The School Gate Survival Guide (19 page)

‘Are you listening to me?’

‘Yes, I am.’ I carried on pulling jacket potatoes out of the microwave.

‘What do you think?’

Mainly I thought it was sad that I daren’t have my back to him in case he decided to have another crack.

‘I think you’re incredibly clever to have thought of that and deserve a round of applause,’ I said. Knowing I had somewhere to go was making me brave – or foolish. I pulled a saucepan out of the cupboard. If he went for me again, I was going to make sure I got a hit in that made his brain sing.

For a moment, he looked as though he’d been asked to do some complicated quadratic equation of the sort Harley still hoped I could help him with. Then he smiled and said, ‘Are you sulking?’ in his wheedling-round-me voice. The man thought he was going to make it up to me in bed.

‘No, I’m not sulking.’ I stuck the potatoes on plates, chucked some beans on top and had the satisfying thought that I wouldn’t be cooking for Colin again for a few days. I hadn’t quite worked out how to tell him that me and the kids, as from tomorrow, would be taking a little holiday in a country mansion. I called Harley and Bronte through. Bronte immediately started complaining that there was no butter on her potato.

‘No money either, love, that’s why.’

‘It’s a nice potato, though, Mum, and it’s healthier without butter, isn’t it? We were doing about good and bad fat in science today. We’re going to make foam fountains with hydrogen peroxide next week,’ Harley said. I’d noticed that he was becoming more and more enthusiastic about school as the weeks went by. That sicky feeling washed over me again as I eyed the letter, the traitor letter, propped by the telephone. I would post that tomorrow.

I watched Colin, elbow on the table, shovelling in beans like some mechanical digger programmed to repeat the same action over and over again. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and it made him look grubby, though he thought it made him look manly and rugged. He finished shovelling and pushed his chair back from the table. A couple of beans sat on his T-shirt. He let out a huge belch, which made Harley and Bronte giggle and try to compete with him.

I left them burping and farting and spluttering with laughter and sloped off upstairs to start putting a few clothes into a bag. I tried to think of it as a mini-break, like my customers, who simply couldn’t manage another day without a crystal wand massage or a frangipani flotation at the spa. Staying with Clover wasn’t a solution. I wasn’t leaving Colin. But I damned well didn’t want him to think he’d got away with it, that he could punch my lights out and I’d just say, ‘Never mind, dear, your hand slipped’.

Clover was right. I’d nearly fallen into the trap of thinking that there was nothing I could do, apart from accept my lot and not moan. It wouldn’t do Colin any harm at all to spend a week on his own with no purse to help himself to, no underpants fairy, no ironing slave, no bloody punch bag. Clover and I had agreed that she would pick the kids up from school the next day and tell them that we were staying over for a few nights so I could help her clean the house. I didn’t want the whole thing ballooning into a ‘mummy’s leaving daddy’ discussion because Clover was just a stopgap and I was going to have to come back. I was looking forward to teaching Colin a lesson though.

Once the children were in bed, we sat in silence. I stuck my nose in my book while Colin goggled away at yet another Jackie Chan movie. I went up to check that Bronte and Harley were asleep, unlocked the front door on my way down and picked up the phone from the kitchen. I didn’t think I’d call the police if it turned nasty but threatening it might give me breathing space. Now it came to it, my mouth was dry and I had a bit of a goldfish thing going on before I spoke. It took a few ‘Colins’ to tear his attention away from Jackie Chan pirouetting into villains’ faces, but eventually he managed to turn a bored face towards me, mouth still hanging open with concentration. ‘What?’

I got up and stood in front of the telly. I squeezed my knees together to stop my legs trembling. ‘The kids and I are moving out for a bit.’

‘Moving out? Where? Where are you getting the money from to go anywhere?’

‘I’m going to stay with Clover. I can’t stand being here, not knowing if you’re going to lose your temper again. It’s freaking me out and that’s not good for the kids.’

His mouth dropped open a little bit further. ‘What, so you’re leaving me to move in with that barrel-shaped bird? No wonder her husband buggered off. She batting for the other side now, is she?’

The gormless git. I felt as though I might start lashing out myself. What came out of my mouth bore no resemblance to the original calm script I had rehearsed in my head. ‘I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but she’s my friend and she’s worried about me because you split my face open during a tantrum and now I’m frightened of you. I’m hoping I’ll feel better when my face heals. In the meantime, Clover can take the children to school for me, so everybody doesn’t have to know that Harley and Bronte’s dad is a bit handy with his fists. And she’s going to pay me to clean her house.’

I felt as though I’d run up to a big snarling dog and snatched its bone away. Colin didn’t make any move to get up.

‘Mai. Mai. Why are you doing this to me? You know I love you. I didn’t mean to hit you.’ He had his arms outstretched, protesting his innocence as though he’d brushed an eyelash off my cheek rather than opened up the front of my face.

‘You did mean to hit me. You just thought I wouldn’t make a big hoo-ha about it. I don’t want Harley growing up thinking that it’s okay to smack his girlfriend one if she gets a bit troublesome. Let me ask you this. If it was Bronte, would you be happy if her man blacked her eye now and again, as long as he “didn’t mean to”?’

Colin’s lips pursed together. He squared his shoulders. He’d never liked me talking back to him and over time, I suppose I’d saved it for important things, usually to do with the kids, that I couldn’t let go. It was ages since I’d had options. My nerves were steadying. I was on the edge of elation. I almost wanted to taunt him, dance around the room going, ‘Come on, big boy, give us a thump if you think you’re hard enough.’ Just when I was getting ready for him, tensed for a tussle, he relaxed back into his chair and splayed his hands on his knees.

‘Mai. I’m sorry. Don’t go. I don’t know what got into me. It won’t happen again.’ He did look sorry, but that might have been the realisation that he’d have to get himself off the settee a bit more often if he wanted to eat. ‘Don’t leave. I love you. I really do.’

He stood up. It was as though Colin hurting me had messed up my ability to read him. Even though he was telling me he loved me, I was backing away, ready to grab his metal darts trophy off the top of the TV. He came towards me slowly and tried to pull me into a hug. I shook my head and pushed him away. I didn’t want him near me. I should have been crying, churned up, but I didn’t feel anything except a sense of failure. Perhaps he did love me. Maybe I’d nagged too much, maybe the stress of not having a job had finished him off, maybe the bailiffs had sent him over the edge. Maybe he hadn’t really meant to hit me. I could hear Mr Peters in the back of my mind. ‘Don’t make excuses for him.’

If I hadn’t seen him glance past me to Jackie Chan, making me walking out on him a bit less worrying than grasping the full technique of karate-chopping a villain in the neck, I might have weakened. I marched past him.

‘You’re really going, aren’t you?’ he said.

‘I certainly am. When you’ve sorted yourself out, I might come back. I will leave forever if you lay a single finger on me again. For the moment, I’m going to tell the children that we’re moving in with Clover to give her house a spring clean. If you don’t want to make this harder than it already is, you will go along with that too.’

Colin picked up his sweatshirt off the floor and stomped to the door. He’d never done sorry well. ‘You always thought you were so damned special. Don’t wait too long to come back. You ain’t the only woman in the world, you know.’

The front door slammed and the Working Men’s Club prepared to welcome its latest misfit.

I lay awake half the night listening for the sound of Colin’s key scratching around the lock. I’d never thought of myself as a coward before but lying there with my face throbbing was making me dread the mood he might be in after a few beers. I fidgeted about trying to get comfortable, but every position put pressure on my bruises. Any noise – shouting outside, cans being kicked about, car doors slamming – made me lift my head off the pillow. Somewhere around midnight I heard Sandy’s bed springs getting some action with Sean – or was it Shane? – and tried not to listen to the post-shag murmuring and giggling on the other side of the wall.

I must have dropped off in the early hours of Wednesday morning. The beep of a text jolted me into an aching consciousness at seven o’clock. My right eye was refusing to open properly and when I looked down I could see my cheek. I reached for the phone and read, ‘
Could you give me a call, please?
’ The display read Mary. Mr Peters to everyone, but Mary to me – and Colin – if he picked up my phone. There was something gorgeous about someone gorgeous thinking about you first thing in the morning. I looked at Colin’s side of the bed. He definitely hadn’t been home. Which meant he could turn up at any time. I didn’t wish him dead, just temporarily paralysed in a booze-induced stupor on someone’s settee. I nipped downstairs to double-check that he wasn’t snoring away in the front room, then put the kettle on. I rang Mr Peters. He answered straightaway. He sounded as though he’d been up for hours. I imagined him jogging in the park at dawn, showering with some posh products and eating a breakfast of oats, apricots and natural yoghurt. He always looked as though he’d just towel-dried his hair and filed his nails.

‘Maia! Can you talk? Good. How’s your face? Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you. You should go to the police about Colin. He shouldn’t get away with that.’

‘I can’t. How can I explain to the children that I’ve deliberately got their dad in trouble with the police? It won’t solve anything. Just make things worse.’ I sniffed the milk before pouring it into my tea.

‘Was he okay with you last night?’

I went through to the front room and looked out of the window, scanning the street for Colin. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to go. Colin’s not here at the moment and I want to get out before he comes back. I’m moving in with Orion Wright’s mum for a few days.’

‘You’re leaving Colin?’ He sounded relieved.

‘Not really. I’m going to come back, but Clover can do the school run while my face gets better.’ There was silence on the other end of the line.

‘Can I see you?’ he said, finally.

‘See me? What? In a school way?’

‘Partly in a school way. But also in a Maia–Zac way. I need to talk to you.’

He sounded so nervous, so tentative, I nearly burst out laughing. The wonderful Mr Peters, heartthrob of all the mothers, tiptoeing around me. ‘I’m hardly fit for public viewing at the moment.’

‘Why don’t you meet me at my house? I’ve got a free lesson before lunch. Could you manage 12.30-ish? I’ll even make you a sandwich,’ he said.

If I’d been able to lift my eyelid, I’m quite sure it would have flown wide open. I’d bet my bottom dollar on granary bread. ‘I’ll have to come straight from work. That means crappy old clothes and stinking of bleach.’

‘Maia. I don’t care. Just come.’ He gave me the address. A flat near the school.

I heard movement upstairs. ‘I’ve got to go.’

Bronte appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Who were you talking to?’

‘I was arranging for us to go to Clover’s for a while. She needs help with some cleaning and she thought it might work best if we stayed with her for a few days so we could really get on top of it.’ I couldn’t begin to imagine how many lies got told when people had affairs.

Bronte’s face lit up. ‘Can I go riding?’

‘I should think so. I’m sure Clover won’t mind.’ Bronte started to bounce up and down. I laughed. ‘I packed last night, so you just need to bring Gordon the Gorilla.’

Bronte turned towards her room, then stopped. ‘Is Dad coming?’

‘No, sweetheart. He’s going to look after the house until we get back.’

‘Where is he?’

‘I’m not quite sure at the moment. We’ll give him a ring later. Come on, we don’t want to be late.’ She moved towards her room. For the time being, going riding outweighed saying goodbye to Colin. Harley did his usual go-with-the-flow shrug when I told him, handing me a few
Top Gear
annuals and helping me carry the bags to the van.

I dropped the kids at school and raced through my work that morning. I spent a long time polishing the mirrors, studying my face as I rubbed, wondering whether it was worth covering up my black eye with foundation. I tried not to think about Mr Peters, but every now and then, I’d be wiping round the loo or tying the handles of a pongy old kitchen bin and I’d catch myself grinning. Or I’d do a little shimmy as I shook the towels out, a dance with the Hoover, a super-vigorous shake of the cushions. Excitement and nerves were making me sweat. I swilled my mouth out with a blob of toothpaste and pinched a quick squirt of the woman’s deodorant before I left. By the time I drew up outside the converted Edwardian building that housed Mr Peters’ flat, I was jittery, as though I’d eaten candy floss for breakfast.

By the looks of the names on the intercom, the building was a one-stop health and beauty shop. I bet it had a gym and swimming pool in the basement. There was a homeopath, beautician and reflexologist on the ground floor. Of course, the residents couldn’t possibly survive without a homeopath to press a little pill into their hands every time they got an ache in their big toe. Half the people I worked for swore that a tiny tablet of some stupid herb diluted a million times cured everything from arthritis to psoriasis. Shame it didn’t cure their stupidity at wasting money on crackpot ideas. I’d have to find out if Mr Peters was a gnat’s piss convert. I checked my teeth in my little compact mirror and rang the bell. He buzzed the front door open straightaway and was leaning over the banister beckoning me up as soon as I got into the lobby.