The Learning Curve (26 page)

Steve blushed and Mark recognised hatred in the firm set of his jaw and determined nod. I’m the client from hell, he thought. At last! About time it was my turn.

They had one more place to see before Mark’s plan to pick Oscar up from school as a surprise. It was in a road on the other, less affluent, side of the school, a road that was described as ‘Muswell Hill borders’ because it wasn’t in Muswell Hill.

Mark drove down the street distractedly, taking no notice of it because he knew he didn’t want this postcode. You had to think about resale with these things. He’d have told Steve to cancel the appointment, but Steve had already gone back to the office because, for this one property, Mark was actually meeting the homeowner. Typical.

He parked outside the property and drummed his fingers angrily on the steering wheel. As he walked to the door he took note that it was a halls-adjoining 1930s end-of-terrace,
probably the least inspiring architecture he’d seen all day. He stood at the front door waiting for the person to answer, and wondered idly what dinner he’d make Oscar that night. He’d see his boy soon. The crap day vanished.

He watched the front door open and set his face into a smile in preparation. But as soon as the door was pulled back, his smile stuck as he found himself looking straight past the owner at an airy, elegantly decorated hall with a staircase to the right that beckoned him up to a light, spacious landing. He would not have been able to describe the person standing at the door ten minutes later, because the harmonised shades of the walls and floor, the spotlessly glowing veneer of the doors and the widening vista of the kitchen/diner beyond were taking up too much of his brain space. It was an instant, primitive thing, like falling in love. Everything else about the property would pale into insignificance compared to that first impression, and in the next few days, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it because it would make him feel so good. And that good feeling would overcome any possible warning bells. If the house had had no indoor toilet, he’d have seen this as a great opportunity to get more fresh air.

Luckily, the rest of the house matched the hall. Every room was beautifully proportioned, with high ceilings and freshly painted cornicing, and yet there was a cosiness to them that made him feel snug. Only one or two sets of curtains were not to his taste, and that would be easy enough to change. Apart from that, every box was ticked: the kitchen had been extended backwards into the long garden, with a vast Velux window making it large
enough for a good-sized dining table and small sofa; the living room and dining room had been ‘knocked through’, leaving a long, wide room, big enough for several guests to sit in comfortably, a coffee table to rest dinner on and a vast sofa to sprawl on; and the garden was a good enough size to kick a ball about in. In addition, the garage had been changed into an office, and the box-room above it had been extended into a decent-sized guest room with en suite shower. Oscar’s bedroom would be smaller than his room at home, but if he needed a lot of space for homework projects, he could share the office with Mark – another desk would fit in there easily.

By the time the owner had finished the tour, Mark could barely speak for excitement. Thankfully, he’d had years of training as a man, so was able to fully control his emotions. When his mobile buzzed in his pocket he ignored it. He nodded silently as the owner explained why her family was leaving such a beautiful, well-loved house and showed him where the boiler was. He shook her hand firmly and then slowly walked down the path. When he got to his car, his mobile phone buzzed in his pocket again, telling him that a message had been left for him. He took it out to see who the message was from. If it was the office, he wasn’t answering.

He didn’t recognise the number, but it was local. He barely dared imagine what it was as he selected to listen to the message.

He stood with the key hovering near the car-door lock, listening intently. And then with a smile on his face, he turned round and walked straight back to the front door.

The owner opened the door and smiled openly at him.

‘Sorry to trouble you,’ he began, ‘but I just wondered if I could check one other thing?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

This time they both walked straight into the lounge.

‘This may sound silly,’ said Mark, ‘but where do you put your Christmas tree?’

The owner pointed to the front bay window of the living room. He hadn’t noticed it was a bay. ‘And we also have a tree in the kitchen,’ she admitted a bit sheepishly. ‘The kids love them so much.’

‘Ah!’ he murmured, nodding slowly. ‘Yes. I see.’

He asked her if it would be convenient to come back in half an hour with his son. It would give him twenty minutes to tell Oscar that, if Oscar approved, Dad was going to be the next bursar at Heatheringdown Primary School, and as of 3 January next year, would walk into school with him every day, be at home during every afternoon, and have no office work during the school holidays. Oh, and he’d found a new home for them to live in so that they could still afford holidays.

An hour later, with Oscar’s hysterically giggled blessing, he made an offer to the owner of the halls-adjoining, three-bed semi in Muswell Hill borders, of the asking price.

NICKY CLAPPED HER
hands again and waited for the hubbub to die down. Trinny and Susannah had been whispering all the way through David and Victoria’s rendition of ‘All I want for Christmas is a Baby Girl’.

‘Trinny and Susannah!’ she cried eventually, interrupting the Beckhams. ‘If you don’t stop whispering, I shall make you do one of your own makeovers.’

Rarely had a threat worked so effectively.

Miss James was due to pop in later this afternoon to watch today’s rehearsal. During any other rehearsal Nicky would have been delighted, but after seeing Mr Samuels at school yesterday, it just made her feel incredibly anxious. Miss James hadn’t mentioned him in this morning’s meeting, but then she might feel it inappropriate to bring up a complaint about her in front of Rob. Would she use this opportunity to ask to see her privately, while smiling sweetly at her? Or would she actually try and talk to her during the rehearsal in front of the children? There was no knowing with Miss James.

Nicky got the kids to start their rehearsal again and just as it began, she heard the door behind her swing open and
shut. She turned and watched Miss James approach. She was making a grand show of coming in very slowly on tiptoe like a cartoon character, which made her tilt at a precarious angle, necklaces and glasses swinging like a pendulum. When Nicky gave her an uncertain smile, Miss James beamed back so widely that what remaining part of her body wasn’t tilting, now hunched. The overall effect was something like a demented tortoise. When she finally reached Nicky, she gave her shoulders a squeeze and huddled up to her in the vast hall, as if for warmth.

When the rehearsal finished, she clapped so loudly that Nicky’s head almost burst.

‘More! More! More! More! More!
More!
’ she cried out.

The children cheered, which finished any work Miss James hadn’t finished.

‘Are we all having fun?’ yelled Miss James.

‘Yes!’ shrieked ten children.

‘Three cheers for Miss Hobbs!’ yelled Miss James. Nicky managed a gracious smile.

Miss James turned to Nicky.

‘Right. I’m off home, my dear. See you tomorrow morning, bright and early!’ She gave her a wink and waved as she tiptoed out, hunched precariously.

Nicky watched her go. Would she talk to her about Mr Samuels then? In front of Rob?

Later that night Oscar stood in front of the bathroom mirror with a look of undisguised derision on his face.

‘What do you think?’ asked Mark, standing behind him and frowning at his son’s reflection.

Oscar managed to screw his face up even more. ‘I think I look like a twat.’

Mark grimaced. ‘Oscar! Don’t use that word. It doesn’t become you.’

‘Neither does this costume. It makes me look like a twat.’

‘Oscar!’

‘Ali G wears expensive glasses, not swimming goggles.’

‘But they look like swimming goggles.’

‘It’s not the same thing. I’m going to look like a twat.’

‘Right,’ clipped Mark. ‘That’s it. Time for bed. You’ll have to work out what to wear yourself. I’ve got to get up in . . .’ He looked at his watch and groaned. ‘Five hours. We’ll go costume shopping at the weekend.’

‘Great,’ moaned Oscar.

‘Yeah, I can’t wait either.’

‘I’m not wearing swimming goggles,’ shouted Oscar as he went to his room. ‘Everyone else is going shopping with their mates, not their dads.’

Mark followed Oscar into his room so fast that Oscar felt sure he was going to get walloped. He backed into his room, almost falling over his feet. He tried to finish this with a look of defiance, but he knew he’d given his fear away.

‘If you want to go clothes shopping with your ten-year-old mates, you can, young man,’ hissed Mark furiously. ‘And you know what?’

Oscar shook his head numbly.

‘
Then
you’ll look like a twat.’

And he slammed Oscar’s bedroom door shut on him.

Ally came round on Sunday and Nicky discovered just how much her friend really detested Amanda. She’d always
assumed that the onus of hatred for the girl lay on her shoulders, due to Amanda’s obvious intentions towards Rob. But it seemed that Ally had plenty of her own motives for hatred where Amanda was concerned.

‘That
body
,’ she almost spat. ‘It’s a stick with breasts. I mean, what’s so attractive about that? It’d be like necrophilia. What is
wrong
with men these days?’

Nicky shrugged miserably. ‘They seem to like it.’

‘Yeah. Because they’ve got shit for brains.’

‘I’m not arguing there, girlfriend,’ whispered Nicky.

‘And Rob’s a piece of shit for including her in all our conversations. Why should we have to spend time with someone we hate, just because he wants to sleep with her?’

‘Do you . . .’ began Nicky, ‘do you seriously think he’s going to go for it?’

Ally looked at her. ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’ she asked rhetorically.

‘But she’s not even his type,’ she said weakly.

Ally gave a bitter laugh. ‘Maybe it’s time you finally wised up about Rob, Nicky,’ she said. ‘Amanda’s putting that stick-insect body on a plate for him, like something out of
I’m a Celebrity
. He’s a bloke who’s used to getting his end away as quickly as looking at someone. And his pride’s been hurt.’

‘I think you’re being a bit harsh –’

‘No!’ cried Ally. ‘The sooner you realise Rob’s just another bloke the quicker you’re gonna get closure.’

‘I’ve got closure!’

‘Oh yeah, sorry,’ said Ally. ‘I forgot.’

Nicky stayed silent.

‘And as for Pete,’ continued Ally, ‘I’m losing all respect for him.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he gives Amanda the time of day, and –’ She stopped suddenly.

There was a long pause. ‘And what?’ asked Nicky.

‘Nothing. Dunno. Nothing.’

‘Tell me.’

Ally shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Oh, he just always sides with Rob whenever you two have a . . . you know, thing.’

Nicky felt uncomfortable. ‘Well,’ she mumbled, ‘I suppose . . . I’d like to think you always side with me because you’re my friend.’

‘No,’ said Ally firmly.

Nicky couldn’t speak.

‘I side with you because you’re right,’ said Ally. ‘Pete sides with Rob ’cos he’s a bloke and they have bloke rules. And they are pathetic.’

They looked at each other sadly. Ally finished her brioche and swigged it down with the last of her coffee.

‘Maybe,’ attempted Nicky, ‘we just raised our expectations because we got on with them so well. But deep down, they’re just men. They can’t help themselves.’

‘That is not good enough!’ cried Ally. ‘Don’t forgive them just because they’re men! How come everyone damns women just because we’re women but forgives men just because they’re men. I’m sick of it. They’re human beings too. With souls. With morals. With empathy.’

‘With willies.’

Ally pondered for a moment. ‘Hmm,’ she murmured eventually. ‘I’m not too sure about Pete. Where would he put it for a start?’

Nicky snorted. ‘Maybe it’s a fold-up one. Like a Swiss army penknife.’

They built on this for a while until they felt better, and when Ally had to leave, they shared an extra big hug.

Exactly one week later, the great day had arrived. Today was the day that Heatheringdown would re-enact the humble birth of Jesus and hear Thierry Henry sing ‘Wish I Was at Home for Christmas’.

Miss James still hadn’t mentioned the mysterious appearance of Oscar’s father and, feeling brave one day, Nicky actually managed to mention that she’d seen him in the school without blushing. Miss James had winked at her and said enigmatically. ‘I know, my dear. I know. More of that later.’

And so Nicky forced herself to forget it. And what with rehearsals and the increasingly excited atmosphere at school, she occasionally managed to.

At the end of the school day she wished her pupils good luck, and told them that she was proud of all of them and couldn’t wait to see them perform in a few hours. Then she drove back home, prepared a quick dinner, cleared up and took herself into her bedroom to get dressed for her favourite evening of the term.

Ten minutes later, she was still standing in front of her wardrobe, now in bra and knickers, frowning, awaiting inspiration. After a while she padded across her flat to the bathroom, where she ran a scaldingly hot bath with plenty of bubbles. To the soothing accompaniment of a running bath, she returned to her wardrobe. After a while, she padded back across her flat, past the bathroom to the kitchen where
she filled the kettle and switched it on. Now with her home full of sounds heralding pleasant sensory experiences, she returned to her wardrobe and awaited inspiration.

Then she went and made herself a mug of hot, sweet tea.

Comforted, she brought it back to the wardrobe, stood in front of it, sipping her tea and awaiting inspiration.