Page 48 of Between Us

She exhaled: poor Dev, trying to celebrate the Brian Club’s ten-year anniversary and, for a cool twelve grand, throwing its wake. She’d hold back the news about her and Joe for as long as possible, put some blue water between it and Benbarrow.

They could hardly prevent him from noticing it was their last joint public appearance.

Roisin scrolled from P in her contacts book up to M.

Going back over Matt’s message, every serious reply she could imagine fell flat. A silly idea came to her and eventually she thought,fuck it, do it. She swiped until she found a poo emoji with heart eyes, and sent it.

She immediately received a one-character reply.

x

29

‘I know it feels as if your exams are a way off yet, but I can promise you, they aren’t,’ Roisin said, to a gallery of catatonically blank Year 10 faces.

She remembered such threats being made to her once, with similar lack of impact.

‘I know it’s hard …’

There was a low-key outbreak of wheezing and spluttering at the word hard, that she waited out.

‘… to concentrate, but put in this last push …’

More sniggering.

‘… and it’ll pay off next year.’

‘Would you say we willcome good, Miss,’ said Amir, to shoving andOH NO YOU DITTENT!from his sidekick, Pauly.

Roisin put her head on one side and gave Amir the patented teacher Paddington stare. It was designed to allow time to let the air go out of the balloon without the need for further discussion.

When she was a green, keen newbie, Roisin told herself she’d never deploy such tired methods. She was full ofDeadPoets Societyfervour. She was going to transform and inspire with the ingenuity of her lessons, and they’d be so transported, they’d disciplinethemselves. Hahahahaha.

Once she was battle-hardened by the reality of the daily grind, Roisin discovered why the teacher clichés ever became ones in the first place. The only real goals were to get them to: 1. shut up and 2. pay attention. Anything on top of that was major high achieving.

It was the last lesson of the day, last week of term. Investment in outcomes was low, restlessness was high. Staying in charge was like trying to steer a shopping trolley with one wonky wheel along a narrow bridge over a shark pond.

‘I’d like your thoughts on Pip in this chapter, Pauly. As Pip becomes more conscious of social class, he becomes more embarrassed of Joe’s behaviour. Do you think Pip’s response to Joe is snobbish, or …’

Incredibly, Roisin only registered the risk in her line of enquiry seconds too late.

‘Miss, isn’t your husband called Joe?Boyfriend,’ Amir said. ‘I saw his name on the credits.Of that show.’

Roisin’s heart rate spiked. She’d got through today withoutHuntereven being raised in the staff room at lunchtime. She figured she was lucky that this was the frantic, tie-ends-up final days and not the mid-term lull.

‘That’s none of your business,’ Roisin snapped.

Amir made an under-his-breathwoooooohnoise that caused a ripple. Roisin instantly knew she’d mishandled it, revealing it had got to her. She’d put a bounty on a disruptor trying again. Never show them they’ve got to you.

‘Pip versus Joe …’ Roisin repeated, aiming for a confident tone. She paused. ‘Whose phone is that?’

Her eyes swivelled to the intimidatingly self-assured prom queen, Caitlin Merry.

Some kids were embryonic, outline-in-principle versions of their adult selves – Roisin was once in this category. She was sort of a mousy, feather-pencil sketch of a Future Roisin. She did a butterfly from chrysalis around aged twenty and had blossomed into her confident, lairy phase by the time she met Joe.

Others were somehow completely and totally their fully formed identities in their mid-teens. Caitlin Merry was one of the latter. Roisin could absolutely see her in middle-age already; she was fourteen going on forty-seven.

She dripped with languid scorn for her teachers and yet, Roisin was certain, would be one of the ones who would call her over in the supermarket to say a wildly enthusiastic hello in a few short years, her eyes full of affectionate wonder for times that had unexpectedly flown past, and a slight hint of sorrow she’d been such an arsewipe. Funny how patterns repeated.

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