In a Class of His Own (7 page)

I laughed, a little
nervously and thought. It would solve so many problems. The flat was
about ten miles from school and about twenty minutes from my parents.
But I was already working closely with this man, would I be able to
live in such close proximity as well? And then there was my growing
attraction to him. I frowned and took sip of wine. It was delicious
so I took another.

Finally I voiced my
thoughts, at least some of them. “I’m going to have to think
about it, Jack. I’m still not sure my parents can cope on their own
and I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” I finished lamely. I
looked out of the French doors which Jack had opened onto the
courtyard. Birds were singing and the distant rumble of a tractor
could just about be heard. I sighed. It was all so peaceful and
beautiful. I could live here. I could definitely live here.

Jack
shrugged. “No problem. Take your time. But it would be great to
have someone else around and it would mean I could have a lift into
school when my car won’t start.” He finished with a wicked grin:
“Although I might have to reconsider my offer if you insist on
playing ‘The Best of Black Lace’ at volume!”

The thought made me smile
all the way back to school.

It was
my very first night in my new home
and I couldn’t settle at all. I’d unpacked most of my things and
sorted out what I needed for the following day at school and then
tried to watch some TV. But I ended up roaming around the flat,
sitting at the tiny breakfast bar, bouncing on the bed, staring out
at the blackness of the country night. I tried out various lighting
effects – sitting room light on, table lamps off - and vice versa.
I tried some of my pictures against the walls and then decided that
none of them looked quite right. With my clutter dotted around it was
looking decidedly more untidy but homely. I kept hugging myself that
I was here, that I was on my own, that it was all mine. Temporarily
at least. I walked the short distance over to
my
kitchen and clicked on
my
kettle. I would make myself a cup of tea and raise a toast to
independence.

The half term holiday had
turned out to be hectic. I hadn’t done any of the things I’d
planned. I thought back to the moment I walked into the bungalow
after having lunch with Jack.

I just about had enough
time to race around town and collect what Mum needed before heading
back to the bungalow. I was already not thinking of it as home, so
perhaps I’d made my decision. I’d told Jack I’d let him know
before the end of the half term holiday, to which he’d casually
shrugged and had driven off in the E-Type, tyres squealing.

Joyce was at the bungalow
when I let myself in. I could hear she and Mum chatting in the
lounge. As I unloaded the shopping in the kitchen Dad came in and
began to help.

“You’ve
been a long time, love. Had a lot to do at school?”

I looked at him and saw
age marked on his face and in the way his shoulders stooped. The
strain of the last year or so had taken its toll. I went up to him
and gave him a kiss. He turned away, embarrassed by my sudden show of
affection. As a family we didn’t touch much and certainly didn’t
kiss each other. The strangest feeling came over me as I looked at
him again. Was this the threshold of true adulthood, when you
realised your parents wouldn’t be around forever? And could I
really be justified in leaving them when they both needed me so much?

Dad
busied himself by putting away a loaf of bread. “Your Mum has been
out with Joyce today,” he said
casually, as he slid the yellow pine bread bin lid shut.

I stopped what I was
doing, a packet of frozen peas held in mid air. “They went out?”
I exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes,”
he nodded. “Only to the park to feed the ducks, mind.” He smiled
at me, “But she went out, Nicola!” I could see tears standing in
his eyes behind his brown plastic frames and my throat closed
suddenly too. First step the park, second the doctor’s perhaps? I
prayed fervently to myself.

Joyce had been wonderful
throughout that week and we couldn’t have managed without her. We
certainly wouldn’t have got Mum to the doctor’s without our
neighbour’s calm and insistent persuasion. Dad and I had been on
tenterhooks on the morning of Mum’s appointment. Until we finally
saw her into the surgery I hadn’t been convinced she would do it.
As it turned out, after the build up which had been mentally
exhausting, the end result had been a complete anti-climax. Mum had
asked Joyce and not Dad to accompany her in to see the doctor and,
although I sensed his hurt, I could see why Mum had insisted. Joyce
apparently knew Dr. Johal from her old surgery. Mum looked small and
tearful when she came out, with Joyce all but holding her up. As soon
as I’d driven everyone home and we’d settled Mum down in front of
‘Countdown’ with a cup of tea, we held a quick meeting around the
kitchen table.

“Dr.
Johal said everything’s fine!” exclaimed Joyce in her cheerful
way, chins wobbling. “She said your mum’s just a bit down and
might need a few sessions of counselling.” She took an enormous
bite out of a ginger biscuit and slurped some tea.

I saw Dad’s brows
contract in disapproval. “I’m sure that isn’t necessary,” he
began to bluster.

I put a hand on his arm,
“Wait a minute Dad, listen to what Joyce has got to say.”

“Well,
the doctor’s going to refer Betty for counselling first. She thinks
it might be just the ticket. It did wonders for my friend Valerie
after she lost her husband,” Joyce continued airily.

“Betty
hasn’t lost me!” Dad exploded. “I’m not dead and I’m not
going to be for a long time!” His hand was trembling and he
replaced his cup back on his saucer with a clatter.

“Oh
no, Val’s husband didn’t die.” Joyce looked alarmed as she
realised she’d said something amiss. “He ran off with their
neighbour. Bit of a scandal that caused – the girl was only thirty
two,” she added, pursing her lips.

I choked on a mouthful of
tea. “How old was Valerie’s husband then?” I couldn’t resist
asking.

“Les?
Oh, he was all of seventy-four. Always had an eye for the ladies that
one.” Joyce giggled.

I tried to get things
back on track. “Look Joyce, did the doctor really say there wasn’t
much to worry about?”

“Well,
she did say it was hard to tell at this stage but she thought that
there wasn’t too much to be concerned about. She’s a good doctor
that one, I don’t think she’d miss much.” Joyce smiled at Dad
and myself once again. “But she did say it might help if your mum
had something to occupy her mind.” Joyce slapped her chubby hand
onto the pine table. “So I thought, what a good idea, I’ll get
her to that yoga class we go to Nicky! You know the one at your
school? I thought that might help. And I thought she might like to
join the WI as well. They’re ever such a nice crowd.”

At this point I thought
Dad was going to explode again so I suggested he join Mum in the
lounge. He left, walking stiffly, with a plate of custard creams in
his hand.

“So?”
I fixed Joyce with my best teacher-of-Year-Six-glare. She didn’t
quail. “Joyce, what did the doctor really say?” I hissed at her,
using the noise from the TV in the next room as cover.

Joyce looked behind her
quickly, put down her teacup and finally got serious. She put her
hand on my arm. “Your mum’s showing signs of depression, as we
thought.” She nodded, almost to herself, hesitated then went on,
“If the counselling doesn’t work then the doctor’s going to put
her on a course of drugs.” She must have seen my look because she
then added, “But Nicky, I didn’t want to get your Dad alarmed. He
doesn’t understand this kind of thing does he?”

I
agreed vehemently:
“Understatement of the century!” “But Joyce I’m at school all
day and often work into the evenings as well, I don’t know if I can
do anything for her.” I had visions of my new found and tiny but
perfectly formed flat disappearing. Then I shook my head and grimaced
at my selfishness.

Joyce
smiled. “Listen lovie, Betty is my friend and she’s my new
project. Your mum is a proud woman, she doesn’t want any help from
her daughter or husband. She doesn’t want you to think there’s
anything
wrong.” She patted my arm again. “But she’ll take it from me,
either as a professional or a friend. It doesn’t matter. What
really matters is she gets well again.” Joyce paused, sighed and
then went on, “Mind you Nicky, there’s sometimes no cure, as
such, for depression. Your mum might have to learn to live with it,
to cope with it as best she can.” Then Joyce smiled again and
wagged an affectionate finger at me, “And you’ve got your own
life to live, I don’t see you doing much for yourself at the
moment. Would your mum and dad want that?”

I saw Joyce out and
returned slowly to the kitchen where I poured myself yet another cup
of tea. It was cold but I needed it to think with.

“Well,
I just don’t know what to think of that Joyce woman but she
certainly seems to do your mum good.” Dad returned with the tea
tray. He nodded towards the lounge. “Your mum’s in there saying
she and Joyce are planning a trip to the cinema. There’s a showing
of ‘Dr. Zhivago’ at the Roxy next week. Still, at least she’s
on the mend, eh Nicola love?”

He began to fill the sink
with hot water and frothed some washing up liquid into it
energetically. Then he changed the subject, as I knew he would. “You
never did get around to telling me what you got up to on Saturday.
Seeing friends, were you? You can’t have been at that school all
day. You work too hard you know, Nicola. It’s about time you had a
life of your own. It’s not good for you to be stuck in with us all
the time.” He rattled this speech off, without looking at me. “Now
that your mum’s better, why don’t you start looking for a place
of your own?”

The
kettle boiled and clicked off, making me jump and bringing me back to
my surroundings. I looked around the little flat, which had now
become the place of my own. As I did so I remembered how,
with that cue from Dad, I’d poured out all my worry and
frustration. About the offer of the flat, about how concerned I’d
been about Mum and him too. How I felt I couldn’t leave them on
their own. Dad had been astounded. He’d turned from the sink and
had flipped the lucky black cat tea towel over his shoulder.

“Nicola
love, is that the reason you moved back in with us?” He’d tutted
and shook his head with infinite weariness. “And here’s me
thinking you’d got fed up living in London!” He’d dried his
hands on the tea towel with great concentration and had continued to
speak, in a rush, as if he didn’t get it out now, it wouldn’t get
said. He’d said that if I really wanted to go ahead with the flat
that I could always move back in again if things didn’t work out
and wasn’t I only just down the road? That it would do Mum the
power of good to come over to see me and I could come back for Sunday
dinner, every now and again. I had no idea if he really felt this way
or if he was sensing the unhappiness warring with my guilt but it put
the seal on my decision.

And so a few days later,
here I was in my flat. I put my ear to the adjoining door, which led
onto the landing of the main house but couldn’t hear a thing. I
slid the bolt quietly into place on my side. I trusted Jack but it
made my feeling of privacy complete.

He had said a polite
hello to Dad, had helped us move in my few belongings and had then
tactfully disappeared. Perhaps he’d gone out? From my flat I
couldn’t see where he parked his car. Perhaps that was just as
well. The temptation to spy on my new neighbour was becoming
overwhelming.

The
next day at work was frantic. I welcomed the new member of staff,
Rupert
Lawrence, into his classroom and planned on showing him around at
break time. It was my management day and Jack was at a heads’
meeting at the local authority so I had my hands full.

Rupert
seemed to be doing well with his new class. I walked past his
classroom a little later to discreetly check on things. It’s never
easy take over someone else’s class, especially part way through
the term but they seemed, so far, to be responding well to him. As he
was partly through his year as a newly qualified teacher – an NQT,
I was to be his mentor. I was looking forward to it as it was
something I hadn’t done before. Rupert was a little younger than me
and had changed career from banking into, to use his words,
“something a little more stimulating.” Well he’d certainly be
stimulated by his Year Six class; they were a handful. He was a
good-looking man I thought, with his longish blonde hair and soulful
brown eyes. He’d come across as confident and enthusiastic at the
interview and had a keen interest in sport so would be taking over
the football club, to Jack’s relief. I wondered how many staff that
would disappoint. No more sightings of Jack in his snug tracksuit.
Poor Janice, but perhaps her hormones might return to normal now.

A
movement down the corridor caught my attention. Helen in Year Four
was waving at me frantically from the doorway of her classroom.

“Nicky,
Nicky, have you got a minute? It’s urgent!” she hissed
dramatically.

As I went towards her I
noticed she was holding a hamster cage. My heart sank. Missing
rodents were not my speciality, especially after spending two hours
after school one day looking for a missing gerbil which, when found,
then proceeded to bite me viciously on the finger in gratitude.

Helen’s lips trembled;
she was not a teacher who made light of life’s problems. “It’s
Fluffy. Sadie Morris brought her in for ‘Show and Tell’ and she’s
… dead!”

My heart stopped. I
looked at her in alarm, for a second I thought she meant Sadie. Then
sense prevailed and I realised she meant the unfortunate pet. I was
at a loss as to what to say.