Page 10 of Don't Tell Teacher

‘Why this sudden interest in us, Mum? You never visited when we lived with Olly.’

‘Don’t be silly, Elizabeth,’ Mum snaps. ‘You’re a single parent now. You need my help.’ A pause. ‘I read in theSunday Timesthat Steelfield School is one of the top fifty state schools.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes. Make sure you dress smartly for pick-ups and drop-offs. I paid a personal visit to the headmaster this morning. To impress upon him what a good family we are.’

I laugh. ‘You didn’t think to ask me first?’

My mother ignores this comment. ‘The headmaster was charming. Very presentable too. He tells me Tom is lucky to have a place there. Make sure you put a good face on.’

‘Social services got us that place. I’d feel luckier not to have a social worker.’

‘Elizabeth.’ Mum’s voice is tight. She hates it when I mention social workers. ‘Don’t be ungrateful.’

‘You really shouldn’t have visited the school, Mum,’ I say. ‘Teachers are busy enough.’

‘Nonsense,’ says Mum. ‘You need to make a good impression and for that you need my help. You never could do that on your own.’

‘I appreciate you trying to help. I really do. But can youaskin future? Before you do things like visiting Tom’s school? It feels a bit … I don’t know, intrusive.’

I feel Mum’s annoyance in the silence that follows. And I become that needy little girl again, doing anything to win back her favour.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Forget I said that. It’s wonderful you visited Tom’s headmaster. Look, come and visit whenever you like.’

When I hang up, I think about Olly.

You miss him sometimes. Admit it.

The voice comes out of nowhere and I try to squash it down.

Of course there were good times. But if I want to remember the good times, I have to remember the bad ones.

Do you remember him screaming at you? Calling you every name under the sun? And worse, so much worse … Saying things too shameful to think about.

How I could fall in love with someone who wanted to tear me apart?

Lizzie

‘So why the blindfold?’ I ask, as Olly leads me over crunching snow.

‘Because you like surprises.’

Did I say that?

This has all been such a whirlwind. I’m insecure, certain our romance will be over when Olly finds out he’s too good for me.

‘This way,’ says Olly, and I hear a chalet door creak. ‘Welcome home.’

‘Home?’

‘My chalet.’ Olly unties my blindfold. ‘Where you’ll be sleeping for the rest of the ski season.’

I laugh. ‘You’ll be lucky.’

As my eyes adjust to the light, I see a cosy sofa area and Chardonnay, a bowl of Pringles and glittering tealights laid on a chunky, wooden dining table.

‘I’m calling this evening “Lizzie’s favourites”,’ says Olly, plugging his phone into a speaker. ‘Your favourite food. Favourite music. Favourite everything. I’ve got sea bass.’ He goes to the fridge and slaps a wax-paper packet of fish on the kitchen counter. ‘New potatoes in the oven. Lots of tomato ketchup in the fridge, because we’re both philistines.’ He winks. ‘Sour-cream Pringles to start. And Joni Mitchell on the stereo. Oh – and black forest gateaux for dessert. The one you like from the café.’

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