The Learning Curve (36 page)

‘I thought maybe a sponsored something,’ said Mark quietly.

Amanda gasped. ‘Oh I’m sorry, everyone,’ she said. ‘Was that below the belt?’

There was a stultifying silence. When it started to clog up pores, Nicky had to speak.

‘Wow, Amanda,’ she said with an attempt at a conciliatory smile. ‘Remind me never to annoy you.’

Amanda let out a shock of laughter. ‘Oh,
bless
! Poppet, you couldn’t annoy me if you tried.’

Martha put down her pint, only just missing the beer mat. ‘Anyway, size doesn’t matter, it’s what you do with
it that counts. If you know what I mean.’

‘You’re absolutely right, Martha,’ said Amanda with feeling. She turned to Rob. ‘I think you’ve just found your perfect woman.’

Everyone’s eyes flicked to their drinks.

Rob gave Amanda a sad look. ‘Did I hurt you that much?’ he asked softly. ‘I had no idea. I’m sorry, Mandy.’

Amanda’s eyes filled and Nicky turned to Mark. ‘I think a sponsored something’s a brilliant idea,’ she said. ‘Like what?’

‘Um . . . silence?’ he suggested.

After that, the atmosphere was slightly less charged and ten minutes later Amanda even got a round in. And she didn’t pour any of it over Rob’s head or into his lap, but just left it in the middle of the table.

‘You haven’t pissed in this, have you?’ he asked her as he put it to his lips.

She laughed. ‘Oh God, no,’ she said. ‘I’d have to care about you to do that.’

Rob smiled. ‘Touché,’ he said, and flashed her a wink over the top of it.

Mollified, she allowed the atmosphere to return to good old-fashioned tension.

Much later, Mark came up with the idea of a fête. By then he was almost the only one still sober, so the idea was greeted with rapturous applause. It was the only proper idea they’d had all evening (apart from Martha’s sponsored snogathon and Rob’s sponsored wet T-shirt competition), but the evening hadn’t been a complete wash-out. Amanda’s plan had worked and they had all got to know each other more. More, in fact, than most wanted to.

When Martha’s boyfriend appeared behind them, they realised it was time to go home.

‘I thought we said I’d phone,’ she greeted him, as he stood uncomfortably behind them.

‘Yes,’ said her boyfriend quietly, ‘but when Clive started putting on his pyjamas, I thought it was probably time I left.’

‘Well, someone would have given me a lift.’

‘Well, I’m here now.’

‘So I see.’

She made her goodbyes and walked out. They watched him follow her.

‘I give it six months,’ said Rob. ‘Tops.’

‘Six minutes, more like,’ said Amanda.

‘Nah,’ he shook his head, ‘she’s more used to him than she thinks.’

‘Now, you,’ she said suddenly. ‘Robert. We need to talk. Up to my flat. Now.’

‘Ah, sorry, Mand,’ said Rob, ‘I’ve got to give Nicky a lift home. Otherwise I’d love to –’

‘That’s all right!’ said Mark lightly. ‘I can give Nicky a lift. No problem.’

‘There you are!’ Amanda declared. ‘Thanks, Mark. I really appreciate that. I owe you.’

‘Gosh, thanks, Mark,’ added Nicky. ‘Otherwise, I don’t know, I’d have had to hitch, or something.’

She said goodbye to everyone and gave an extra long look at Rob. Despite his pathetic show of laddish flirting most of the evening, her heart went out to him as he stared soulfully up at her. Goodness only knew what sort of bollocking he was in for now.

As she and Mark approached Mark’s low-slung, red sports
car, she remembered Rob commenting on how expensive it was and then remembered how Mark had boasted in his introductory speech that his City partnership paid well. She felt a surge of underdog support for Rob.

‘It’s open.’ Mark smiled at her over the shiny roof.

After a while, he spoke again. ‘You might have to give me directions. Oscar may have been to your place, but I haven’t.’

Nicky directed him. ‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that,’ she said softly. ‘That was Hallowe’en, wasn’t it?’ As soon as the words were out, she remembered the text Oscar had received from his father that night while in her kitchen. She fell silent.

‘That’s right,’ said Mark. ‘He was so excited about it.’

‘Mm.’

They drove on in a silence punctuated only by Nicky’s increasingly monosyllabic directions. She kept remembering Oscar’s bitter disappointment of that night.

‘I know exactly what you’re thinking,’ Mark said eventually. His voice was soft.

‘Oh yes?’

‘You’re thinking, “That was the night you let him down again.”’

She had to laugh. ‘Am I that transparent?’

He smiled. ‘No, I just . . . think I know what you think of me.’

She turned to him. ‘Oh, do you now?’ she said, archly.

‘Mmhm,’ he replied, just as archly.

‘Actually, to be honest,’ she confessed, ‘I can’t make you out at all.

‘Well,’ his voice was suddenly serious, ‘I’m glad you’re trying.’

After a while, he spoke again.

‘I tell you what, I’ll help you in your efforts to make me out. Of course, I am a bit biased, but I promise to keep just to the facts. That night, Hallowe’en, I slept for two hours on the office sofa with a picture of Osc on my mobile phone next to my face. I set my alarm for when he would wake, and phoned him at Lilith’s first thing. As it happened, he refused to speak to me. The next night, after twenty straight hours of work, I came home and fell asleep with him on his bed. I woke at dawn to finish two more hours of work that I still had to do.’

Nicky blinked at him in the dark. ‘What would you like me to say?’ she kept her tone light, just like when she was telling off her pupils.

He sighed. ‘Nothing, I’m just giving you the other side of it. And remember – that was before I realised that I was not being the father Oscar needed. Yes, I was misguided, but I was still trying.’

‘It’s left here,’ she said.

He turned into the drive of her block of flats and parked.

‘Look,’ she said finally. ‘Your relationship with your son is really none of my business.’

He laughed. ‘You could have fooled me.’ She noticed that his tone was as soft as hers had been.

She frowned. ‘I couldn’t possibly have known that you’d change your life so dramatically after what I said. And I only told you my thoughts so . . . plainly . . . after you’d insulted me.’

‘Accidentally!’ he rushed. ‘When I said those things I had absolutely no idea you were the famous Miss Hobbs.’

‘I’m not famous.’

He laughed. ‘You are in my house. Osc thinks the world of you.’

There was a pause. ‘Well, it’s mutual,’ she said quietly. ‘I think he’s . . . wonderful.’

‘Good,’ whispered Mark. ‘So at least we agree on something.’

They were silent.

‘I think . . .’ he murmured slowly, his voice suddenly all velvety, ‘there’s something
else
we agree on as well.’

Nicky’s blood flooded, like a tsunami, to all her good bits. Her heart declared an emergency situation and got pumping. Her head tried sending aid, but it was too late. She held her breath.

‘I feel,’ he said slowly, his voice low and a touch tremulous ‘that
you . . .
’ – he took a deep breath, as if gathering courage – ‘you . . . and . . . you alone . . . deserve that promotion.’

At first, Nicky’s ears were confused. They repeated the message to her brain a couple of times, and then, probably through embarrassment, started whistling. What had she expected him to say? What had she hoped he was about to say? She skimmed a hundred thoughts, twice. Then she went off on a few little tangents. When she’d finished each one, she came back to where she’d started from. Finally, she stopped.

She was now completely lost. She decided to wait for help.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘That was probably unprofessional of me.’

She decided to wait for more help.

‘God,’ he said, ‘now you’re angry with me.’

Ah, she knew how to answer that one.

‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m not angry. I’m just . . .’ she let out a long, heartfelt sigh, ‘I’m just disappointed.’

Disappointed like needing a big bar of chocolate disappointed.

‘Shit, sorry,’ Mark said. ‘I’m used to City office politics. Maybe you don’t do it like that here. All I’m saying is that you have a massive fan. I mean, professionally speaking.’ Silence. ‘I think the school would benefit hugely from you being the next Head. And I know the kids would absolutely love it.’

Now fully acclimatised to the conversation, she joined in.

‘How do you know I’m going to go for it?’ she asked squarely, turning in her seat so she was now facing him.

‘What?’ he exclaimed, turning to face her. ‘You’re kidding me?’

She shook her head.

‘You’re thinking of not going for it?’ he almost whispered. ‘Are you mad?’

Now there was a question she knew the answer to. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Quite possibly.’

‘You
have
to go for that job.’ He leant in towards her. His head was nearly as tall as the car roof.

‘Why?’ she frowned up at him.

He spoke with a compelling urgency. ‘Because every cell in your body is made for that job,’ he said. She grimaced. He leant in closer still. ‘You are a future headmistress. It’s what you were made for.’

She turned her face away quickly.

Mark frowned. ‘Have I said something wrong?’ he asked eventually.

‘No,’ she said softly. ‘That was a very nice thing to say. Thank you.’

‘You are brilliant,’ he continued, on a roll, ‘Rob is an arse;
ergo, you should be the next Head.’

She laughed. How could she put this without him thinking she was a hormonal sad case?

‘I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. In fact, it’s quite complicated.’

‘How so?’

‘I think . . .’ she began, ‘it’s just . . .’ she continued, ‘there’s just a different set of considerations for women with these things. Especially women of my age.’

He sat back suddenly. ‘Are there? Isn’t that illegal?’

‘It may be for our employers, but the plain fact is that we have to . . . fit in more, shall I say. If we want a family, that is.’

‘Oh! I see,’ he said. ‘Of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘It’s just . . .’ She did not want to use the phrase ‘biological clock’. (Funny, she thought, how words describing women’s fertility – biological clock, ticking, menopausal – all sounded so pitiful.) Then she remembered she was in the middle of a sentence. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t actually know – for sure – how to get this right.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘I was talking about it to Ro— to a friend recently. We’re the first generation of women who’ve been brought up to believe we should have a career as well as a family.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ asked Mark gently. ‘I mean, my wife was a wonderful accountant as well as a fantastic mother. And she was happy because she was doing both.’

Nicky stared at him, transfixed. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course, I’m not saying it was easy. It
wasn’t. Oscar arrived much earlier than we’d planned and so Helen – that was my wife – had to really fight to keep her career going. And at times it was very hard. She felt she was being torn in two. Most of the time she felt guilty for not doing either as well as she could. She used to say that a working mother was the definition of guilt.’

There was a pause. ‘I think I’d have liked her.’ Nicky smiled.

He smiled back. ‘I think you would have.’

‘Anyway,’ she said suddenly, ‘that’s just it. She – your wife . . .’

‘Helen.’

‘Helen – had no one to follow. I mean, apart from the odd exception, generally speaking; as a generation, we haven’t got any role models to follow.’

Mark frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, whereas our hypothetical daughters will be able to learn how to juggle properly from their mothers, we didn’t. In fact, our mothers did the absolute opposite of what we’re trying to do; they sacrificed career for family or the other way round. So it’s really hard for us.’ She shrugged. ‘Funny, isn’t it?’ Her voice dipped. ‘We learn so many things at school, but we don’t learn how to make ourselves happy. I mean, the nuts and bolts of making ourselves happy . . .’

She turned to see Mark looking grave. Oh God. She’d gone off on a tangent again. The gang would have shouted her down long before now.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Ignore me. I get carried away.’

‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘you’re absolutely right. I’ve actually never realised it, but that’s exactly how I feel about Oscar.’

‘You? How?’

‘Well, exactly what you’re saying,’ said Mark simply. ‘My dad knew precisely what his role was. He didn’t have a moment’s doubt. He was the provider, full stop. But,’ he shrugged, ‘it’s so different for me.’ He let out a heavy sigh. ‘To be honest, if Helen hadn’t died . . .’ he paused, ‘and if I hadn’t met you, things probably wouldn’t have changed much in our household. I can see now that Helen did find it very hard to do everything, which was in effect what I was asking her to do, without realising it. She used to call it extreme motherhood!’ He gave a short hollow laugh.

They sat in silence for a while, Nicky desperately trying to find the right thing to say. Finally she plumped for more silence.

‘Anyway,’ he cleared his throat, ‘things did change and I’m here now and I can’t ever be that kind of dad again. But . . . anyway, where was I?’

‘Um . . . your dad?’ asked Nicky.

‘Ah yes, role models. You’re absolutely right. If I’m honest – I feel like I’m trying to do a job without a job description. And, like you say, I suppose that job is trying to be happy. And of course trying to make my child happy.’

Nicky nodded. ‘Yeah. We’re all working off-plan,’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘Scary,’ he murmured. ‘A whole generation working off-plan. Hoping we’re getting it right. Learning on the job.’

They looked at each other and then smiled.

‘Look,’ he said finally. ‘There’re lots of things I don’t know. But what I do know is who should get that job. But I won’t go on about it. Especially if there are other issues for you. Sorry if I spoke out of turn or if it’s something you don’t feel you should discuss.’