Page 34 of Don't Tell Teacher

Tom shakes his head. ‘Honestly, Mum. Nothing. Except … maybe someone else did it and they thought it was me. And Mrs Dudleywasn’t there.’

‘Someone else did it? Who?’

‘I don’t know.’

I heat cans of tomato soup and toast bread for our dinner.

We don’t talk like we usually do. No matter how many ways I try to lure Tom into conversation, he only offers one-word answers.

After I’ve put him to bed, I find myself sitting with my head in my hands again.

Is Tom being bullied? I know sensitive children are vulnerable to that kind of thing. Soft targets.

It will get easier. Itmustget easier. We’ve been through enough.

Lizzie

‘I’ve been ditched.’ Olly waves the letter at me, gold embossing dancing under the kitchen spotlights.

He screws up the thick, buff paper and throws it in a perfect arch over the marble breakfast bar. The ball lands in the open kitchen bin – something I imagine Olly, as a competitive sportsman, feels satisfied about.

We’re having breakfast in Olly’s Earl’s Court flat. I still can’t really explain how I got here. I don’t mean at the flat itself, but I mean in Olly’s life. How does someone like me end up living with an Olympic athlete? A trainee nurse who didn’t even finish her training?

I suppose the answer is: when an Olympic athlete breaks his femur and can no longer compete.

Perhaps I should think more highly of myself. That I’m worthy of someone like Olly, injury or no injury. But with my upbringing, it’s hard. Inside, I often feel like nothing. Invisible.

I grew up in the shadow of my mother – an invisible, empty little thing whose job was to ignore all my own needs and make Ruth Riley look perfect.

Then there was loneliness.

And now I have Olly – a man who makes me feel so loved I could burst with happiness, yet at other times, casts me back into the shadows.

That’s where I am today.

It’s times like this I wish I hadn’t given up my nurse training to be with Olly. At least if I were a nurse, I’d be something in my own right.

Olly is angry. Erratic. This is a side he hid when we first got together. Yes, he is charming and attentive. But things have changed.

‘There’s still a chance,’ I say. ‘If you’d only carry on with your physio exercises. I can help you—’

‘I don’t want your help!’ Olly glares, fists clenched. Then he looks away. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’

‘It’s the physio who doesn’t know,’ I counter, voice rising. ‘He sees you half an hour, once a month. I see youallthe time. I see how your body moves. I know about this stuff. It was part of my training—’

‘Oh, fuck off.’ Olly bangs a fist on the solid wood counter top. ‘It’s over, isn’t it? Everything I worked for. Gone.’

‘I’m still here. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re an Olympic athlete. I love you.’

‘No you don’t. I see through you, Lizzie Nightingale.’

My hands begin to shake as I stand, clearing the breakfast things.

‘Why then?’ Olly demands. ‘Why do you love me?’

‘Because … we’re a good fit. When you’re not screaming at me. I think you could still be drunk from last night—’

‘Oh, fuck off, Lizzie. Stop trying to control me.’

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