Page 57 of Don't Tell Teacher

‘And how is Tom doing? Is he a good boy? Well-behaved?’

‘He’s perfect.’

‘But unwell sometimes? That must be tiring. Especially now you’re on your own.’

Our eyes lock, and I know what she’s getting at.

Are you exhausted? Fed up with your sick child? Taking your aggression out on him?

‘I love my son,’ I tell Kate, my eyes defiant. ‘I would never hurt him. I’ll never forgive myself for what Olly did. But that’s behind us now.’

‘And you have no idea what could have caused the marks, Miss Riley?’

I shake my head, trying not to cry. ‘I’ve been obsessing over them. Considered every possibility. Theymusthave happened at school.’

Lizzie

‘Here you go, gorgeous.’ Olly slides back a railway-sleeper bench and gestures for me to sit. I’m eight-months’ pregnant now. Olly doesn’t know how uncomfortable I’ll feel sitting on hard wood, and I’m too polite to tell him.

There are tea-towel napkins and tin cans of cutlery on the table. Very casual. This restaurant is built in a conservatory, with a vegetable garden growing outside. Olly thinks it’s my favourite place to eat. But actually, it’shisfavourite place.

I barely know my own tastes any more.

People from difficult families seek other difficult people, isn’t that what they say? I think about that sometimes. My mother. Olly. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Little by little, my personality has been sucked into Olly’s. He took my mind first, my body second. I didn’t realise what was happening until it was far, far too late. When Olly’s bad side surfaced, he’d already broken down all my defences.

And now he has me. All of me.

To do with what he will.

I’ve married my mother.

Taking a seat, I wonder if the other diners have noticed how red my eyes are. Will the waiting staff guess I’ve been crying?

Olly unfolds a napkin and lays it over my lap, putting a casual hand on my baby bump and giving it a little stroke. He does this with tenderness and caring. Like he really loves me. Loves us. Then he sits opposite and takes my hand.

These are my favourite times with Olly. It’s almost worth the arguments to see this side of him. Because like day follows night, praise and adoration follow darkness and rage.

I notice other female diners looking at Olly. He’s never been short of female attention – his friends have told me all the stories. But his girlfriends didn’t last long, apparently. Until I came along.

Olly squeezes my fingers. I flinch, biting my lip.

Olly says, ‘You are so unbelievably beautiful. Do you know that?’

I take my hands back to pick up the menu, printed on thick, grey recycled card.

My ring finger throbs. I’m scared it might be broken. Olly again. Careless. Shutting that car door on my hand. Just a mistake …

‘Lizzie?’ Olly pushes the menu down, blue eyes meeting mine. ‘I’m sorry.’

I wonder how long his good mood will last for this time. He sits back, and I realise my hands are shaking uncontrollably.

A woman at the next table glances over. She whispers something to her dining companion, then looks again.

I slide my hair from behind my ears to cover my frightened face.

‘Are you ready to order, gorgeous?’ Olly asks me, waving the waiter over.

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