Page 102 of The Rest is History
Deeply.
Zara’s standing by the bike rack in a pink polka dot dress. She looks gorgeous and radiant, and what I wouldn’t give to have some of whatever she’s having right now. Her arms are folded, though, and her mouth is in a grim line. As soon as I slide off my bike, she has me in her arms, squeezing the breath out of me.
‘Oh my God, babe, I am so, so sorry. He is a monumental fucking twat.’
‘Thank you.’ I let my head collapse on her shoulder and allow her to hug me. It feels really good, and maybe some of her vengeful energy will seep into me via osmosis, because right now I have zero energy of any kind.
She releases me gently. ‘Wanna talk about it?’
‘Not really.’ I steer my bike into a slot and slide the lock on.
‘You look gorgeous, if that’s any consolation.’
I smile weakly. ‘I look like utter shit, but thank you.’
‘You really don’t. You probably think you do, because youfeellike utter shit, but you look as stunning as ever.’
She links her arm through mine and we set off for the staff entrance.
‘I’m scared of going to the office,’ I tell her.
‘He won’t be there, I promise,’ she says confidently.
I stop. ‘What did you do?’
‘Sent him a text. I just said,You’d better not be in the fucking office when Elodie and I get there.’
‘Did he reply?’
‘He just wrote backOK. He knows hell hath no fury like the best friend of a woman scorned.’
I sigh. ‘Ugh. Thank you for being my pit-bull. I’d probably be puking with nerves right now if you weren’t here with me.’
‘You wouldn’t, because I would never leave you to do something like this by yourself. Now, come on. Let’s get you severely over-caffeinated before school starts.’
I don’t see him all day, and the relief and disappointment I feel are a toxic combination that curdles my stomach with relentless anxiety. At lunch, Zara grabs my lunch from the cafeteria and we eat out in the leafy teachers’ garden, though I couldn’t tell you what food passes my lips.
While a large part of me is grateful that he’s at least had the decency to stay out of my way, in some ways his absence makes it harder. My stupid, illogical brain keeps telling me that if only I can get in front of him, I can convince him to give us a chance.
This must have been how Anne Boleyn felt when the coup to destroy her came out of nowhere. Shut off from Henry. Completely isolated from her king, and desperately convincing herself that if only she could see him, she could sway him.
But she never got the chance to make her case to him.
Cromwell made sure of that.
I’m not sure how I get through my lessons, but I do. My day is emptier than normal, as the Upper Sixth are now out on study leave. Their A Levels start the week after next. My younger classes are perky, still full of energy post half-term, and the noise levels threaten to crush my skull, but I make it through without taking my heartbreak and rage out on the kids.
I wish I could head out early, given I don’t have any lessons to teach after lunch. Zara’s offered to dismiss my Year Ten class, but I decline her kind gesture. I owe it to the kids to be there for them. That fifteen minutes at the end of the day is an importantcheck-in time. It’s crucial for gauging their happiness, their resilience. For sniffing out problems.
This afternoon, Lottie Schneider is crying because she’s lost her brand-new scientific calculator. Weirdly, it’s a well-timed piece of perspective. These kids still live small, innocent lives. Losing a calculator can be life and death to them. As my wise niece and sister reminded me last night, there is no hierarchy of misery, and Lottie is as entitled to cry over her lost calculator as I am over my lost love. I comfort her as best I can and assure her that we’ll find it.
I bid the children good afternoon as parents dribble in. Mr Crane pops up sporting an obnoxious tan, and I’m so monosyllabic in response to his blatant chat-up attempts that I’m almost rude. Like I give a flying fuck. The guy needs to learn to read the room.
But at least someone finds me attractive enough to want to ask me out.
God, I’m in a seriously dark place.
Uh-oh. The last parent to turn up is Emmy. I’ve noticed Jack and Stacey are always on time, and Emmy’s always a few minutes late, but she never seems in a rush. She wafts in in a floaty white dress, Aurelia gurning happily in her arms and Augie’s twin Pitt trailing behind her, and gives me the most massive smile.
