Page 53 of Between Us

Roisin balled it, threw it into the bin, and aggressively stuffed her bucket bag with the necessary bits from her cupboard and drawers. She hoisted her ruby pink-streaked Calathea into her arms, its leaves partly obscuring her face in a useful way.It was the only fucking thing thriving around here,she thought.

Chin up, she marched out to her car. If anyone dared speak to her, they were liable to get twatted with a tropical plant.

Outside the school building, she strapped the Calathea into the passenger seat like a small child made of foliage, before getting in the driver side. Roisin momentarily stared in disbelief through the windscreen of her Fiat while she processed what had happened.

Compassionate leave. Wow. MrI Don’t Need Your Drama, Roisinhad written a drama that officially publicly humiliated her: nothing notional about it now.

Here she was, in a car park, four days before the end of term, unable to function as a secondary schoolteacher in an era where kids had computers in their pockets.

There was a tap at the window and Roisin startled. Amir.

She lowered the window.

‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough for one fucking day?’ she said. The swear word was purposely intended to shock and intimidate him. It looked like it had worked; he was momentarily wide-eyed and speechless. They were more or less off school property here, and Roisin was a long way from caring.

‘I wanted to say sorry, Miss,’ he said, appearing genuinely quite stricken. ‘I was only being funny. I didn’t mean for it to get to you like that.’ He paused and said, solicitously, ‘I hope you are alright.’

Roisin appreciated the sentiment, though Amir was unintentionally rubbing it in. It was necessary but difficult to accept a sincere apology when the distress caused wildly outweighed the offence. She had an insight into how Gina had felt after StarkersGate.

She swallowed hard and summoned up her most altruistic teacherly qualities.

‘Thank you, Amir. It’s very good of you to apologise. You have to be aware that when you’re winding me up, you’re encouraging others, who may behave much worse.’

That was reasonable code for,giving Logan Hughes that cue was like handing a chimp a shotgun, she thought.

‘I know. I’m gonna apologise in front of the class tomorrow, too,’ he said. ‘You’ll see.’

Roisin wouldn’t see, but on balance, she decided not to warn Amir of that. His punishment was how guilty he’d feel at being told they were getting a supply in the morning. It was unfair, but it was worlds easier to punish any pupil with a conscience.

‘Thank you,’ Roisin said.

‘I really love your lessons, Miss.’

He stuck a hand through the window for Roisin to shake, a sweetly comical moment.

Sneaking around is rather exciting and becomes a bit of an art. It was very much part of what made it electrifying.

It was only as Roisin was sat gridlocked near Congleton, staring morosely at a bubble-gum pink BMW Z4 with a100% THAT BITCHbumper sticker, replaying the conversation, that the thought came to Roisin.

Was there more than one reason why Wendy Copeland told her that story?

Of course, if you play the odds, sooner or later, you lose.

33

Roisin was browsing the fruit-forward and complex whites of the Loire Valley when she felt her iPhone buzzing in her bag. She pulled it out to see:MUM (MOB).

The caps lock suited Lorraine. Joe once called his mother-in-lawa human push notification.

She’d not told her mum about her and Joe. She’d had plenty of time in the dreadful, listless four days off work. Roisin had hated time alone with her thoughts and dragged the stepladders and dust sheets out and painted the spare room in a neutral shade. A true ‘fiddle while Rome burns’, using Farrow & Ball Estate Eggshell in Mole’s Breath.

She also slept in the spare room, where she’d stay. Roisin put her head round the door of Joe’s writing study, stared balefully at the mid-century modern desk with the hairpin legs, where he churned out his evil. There was no computer, Joe preferring to be a ‘digital nomad’ with a laptop. Nevertheless, it was as if she expected it to contain answers.

In holding back from her mother, Roisin wasn’t being purely avoidant, for once. Starting to put word round the parents before she and Joe agreed a comms strategy wasn’treally on. Lorraine had phone numbers for Joe’s parents, social media made things even more porous – discretion couldn’t be guaranteed.

GivenHunterwas almost a week old, Roisin hoped against hope that Lorraine either hadn’t seen it, or if she had, wasn’t going to raise it.

Joe had been in touch intermittently since they parted on the lawn. He sent carefully business-like, neutral WhatsApps that informed her how his meetings had gone (good), what it was like getting connections at LAX for JFK (bad), and when he’d be back (next Tuesday evening).

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