Page 105 of Don't Tell Teacher

His usually neat blond hair is fluffy and his broad face pale with tiredness. I’m guessing he was waiting up for me – probably playing one of those strategy games he likes.

‘Where did you get those pyjamas?’ I ask. ‘You never wear pyjamas.’

‘Oxfam,’ says Col, yawning and stretching his long arms into the air, touching the low ceiling with his fingertips. ‘You’re even later than usual.’ He hasn’t noticed the bruise on my jaw yet and I’m in no hurry to point it out.

‘You went into town?’ I ask.

‘I had the interview. Remember? Kate? What’s wrong?’

I’m crying again and I can’t answer.

‘What happened?’ asks Col. ‘Was it something at work?’

I nod.

‘What is it, love?’ He studies my face, eyes widening at the mark on my jaw. ‘GoodGod. Whathappened?’

‘One of the kids,’ I blurt out, letting more tears come. ‘I’m sotired.’

‘Leave this job immediately,’ says Col, pulling me into a hug. ‘Hand in your notice tomorrow. This is completely unacceptable. Someonestruckyou.’

‘Col, I always knew it wouldn’t be an easy road. This is a trial. A test.’

‘I love you, Kate Noble,’ Col replies. ‘I love your faith and determination. But this is getting too much. Hop into bed. I’ll bring you a glass of water and we’ll talk.’

I head into the bedroom, pulling off my black lace-up shoes and lining them neatly in the wardrobe beside my running shoes. I can’t sleep properly if things aren’t neat – a little OCD quirk of mine.

Even undressing is exhausting.

Col returns with my water, glances at the bruise on my chin and says, ‘I’m serious, Kate. You should leave this job. It’s a safety issue.’

‘I’ve trained for years,’ I say. ‘It’s my path. This is … a bad day. A bump in the road.’

‘Come on, Kate. I haven’t seen you in months. And when I do, you’re exhausted. This isn’tonebad day. It’s a bad job.’

‘That’s why people like me need to be doing it.’

‘You’re going to make yourself ill.’ Col walks into the en suite. ‘I’ll brush my teeth and then we’ll talk.’

‘I’m too tired to talk.’

‘Seriously, Kate,’ Col calls, his words gargled with toothpaste. ‘How are we ever going to have children if you fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow?’

‘It’s not every night.’

‘Itisevery night. We’re husband and wife now. Not flatmates.’

Col comes back to the bedroom frowning. Wordlessly, he folds his glasses, puts them on his bedside table and climbs into bed.

‘Col?’

But Col pulls the duvet over himself, rolling away from me.

‘Are you going to sleep?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ says Col. ‘You are too, I imagine.’

He does this sometimes – gets in moods.

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