Page 54 of Don't Tell Teacher

Beside me, I hear a cubicle door open and close, and then the sound of a woman huffing and puffing, sitting heavily on the loo.

Tessa.

There is an audible groan, then what sounds like a bucket of pig slops being emptied into the toilet.

I hurriedly strap on my shoes and leave the cubicle, unnerved by this unexpected intimacy with my red-faced manager.

Do I need to wash my hands? I’veentereda toilet cubicle, although notusedthe toilet. I hate it when there’s no clear protocol.

I decide on a quick hand-wash. But before I’ve managed to use the snazzy new vertical hand drier, Tessa comes crashing out of the cubicle, even redder in the face than usual.

She gives a little start when she sees me. ‘I thought you’d gone for the day,’ she says, busying herself with hand-washing. ‘What on earth are you doing still hanging around? You’re going out this evening, aren’t you?’ She looks me up and down and snorts. ‘To a funeral, by the looks of things. I thought you church-goers were supposed to like bright colours. What have you got – a church social or something?’

‘It’s my birthday, actually,’ I say. ‘We church-goers have them too.’

‘Oh, stop being so touchy,’ Tessa replies. ‘Can’t you take a joke? For goodness sake. I’m starting to feel sorry for that boyfriend of yours.’

‘Husband.’

‘I hopehecan take a joke. Now listen – before you shoot off, remember the meeting tomorrow, nine a.m. sharp.’

‘What meeting?’

‘The strategy meeting. Don’t tell me you’d forgotten.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten. That meeting is on Friday.’

‘No. It got moved. Didn’t Gary tell you?’

‘No. He didn’t tell me. Tomorrow morning I’m booked in to visit Tom Kinnock—’

‘You can’t miss the strategy meeting. The paediatrician can’t do any other time and he’s vital.’

I stare at myself in the mirror, feeling the stupidity of makeup.No evening out for you, Kate. Not even on your birthday.

‘I’ll have to do the Tom Kinnock visit now then,’ I say.

‘What?’ Tessa demands.

‘Tom Kinnock. I’ll need to visit him this evening. It’s six o’clock. There’s still time.’

‘What’s your boyfriend going to say about that?’

‘Husband. I imagine he’ll be upset, Tessa. But not half as upset as if I end up on a disciplinary for failing in my duty of care.’

Lizzie

Aknock at the door. I’m perched on the Chesterfield sofa-arm, laptop on my knee.

Tom dozes beside me. He fell asleep in front of the TV, zonked out after a long Monday at school, sotiredthese days.

‘Who is it?’ I call out, voice stiff and suspicious.

‘Mrs Kinnock?’ It’s a woman’s voice. An official-sounding woman.

I stand on elephant slippers, as I push my laptop onto the bookshelf.

With some trepidation, I open the door.

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