The Learning Curve (46 page)

Nicky turned to Ally. ‘You honestly think he’s going on a crappy work trip to Bournemouth to be involved in his son’s life?’

‘What are you insinuating, Miss Hobbs?’ asked Ally, her eyes wide. ‘That Mark Samuels has an ulterior motive?’

Nicky spoke through gritted teeth. ‘He’s a man, isn’t he?’

‘So what do you think it is, then?’

‘I don’t know. But I don’t like it.’

‘Why? If he’s after anyone, it’s you. You’re the one he’s tried to kiss.’

‘How do I know that?’ Nicky turned to Ally suddenly. ‘I’m just the one I
know
about. For all I know, he’s tried it on with all of us. Amanda’s in his office all the time. The first time I went in there he was so red I thought he was going through the male menopause.’

‘Well, he hasn’t tried it on with me,’ argued Ally.

‘I mean, think about it,’ continued Nicky, ‘this is a man who engineered a fake meeting at his house just so he could try and get off with his son’s teacher. Which involved lying to our boss and, now I think about it, risking my career had Miss James found out the truth. For all we know he’s doing things like that with all of us. I wonder how many others he’s tried it on with?’

‘So do I,’ retorted Ally. ‘This is meant to be an equal opportunities school.’

‘Maybe all those bitchy things he said to me about Amanda were just to make me
think
he was on my side.’ Her voice rose. ‘Yes! He sounded me out first before laying into her. Like he was finding out my opinion before he gave his; you know . . . lulling me into a false sense of security, so I opened up and told him what the right thing to say was.’ Ally
shook her head. ‘Maybe,’ continued Nicky, ‘he did the same to her about me. He’s ingratiating himself with all of us, one by one, like we’re all . . . I don’t know . . .’

‘Gibbering morons?’

‘I’ll tell you one thing.’

‘The aliens are coming?’

‘I bet he got a darn sight further with Amanda than he did with me.’ She gasped. ‘And if Oscar hadn’t interrupted us just before he and I . . . you know . . . God knows what would have happened. I bet I’d have stayed over. I could have lost my job over him. Jesus Christ. What the hell was I thinking?’

‘“I’m happy”?’ suggested Ally.

‘I mean, how much do I really know about this man? All I
know
is that he was a crap father for the first decade of his son’s life. I also
know
that he lied to his boss – and mine – just to get a quick snog. Those are the only things I actually
know
about him. Everything else is just flirting and wishful thinking. His idea of climbing the career ladder is probably sleeping with the next Headmistress! He’s from the
City
, Ally. They do things like that there.’

They stared at each other. Finally, Ally let out a long, deep sigh.

‘Nicky,’ she said softly, ‘I hate to stop you mid-breakdown, but you are forgetting one important thing.’

Nicky frowned and then gasped. ‘Of course! His au pairs!’

Ally stared. ‘No! Nicky, listen to me. He liked you before Miss James’s job came up.’

‘Did he?’

‘Yes!’ cried Ally. ‘He gave you that glowing review in front of everyone, remember?’

‘Ah yes, but I was still the Deputy Head, wasn’t I? Still pretty high up.’

‘Nicky!’ shouted Ally. ‘This is not
Carry On Up the Staffroom
. You are going to have to get a grip.’

‘You know what?’ said Nicky suddenly, turning to Ally. ‘There’s only way I could believe his intentions with me were genuine.’

‘How?’

‘If he left the school.’

‘
What?
’

‘Then I’d know it was about me and not his poxy job at Heatheringdown.’

‘Look,’ said Ally, ‘I know you’ve been working really, really hard recently, but you’ve got to get a grip. Mark Samuels is going on a week-long school trip to be with his boy. End of story.’

Nicky stood motionless.

‘Nicky?’

‘Yeah,’ she sighed wearily. ‘Yeah. Sorry. I’ve just got so sick of all the politics.’

‘It’s OK. It’s nearly the end of term.’

‘Yeah. Maybe you’re right.’

‘Good. No ulterior motive,’ said Ally.

‘No ulterior motive,’ repeated Nicky.

‘OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Now. Do you think you’re ready to come back into the staffroom?’

Nicky nodded and slowly, they went back in together.

Across the corridor, Mark sat in his office, staring at his list
of emails. He’d done it. And it hadn’t been nearly as unpleasant as he’d thought it would be. In fact, Miss James seemed so preoccupied she almost didn’t notice. Yes, she admitted she was surprised and extremely disappointed – his appointment here had lifted morale no end – but when he’d honestly explained his rationale, she’d had the good grace to say that she completely understood. It was a real pity it had to happen so soon, as well. So little time for everyone to get their minds round it. She told him that he would be sorely missed and she would announce the news to the rest of the staff after the school trip. But until then, he was not to tell a soul. She did not want the school trip spoilt by news that she felt sure would bring everyone down.

And so Mark had found he had no choice. If he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone that he was leaving – and however desperately he wanted to tell Nicky, there was no way he’d risk her career by landing her that kind of secret – and there were only two more days of term after the school trip, he’d had no choice. Of course he didn’t want to go on the stupid trip – who in their right mind would? But he knew that if he didn’t buy himself some extra time with Nicky, it would be too late. He wouldn’t have any excuse to see her again. As long as he didn’t tell her that he was leaving, he could maybe actually get somewhere with her. So he’d persuaded Oscar to go on the school trip and signed them both up.

NICKY’S BEDROOM WINDOW
was as wide open as it went, and a humid breeze rippled over her clothes, which lay prone and lifeless on her bed like sunbathing models. She and Ally stared at each item in turn, Nicky trying to envisage them as the clothes of a future headmistress, Ally trying to envisage them as the clothes of a hot chick on the pull.

Claire was also due in ten minutes to help Nicky decide what to pack. Which meant Nicky had ten minutes to give herself a manicure, face pack and home-wax.

As she ran to the bathroom, Ally followed her and sat on the edge of the bath, watching her spread depilatory cream on her legs, mud on her face and Lovechild! varnish on her nails.

‘You do realise,’ Ally said, ‘that Rob is going to pop a toothbrush in his top pocket two minutes before leaving.’

‘I know,’ replied Nicky through her face pack. ‘Everything’s easier for men.’

‘They don’t even have to sit on cold toilet seats to wee,’ agreed Ally. ‘Bastards.’

By the time Claire arrived, Nicky had a mud-brown face, vibrant-red nails and scarlet-pimpled legs.

‘Whe-hey!’ said Claire, as Nicky tried to remove the cream and mud. ‘Sexy.’ She went ahead into the bedroom. ‘Right,’ she said, scanning the bed. ‘How long you going for? A month?’

‘A week,’ said Nicky, following Ally into the room.

‘A week?’ repeated Claire.

‘I told her it wasn’t enough,’ said Ally.

Claire stared at the clothes. ‘You’re taking this much crap for one week?’

Nicky breathed evenly, her fingers fanned on her hips. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re going to help me decide what to take for a week. Without crushing my self-esteem.’ There was a pause. ‘Do you think you can manage that?’

‘I don’t crush your self-esteem,’ replied Claire. ‘You take things far too seriously.’

Nicky counted to ten for her fingernails to dry. Then she counted to fifty for her anger to subside.

‘Right,’ said Claire, picking up Nicky’s favourite skirt. ‘Well, this is gorgeous.’

‘Thank you.’

‘If you want a holiday shag.’

‘Exactly!’ said Ally.

Nicky put it back in the wardrobe, without giving it another glance. ‘That’s exactly the help I need.’ She stared at her wet thumbnail. ‘Damn.’

‘Wha—?’ said Ally.

Claire was now holding up a pair of pedal pushers and frowning hard.

‘What do you think?’ asked Nicky tentatively.

‘Difficult to say,’ mused Claire. ‘Tell me about them.’ Ally stood behind Claire, shaking her head furiously at Nicky.

‘Very comfortable,’ listed Nicky, ‘can sit on the grass without worrying about my knickers showing, make my bum look big but my ankles small, in the Gap sale two years ago, go with everything.’

‘Perfect,’ said Claire, holding them up towards Nicky, eyes already on the next item.

Within half an hour, the ideal future-headmistress wardrobe was selected and Nicky had smudged eight nails. Claire popped to the toilet, leaving Ally and Nicky alone.

‘Has she always been this scary?’ whispered Ally.

‘Ye-es,’ replied Nicky thoughtfully. ‘I think motherhood did it to her.’

‘Remind me never to become a mother.’

Nicky shook her head. ‘No, I mean becoming a mother to me when she was so young. Right. I’m going to redo my nails. Back in a mo.’

Ally sat on the bed frowning. Then, when she heard Nicky shut herself in the bathroom, she leapt to action. She opened the case and added two of the sexier skirts Nicky had discarded. She thought about adding the fuchsia cardigan and strappy summer sandals, but changed her mind. She didn’t want to overdo it. Then she made a hasty exit.

Nicky locked her luggage without looking inside, ruining her nails again, and left for town to spend half her salary on a haircut and the other half on a hat to hide it under. As she’d left her home, she’d looked up at the sky. The sun had phoned in its work today, leaving a hot, grey sky hanging over hot, grey people. This holiday was going to be unutterably terrible, she’d decided. Three hours later, on her journey back, she considered texting Rob to ask how smart his holiday wardrobe would be, but thought better of it. For
a start, he’d only reply that her text would be one of their grandchildren’s favourite anecdotes one day, and secondly, she didn’t want to show how much she cared before she’d even got on the coach.

Meanwhile, as the morning dampened into early afternoon, Rob returned home an hour earlier than usual. He picked up his mail from the doormat and flicked through it while wandering into his bedroom to pack. He sat down heavily on his bed and stared at the envelope in his hand. He turned it over. He let the moment last. Here, in his hand, was his future. Here was the long-awaited reply from a private school in London, where he’d been interviewed six weeks ago. He was holding his future. He felt sure the interview had gone well.

He made a decision: if he got this job, he would bunk off Bournemouth. Dead relative – funeral, etc. He thought of Amanda and Nicky on the coach without him and smiled.
Too good to be true
, he repeated like a mantra as he tore open the envelope. He read the letter. He stopped smiling. Then he read it again, scrunched it up and threw it on the floor, swearing. He stood up, opened his wardrobe and started throwing clothes into the open suitcase behind him. This was now more than a trip. This was the job interview of his life. Everything else had been leading up to this. He was going to be the next Head of Heatheringdown. Whatever it took. Within five years he’d double its size and get the best SATS results in London and then move to a posh, fancy private school in the south. And then he’d drive a car like that cocky shit Mark Samuels.

He stopped, turned round, and looked at the untidy pile of clothes in the suitcase. Then he took them all out and
folded them up neatly before putting them back in again. He decided he would phone Pete later and see if he could extract any interesting goss from the gang. Girls told each other everything and sometimes Ally had a blind spot when it came to Pete.

If he had phoned Pete then, he’d have only got his answerphone. Pete was sitting inelegantly in his local YMCA changing rooms, a small towel covering his modesty, leaning hard against his locker, his concave chest wheezing gently. When he got his breath back, he’d have a shower. Until then he’d just sit there trying not to look at anyone. He closed his eyes. Did women really prefer men with rolls of flesh? Men with hair smothering their shoulders? Men with stomachs that went all the way round their backs? Men whose sweat kamikaze-ed off them when they turned round?

Perhaps he should stop going to the gym. How could something that was meant to make you feel better about yourself involve stripping naked in front of other men? Men who, it just so happened, went regularly to the gym? Anyway, it was making absolutely no difference at all. She was no more interested in him than she’d been before he’d started to keep fit. What was it to her that he could now lift heavier weights than two months ago? And run for another fifteen minutes? She couldn’t care less if he could carry a truck on his back.

Once, to his horror, she’d actually caught him eyeing her, and the look she’d thrown him was one of utter contempt. As if he’d just told her he liked doing it with sheep, or something. It had taken him a week to look her in the eye again. He sighed heavily and pulled himself to his feet. Then
he wrapped his towel round him, before padding slowly to the showers.

Meanwhile, after she’d left Nicky’s, Ally spent the day mooching round Muswell Hill before taking the bus home to Finsbury Park. She had considered walking into Crouch End and taking the bus from there, which would have been great exercise, but she’d had too much to carry, and anyway, what was the point? She could walk a mile every hour and eat nothing but vegetables for the rest of her life and still look more like Superman than Lois Lane. She wondered if people looked at her and marvelled at her size? Did the gang pity her? She’d once caught Pete’s eye focus on her ample bosom and then, when he saw that she’d seen, he looked sharply away. It was the expression of shame on his face when he looked away that had hurt her more than anything. As if her breasts were just so big, and the expanse of her back so broad, that he was just embarrassed for her. Mind you, what did she expect from someone whose thighs were probably the size of her shins?