Page 37 of Don't Tell Teacher

‘Do you sit next to Pauly in class?’ I ask. I hope this question doesn’t sound as transparent as it feels. Because if I find out Tom and Pauly sit together, I’m going to ask the teacher to split them apart.

‘No,’ says Tom. ‘Pauly sits on a table by himself. I sit next to Jacob.’

‘Is Jacob nice?’ I ask.

‘He’s all right.’

We eat in silence for a while. Then I say, ‘Hey – good job on your potato. Look at that! You’ve made an orange cave.’

‘Dad liked baked potatoes, didn’t he?’ Tom stares straight ahead.

‘Let’s not think about Dad,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light. ‘Baked potatoes are fun. I had them all the time growing up.’

‘I had a dream about Dad last night,’ says Tom. ‘He was chasing me, but I climbed a tree. Then you came and climbed up with me, and we found a treehouse and it was okay.’

I put my knife and fork down. ‘Tom … I’m so sorry.’ Tears prickle. ‘Do you think about him much?’

‘Sometimes. When I see something scary.’

‘Maybe we should go and see someone again. Like Jane, do you remember her? To help us talk about things.’

‘I don’t need to talk, Mum. Not any more. It’s all fine.’

‘Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay. You can tell me anything. Even if you miss your father, it’s okay. Jane said it’s all okay.’

‘I don’t miss him. I hate him.’

‘You can hate and love someone at the same time.’

Tom doesn’t answer. Just looks sad. And I feel sad too. So very sad for everything we’ve lost.

‘Did you love Dad?’ Tom asks finally.

I hesitate, fork in mid-air.

‘Yes. Once upon a time. But now I never want to see him again. Same as you. Okay, Tommo, let’s get these things washed up.’

Tom carries his plate into the kitchen and helps me scrape potato and beans into the bin.

‘Tell you what,’ I say. ‘You’re looking tired. Better not overdo things. Why don’t you go and get showered and ready for bed? Then I’ll come up and read you a story. Okay?’

Tom heads upstairs, while I dunk the plates into soapy water and make gentle circles with the sponge.

At the apartment, we had a dishwasher. There’s room for one in this kitchen, but the owner told me she didn’t want modern things ruining the Victorian design. All the 20thcentury stuff – the fridge, the washing machine, the tumble drier, the stainless-steel sink – are in the utility room.

I don’t mind washing up by hand. It’s soothing.

I hear Tom running the shower. He’s one of those kids who loves getting clean. When he was younger, we even had a rain dance. It was fun.

I remember Olly doing that dance with him.

The pain comes again and I push those thoughts away.

After a while, the shower trickles to a stop and I hear Tom shuffling around. Washing up finished, I head upstairs to tuck him into bed.

Tom has left a crumpled towel and his school uniform on the bathroom tiles. I should tell him off, but he seems so exhausted tonight.

Stooping down to pick up his uniform, I begin checking for stains.

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