Page 12 of Five Things I Love About You

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I say.

As frustrating as it is not being able to make out his face clearly, just being here with him makes me feel happier and more relaxed than I ever do in the real world.

He tugs my hand and leads me towards a bench. We sit, his dog sniffing around our feet. The dog’s features are unclear too, as though the details have been rubbed out.

I lean my head on his shoulder and he rests his hand on my thigh. Despite the smudgy edges, everything about being here makes me feel content, as though the pair of us fit together, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that have finally found their match.

I’ve never felt anything like it before, not even with my ex-husband Nick, who I thought I loved more than I could ever love anyone.

Jay kisses the top of my head and I smile. People stroll past us, some with dogs, some without, but all of them with faces I can see.

‘I love you, Miranda,’ he says, threading his fingers through mine.

‘I love you too,’ I say.

Is it crazy to feel so certain of my feelings, despite not being able to see his face?

Who knows? This whole thing is crazy if you think about it too much. So I’m determined not to overthink it, and just enjoy our time together.

All of a sudden there’s a loud bark and I look down. The ground beneath me is fading away; the trees blurring and flickering, and the solidity of Jay’s shoulder feels more like cloud than real muscle and bone.

I desperately want to stay right here, right now and I grip Jay’s hand more tightly. But I know I’m about to wake up and that there’s nothing I can do about it, and then…

Then I’m staring into the darkness, my heart thumping.

And I’m all alone.

5

‘Come in, come in,’ Sophie says, opening her front door and beckoning me inside. She looks stunning, as always, this time in a gold and green kaftan, which shouldn’t work but she somehow manages to pull off. I slip my trainers off and pad towards the back of the house where I can already hear music playing. ‘Kirstie’s just got here,’ Sophie says, following behind me. Sure enough, Kirstie’s sprawled on the sofa in the corner of the room by the patio doors, which are pulled slightly open to let some air in. She has her feet tucked under her, a mug in her hand, and she grins at me as I enter. I blow her a kiss and go and help myself to the pot of coffee sitting on the hob. Sophie only drinks herbal tea but always makes a huge vat of coffee whenever Kirstie and I come over. It tastes terrible, but we haven’t the heart to tell her.

‘So, I have news,’ I say, plonking myself next to Kirstie. The breeze from outside is cool and I’m glad of it as the early-evening sun pounds through the glass roof. Sophie folds herself into one of the wicker chairs opposite us and sips her tea.

‘Good or bad news?’

‘Not great.’ I take a gulp of coffee and almost choke. It tastes like burnt tarmac. ‘I’ve been made redundant.’

I’d been called in to see the head a couple of days after the initial announcement was made, and sure enough, it was a ‘last in, first out’ policy.

‘I’m sure you can understand this is out of my hands,’ the head, Mr McDonald, had explained, even though I knew perfectly well it was entirely in his hands. ‘It’s just the policy the school has, which means we’re faced with losing some of our best, most experienced staff.’ I nodded mutely. He was right though. Many of the teachers in this school had been there for years and had become, at best, complacent about their teaching methods. At worst, incompetent. Teachers like me who had spent most of their career in state schools were generally better, and more efficient at our jobs.

It didn’t seem to matter though. What did matter was that I’d only been there a year, and therefore I was one of the easiest to get out – not to mention the cheapest, with the smallest redundancy payout. I would finish at Easter, and then I’d need to look for something else.

‘Oh, M,’ Sophie says now. ‘That’s rubbish.’

‘Jesus, I’m so sorry M’rand,’ Kirstie says. ‘I really hoped you were wrong.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say, despite the fact it isn’t really. ‘There’s plenty of supply work around.’

‘Well, good. But my offer still stands, okay?’ Kirstie eyeballs me and I nod, even though I have no intention of taking any money from her. ‘Which reminds me,’ she adds, ‘one of my clients has asked if you’ll do some English tutoring for their youngest.’

‘Sure. How old?’

‘Six. They said they wanted to start early.’ She rolls her eyes.

‘Poor kid.’

‘I know.’

---