his trousers having fallen down.

‘Now!’ began Miss James. ‘Have you both managed to squeeze in a little tête-à-tête with your allotted teachers yet?’

They nodded.

How did she do it? thought Nicky with grim awe. How did Miss James always manage to make the jobs she gave them sound so inconsequential? ‘Squeezing’ in a ‘little’ chat with their allotted teachers had meant them coming in an hour and a half early, and everyone else coming in at least an hour early, which invariably meant great festering mounds of resentment from those teachers who had been doing Parents’ Evenings since before Nicky and Rob had been out of school themselves. Even Ally had resented it and had turned up late.

And of course, as usual, there was nothing much to relay, except the usual frustration at the volume of SATS preparation and a perennial, unfounded paranoia that the school was about to instigate a uniform.

And a parent who was bollocked to within an inch of his life. She waited for Rob to finish his patter while pondering what career she’d have a stab at next. Pottery teacher? Traffic warden? Lollipop lady? She’d be a good lollipop lady. If she played her cards right, she might even get an OBE.

‘Nicky? Where are you, my dear? You look miles away!’ Miss James was smiling graciously at her. She wondered what the woman would look like angry. It came as somewhat of a shock to realise that she’d prefer it.

‘And what of the notorious Mr Samuels?’ asked Miss James. ‘Did he make an appearance after your charming letter?’

Nicky decided this was as good a time as any to start a discussion on what had happened the night before.

‘Ye-es –’ she started.

‘And?’ asked Miss James, agog. ‘And, and, and, and,
and
?’

‘Nothing much to tell, really,’ she said, her voice hollow. ‘But at least he turned up.’

‘Well done, my love!’ sang Miss James. ‘Consider yourself congratulated!’ She thrust the biscuit tin under her nose and Nicky took a digestive without any sense of the usual pleasure.

She sat in silence for the rest of the meeting.

By noon Mark had opened the bubbly and the office was a mess. After his second glass, he poured himself a cup of water and walked shakily back into his office, shutting the door behind him. Champagne didn’t usually have this effect on him, but then he wasn’t getting any younger. He sat behind his desk and laid his head gently on it. He’d just stay here until bedtime.

‘Mark?’ Caroline was standing in the doorway to his office.

‘Hm?’ he gazed across the room at his personal assistant.

She stared pointedly back at him.

‘Yes?’ he croaked.

‘Mark,’ she whispered, ‘you look absolutely dreadful.’

‘I don’t feel that great, actually,’ he whispered. Caroline was seriously alarmed. In Mark Samuels speak that meant he needed hospitalisation.

‘Right,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m calling you a taxi.’

He didn’t have the energy to nod, let alone thank her.

Nicky couldn’t shake off the feeling that something very bad was going to come out of her argument with Mr Samuels. She wanted to talk to Ally. She needed advice from a teacher who was also a friend. She needed someone else’s take on whether she should confess to Miss James before the inevitable complaint came through. Or should she just act dumb when it did and say that he was overreacting?

But there was something even more disconcerting about the row than its possible negative repercussions. Mr Samuels’s harsh accusation that she was overcompensating for not having her own children had set her off on a chain of depressing internal questioning. Was she going to end up being like that? After all, what was she actually doing to meet men? How often did she go out? Never. How many new people was she meeting? None. She spent all of her spare time working. And for what? For a job that she might have just thrown away.

And so she continued in ever-decreasing circles.

As soon as the gang reconvened at lunch, she asked Ally to come over for dinner that evening. Unfortunately, Ally was busy all week.

‘I’ve got a college friend staying,’ she said sadly. ‘Otherwise I’d have loved to. Sorry.’

‘What’s up?’ asked Pete.

‘I need help,’ admitted Nicky. ‘From a friend who’s also a teacher,’ she said.

‘Damn,’ Pete replied. ‘I’ve got football tonight.’

There was an uncomfortable pause.

‘I’ll come,’ said Rob.

‘Mm,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure that’s . . . I’m probably not up to it tonight. I’m going to go straight to bed. I’ve still got my headache.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll come tomorrow.’

‘It’s a three-dayer. A migraine.’

‘Right. Friday it is.’

She gave him a weak smile. He gave her a friendly one back. ‘After all,’ he said, ‘we’re still mates, aren’t we?’

Nicky nodded and realised the feeling she was experiencing was gratitude. Yes, they were mates. And maybe what she needed was a bloke’s take on it all.

Three days after Oscar’s Parents’ Evening, Mark had still not been back at work, but at least he felt well enough to phone Lilith.

‘You
what
?’ she cried into the phone. ‘You mean . . . you
went
? To Parents’ Evening?’

‘Yes,’ murmured Mark from the sofa. ‘And I haven’t been able to walk since.’

‘You went?’ she repeated. ‘You
went
? You didn’t send some lackey from your office?
You? Went?
How did you know where to go?’

He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘And,’ he repeated, ‘I haven’t been able to walk since.’

‘Hold on a minute. How come you’ve got time to phone me from work?’

‘I’m not at work. I’m ill. That’s what I’ve been trying to –’

‘Jumping Jehovah!’ she cried, which was her latest favourite saying from Daisy. ‘This is
Mark Samuels
I’m talking to, isn’t it?’

‘I had to come home the morning after and I haven’t been in since.’

There was a lengthy pause.

‘I can’t pick up Oscar today,’ she said, her voice suddenly flat. ‘I’m doing a double shift, to help pay for this week’s babysitter. Mum’s picking Daisy up on her bike. Next question?’

‘I wasn’t going to ask that – Jesus, you make me sound like I’m always asking favours.’

‘You are.’

There was a long pause.

‘Right,’ said Mark. ‘Well then, here’s the last one. Please come over for dinner tomorrow night.’

‘That’s the favour?’

‘Well, not exactly . . .’

‘Oh no! Mark! It hasn’t come to that, has it?’

‘Come to what?’

‘Mercy sex?’

‘Please. Please,’ he begged her. ‘Shut. Up. The truth is I would very much like to pick your brains.’

‘Thank God for that,’ said Lilith, intrigued. ‘You are so not my type.’

‘Halle-fucking-lujah,’ he breathed.

‘It just so happens that Mum’s not line dancing tomorrow night, so I can manage it.’

‘Thanks, Lil.’

‘Don’t ever call me that again. It makes me sound like a washerwoman.’ And she hung up.

It was Friday evening and Nicky was sitting in her lounge, waiting for Rob to arrive.

‘Grateful,’ she said aloud to the room. ‘I’m grateful. This is really good of him. He doesn’t have to come in his own time to help me out when I need it. He’s a good mate. After everything, he’s still a good mate. Yes, we’ve kissed in the past, but that’s over. Yes, he’s good-looking, but I’m totally over him. Yes, he was my first love, but . . .’ She stopped. This wasn’t working. She heard the kettle boil in the kitchen and went to put the pasta on.

Mark switched off the phone and lay back on the sofa. Lilith was getting bitter in her old age. Maybe he should tell her. After all, they were friends and it was a particularly unattractive trait in a woman. Maybe that was why she hadn’t had a boyfriend for years. I mean, he thought, she’s actually trying to imply that I only ever phone her if I need help. He proceeded to mentally argue the case with her, beginning with a list of all the times he’d phoned for a chat, or to see how she was. After a few moments, he turned into a foetal position on the sofa and made a low groaning noise.

Rob stood outside Nicky’s door waiting to be let in. He had never, in all his life, been in this position before. He genuinely had absolutely no idea where tonight would lead. Would they end up in the kitchen again? If so, would he be thrown out again? Or were they really just going to talk? Wow, he thought, as he waited for her to open the front door. This must be how the other half lives. When Nicky
opened the front door, he used his tightly honed skills to appraise the situation within seconds.

Mixed signals. Didn’t have a clue.

He followed her up the stairs. She was wearing a faded tracksuit and her hair was in a loose plait down her back. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her lips were pale. Two bowls of pasta lay on the coffee table in the lounge.

He flung some flowers on to the empty two-seater.

‘Saw these on the way,’ he said. ‘Thought you needed cheering up.’

‘Oh, thanks! That’s so sweet!’ She picked up the flowers.

‘Sweet,’ he thought. ‘
Sweet
.’ Shit.

She smiled up at him, gave him a peck on the cheek, and squeezed past him out of the room. She smelt of rose petals. He watched her bottom as she walked into the kitchen. He reconsidered. She must know how good she looks in that tracksuit, he decided. Those were unnecessarily tight tracksuit bottoms.

Oh yes, he thought. The tracksuit was a double bluff.

‘I’ll just put these in water!’ she called out from the kitchen. He stood for a moment and then suddenly followed her, only to be met by her at the kitchen door. They both jumped, him higher because she was pointing a corkscrew at him.

OK. It wasn’t going to be the kitchen this time. Maybe she felt more comfortable in the lounge . . .

‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Did you want a cold drink? I thought a nice bottle of wine would be a good idea. I know I need it.’

‘Perfect,’ he said as they wandered back into the lounge.