The Learning Curve (7 page)

‘See the football last night?’ called out Matt, stuffing half a croissant in his mouth as he shrugged out of his jacket.

‘Nope,’ said Mark. I was here till midnight, you arse, he thought.

Matt shook his head. ‘Referee should be fucking shot.’

Danny entered and Matt made a sort of war-like noise.

‘Two-one, two-one!’ chanted Danny, arms in the air, legs akimbo.

‘That was never a penalty!’ cried Matt.

‘The better team won, my man. The better team won.’

Anna-Marie came in and the room went quiet for a moment. ‘Morning,’ she said, smiling. Matt and Danny said hello. She’d announced her pregnancy last week and as far as they were concerned any energy directed her way was dead energy. Matt chucked some paper clips past her, at Danny, and she gave a little jump.

‘Oy!’ shouted Danny, laughing. ‘You’re a bad loser, man.’

‘Oh, the football, right?’ asked Anna-Marie.

Danny raised his arms in the air. ‘Two-one!’ he sang again.

‘Well done.’ She grinned. She turned to Matt. ‘Bad luck.’ Matt gave a quick jerk of his head upwards in response.

Oscar was more mature than these two gibbons, thought Mark. And they were senior managers. By seven o’clock that evening, he thought he might still make it home in time to see Oscar. By eight, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. At nine o’clock, he called one of his team over.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘I think I’ve found a hole in the books.’

‘What?’ cried Matt. ‘You’re kidding me. Fuck.’

‘Someone will have to go to Birmingham tomorrow to check this out. No one above Assistant Manager. I’ve got an 8 a.m. meeting with the board, so I’ll be in mid-morning.’

‘Right, boss,’ sighed Matt.

As he walked through the still-buzzing office, he heard Danny telling his wife that he wouldn’t be home till midnight
and Matt telling Anna-Marie that a car would come and collect her from her house at 6.30 a.m. and take her to Birmingham for a 9 a.m. conference.

Oscar woke early on Friday morning and insisted the au pair drop him at Daisy’s flat on the way to school. He stood outside Daisy’s front door, his entire bodyweight leaning on the doorbell as the car made its halting exit. Eventually, the door opened and Daisy’s mum stood in the narrow hallway she shared with two other flats, looking down at him with an unimpressed expression.

‘You know what?’ she shouted. Oscar’s finger jumped off the doorbell. She lowered her voice. ‘The doorbell works.’

‘Sorry, Lilith,’ he said, running past her up the stairs to her flat. ‘Forgot I was pressing it.’

‘Daisy’s in the kitchen,’ she said, following him up, although she knew he wasn’t there to see Daisy, he was there to be part of a family breakfast. Most ten-year-old boys didn’t want to know girls and Oscar only just scraped into the exception bracket. Lilith knew that he and Daisy barely made eye contact in school, but out of school they leant on each other almost as much as Mark leant on Lilith. She would have been insulted on behalf of her daughter by this double standard if it wasn’t for the fact that Daisy felt just as hypocritical about him.

They were in the kitchen in no time, the flat being what an estate agent would call bijou and what Lilith called ‘big enough to swing a cat in if you wanted to kill it’.

Daisy looked up from her cocoa pops and
heat
magazine. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

‘Have you got a packed lunch?’ asked Lilith.

‘No,’ said Oscar.

She sighed and handed him a lunchbox. ‘How did I guess?’

Oscar froze, staring at the lunchbox. Lilith froze too, staring at Oscar.

‘What?’ she asked. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘It’s pink,’ mumbled Oscar.

Her eyebrows rose into her fringe. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘you mean “Thank you, Lilith”.’

‘Thank you, Lilith,’ he mumbled unconvincingly.

Lilith sighed, took it back and started repacking his lunch in a blue box while issuing orders to Daisy. ‘Coat and shoes on! Satchel, lunchbox and homework. Lights off! Wait for me on the pavement!’ She shut the front door behind them all, handing Oscar a lunchbox.

‘That’s my lunchbox!’ screeched Daisy.

‘I know!’ Lilith screeched back, handing Daisy the pink one. ‘Why don’t you write and tell all those Third World children who are dying of starvation?’

Daisy raised her eyes to heaven. ‘God,’ she muttered. ‘Bo
ring
.’

Lilith hugged the living breath out of her daughter. Then she did the same to Oscar.

‘Ooh, you’re both so
scrummy
,’ she said. She stood up. ‘Be good. And if you can’t be good, I really don’t want to know. Have fun,’ she called after them as they trotted off. ‘Don’t cross the roads without looking. Don’t eat your lunches until lunch-time. Have fun.’ Then she saw the 147 appear at the bottom of the hill and ran like fury the other way to the bus stop.

The next day was the first Saturday since the new school year had begun. Across the country new pencil cases had been lost, pencil leads dulled and shoes scuffed. Throughout the so-called ‘nappy valley’ of north-west London, parents like Lilith were lying in bed, enjoying the luxury of not having to scream themselves hoarse just to get out of their homes before 7.30 a.m., while trying to zone out of downstairs’s television. No wonder she needed to shout to be heard, Lilith thought idly. Daisy was turning deaf from the TV.

Further outside nappy valley, in slightly less sought-after postcodes, the teachers of nappy valley’s children were out cold. The unfortunates who were both teachers and parents of young children were comatose, but as ever there were exceptions to the rule and Nicky was one of them. For a start, she was a teacher who lived in the same postcode as her school and most of its pupils. When her mother had died, eighteen years ago now, she had left both her daughters a tidy sum of money. This was put into a high-interest savings account by their father – one of the most thoughtful things he ever did for them – and by the time Nicky was looking for her first property, she had enough to secure herself a new-build in what was to become one of the most sought-after areas in north London. Not only that, but a week of teaching had given her more energy, instead of less. By the end of the summer holidays she always felt slightly sluggish and it was good to feel bouncy again. She woke relatively early, walked to the shops and brought back fresh coffee, warm brioches and two weekend papers. Ally arrived at ten, as usual, and as it was a mild morning, they breakfasted on Nicky’s balcony while Nicky wondered how to tell Ally all her news.

‘I can’t believe we’re here again,’ said Ally.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Back at another school year. When I was a kid, summer holidays lasted for ever. This one lasted two weeks, tops.’

‘I know.’

‘Before we know it, we’ll look round and wham! We’ll be dead.’

Nicky looked at her friend. ‘Well, I’m glad you came over,’ she said. ‘I was worried I might spiral down for a while there, but you’ve brought your magic into my life again and up I go.’

Ally promised not to discuss death until she’d finished her brioche. To keep her mind off it, Nicky told her her news: she was to be Joint Deputy with Rob. Ally stopped stuffing brioche into her mouth and stared at her. Just as she was about to say something through it, Nicky went on. Rob had confided to her that he’d never intended to finish their relationship. He’d just assumed Nicky would cave in and pretend she didn’t want children to keep going out with him. Ally’s jawline flabbed. Since they had split up and no children had appeared, Rob had made the assumption that Nicky had changed her mind about having babies. Ally’s eyes doubled in size. After Nicky had told him she hadn’t changed her mind about babies, Rob had finally confided that he was now seriously contemplating becoming a father.

There was a pause. Ally started to say something, but a bit of brioche went the wrong way and she coughed so violently that most of it came up again.

‘Dramatic, huh?’ concluded Nicky.

‘Can’t you let a girl just enjoy her food?’ breathed Ally, her eyes watering.

‘Sorry,’ said Nicky. ‘I just had to get it all out. I was dying
to tell you yesterday, but Miss James swore us to secrecy and someone might have overheard.’

Ally stared at her again. ‘So let me get this straight,’ she said.

‘Mm.’

‘You’re now Joint Deputy and Rob basically wants to go out with you again?’

Nicky’s stomach flip-flopped. She started giggling. She couldn’t stop.

‘Well,’ said Ally. ‘There you go.

‘What?’ snorted Nicky.

‘Now you know.’

‘Know what?’

‘How you’d react if he asked you out again.’

‘How?’

Ally gave her a warm smile. ‘Like a fourteen-year-old convent girl.’

Oscar woke at six, got out of bed, padded through the hall and nudged his dad. Mark, eyes closed, went, ‘Ugh.’

‘Da-ad,’ said Oscar. ‘Can I go on the computer?’

‘What time is it?’ managed Mark.

‘Six.’

The pause that followed told Oscar that his father was not best pleased. Then, after a while, it told him that his father was asleep.

‘Da-ad. Can I go on the computer?’

Mark surfaced slowly from his dream. He wanted to say no. He wanted to say that they had a deal not to go on the computer until at least eight o’clock, as Oscar well knew. He wanted to suggest reading a book until then. He wanted to
suggest they go and play a board game together until then. He wanted to sleep.

‘Yes,’ he said.

Two hours later, Oscar was back.

‘Da-ad.’

‘Ughmn.’

‘Can I watch TV?’

‘Mm.’

Four hours later the best TV was over. Oscar flicked through the Sky channels again, then went into his playroom and looked at his toys. He plodded upstairs, his pyjama bottoms trailing, got into his own cold bed, and started reading his book.

At one, he went into his dad’s room. He sat on the bed. Nothing. He got up and sat down again, harder. Still nothing. He bounced on it. Nothing. He started whining. Mark opened one eye.

‘What’s that revolting noise?’ he growled.

‘I’m bo-ored.’

Mark turned over so he was lying on his back. He opened his arm and Oscar lay down next to him.

‘On a scale of one to ten,’ started Mark, ‘how bored are you?’

‘Ten.’

‘Don’t hold back now,’ said Mark.

‘Ten.’

‘Be completely honest.’

‘Ten.’

‘I can take it.’

‘TEN!’

‘Goodness me! Ten!’ said Mark. ‘We’ll have to do
something about that.’

Five minutes later, Oscar jabbed him in the ribs and Mark woke with a start. He jabbed Oscar back. Then he started tickling him. Oscar leapt away and shouted ‘TEN!’ in his ear.

Mark hefted his body up a bit and leant against the headboard, the skin round his eyes aching.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ve got about an hour’s work to do, then I’m all yours. What shall we do today?’

‘Go to the park and play football.’

‘Excellent. I was worried you’d say watch more TV. Bagsie in goal. Just . . . give me ten more minutes in bed –’

The pillow landed on his head.

‘Good shot!’ he muffled from under the pillow. ‘You’re getting better at that.’

His duvet was pulled off him, leaving the rest of him naked to the elements.

Working at the dining-room table wasn’t ideal, but Mark wanted to be in the same room as Oscar. Oscar wanted Mark to be in the same room as him too, but he also wanted to watch his James Bond video at top volume. After half an hour, Mark looked up from his work and watched his boy staring contentedly at the television. Eventually, he picked up the phone. Lilith answered.

‘Hi, it’s me,’ he said.

There was the slightest pause. ‘Hmm?’ she said.

He sighed. ‘I’ve got this stupid deadline –’

‘How long?’ Her tone was dull.

‘One hour. Max.’

‘Which means two. And don’t call me Max.’

‘Fantastic. What time can you pick him up?’

Lilith exploded into laughter at the other end of the phone. ‘You can drop him off here within the next ten minutes or we’ll have gone to Brent Cross.’

‘Oh God,’ moaned Mark, ‘he hates Brent Cross.’

Lilith sighed. ‘So does Daisy. But I’ve got to go. It’s the only time I get all week.’

‘OK,’ said Mark, ‘how about Daisy comes here to play with Oscar and I work upstairs?’

‘Perfect. Thought you’d never ask. I’ll bring her round in ten.’

Mark rang off and found Oscar looking at him from across the living room.

‘Are we going to the park?’ asked Oscar, his voice brittle. Mark’s heart clenched.

‘If I can get my work finished, sweetheart, yes,’ he told him. ‘But I’m going to have to work upstairs in my office. Daisy’s going to come and play.’ He looked at his boy. ‘Give your daddy a hug.’

Oscar turned his head and stared out of the window. When he looked back, his dad was already halfway out of the room.

Daisy always won Monopoly and Oscar always won Risk. So they played Frustration and after just twenty minutes it had thoroughly lived up to its name. Oscar won two out of the three games.

‘Yes! Hooray!’ he cried, jumping up and punching the air with his hand. ‘That means we get to play football in the garden
and
you’re in goal.’

‘OK,’ conceded Daisy. ‘But don’t kick it
at
me.’

Fifty-six goals later, he and Daisy sat in the treehouse, Oscar holding the ball in his hands, Daisy holding her thumb which had been throbbing since goal 23 deflected off it before going in.

‘What do you think of Miss Hobbs?’ she asked.

Oscar thought about it. ‘She’s all right,’ he said slowly.

‘Mm,’ agreed Daisy.

‘I mean, she’s nice, but . . .’ He thought about it. ‘A bit scary.’

‘Mm.’

‘She hasn’t got a mum.’

Daisy looked at him. ‘How do you know?’

‘She told me. She asked where mine was so I told her I didn’t have one, and she told me neither did she.’

Daisy gasped. ‘She
confided
in you. She must like you.’

Oscar shrugged.

‘
And
you’ve got something
in common
.’ Her tone was hushed.