Page 34 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘It would be unprofessional to say who…’ she mumbles.
‘Don’t worry, we all know what she’s like. I am sorry she’s put you in such a difficult position. The other teachers, the head here – I hope they’ve been supporting you?’
‘I’ve just not gelled with anyone. I get the sense that I’m supposed to suck it up. It’s part of our profession now. And it’s not just one parent, there are a few. They seem to be totally obsessed with their kids, they call me to task on everything. I thought it’d be a kinder atmosphere. They’re not all like you. You write in your reading record in a rainbow-coloured Biro.’
‘Maya demands it. I’m from a family of teachers – my parents, my sister… my husband. So I try to be respectful and let you get on with your job.’
She pauses for a moment to hear me bring up Tom, wondering whether to delve further.
‘They all teach secondary, so different to you, but I get the chaos and the stress. Tom used to have tales too of parents and kids who made his life hell. He had a dad try and beat him up outside a school gate once.’
‘Really?’
Really. Tom was a charmer and this man’s wife used to flirt with him through her daughter’s homework diary with winky faces and show up at school events in low-cut tops. All Tom’s problem, of course. He was offered a stand-off in the playground, which Tom refused. The man called him a prickless wonder then tripped over a basketball hoop and fell on his face. Tom got his revenge when his deputy head had to stop his bleeding nose by sticking a tampon up his nostrils.
‘Some of these mums are pussycats in comparison,’ I say. That might be the wrong comparison. Carrie Cantello is one of those grumpy cats with a perma-frown who scratches your sofa and pretends it had nothing to do with her.
‘Do you think I’m giving up? Running away when it gets tough?’
‘Do you think that?’
‘I think I’m trying to preserve my mental health. Trying to get out before the stress turns me away from education for good.’ That stress is etched in her face, in the frizz of her hair and the sadness and redness of her eyes. She thought things would end up differently; illusions have been shattered. I can empathise with that feeling.
‘Who do you live with here?’ I enquire. ‘Are you doing this all on your own?’
‘I rent a room from a couple. It’s cosy, maybe not ideal.’
I suddenly think of a person who did the same, who relocated to this part of the world two years ago with two little girls. I knew exactly zero people as most of my university acquaintances had moved away. The girls buoyed me, I distracted myself, I had a career so didn’t need to find one. But I did cry. I cried because I missed people, because I wondered if I was doing the right thing. I think of Miss Loveday crying in a rented room, clutching the bad wine I gave her for Christmas and not knowing where her life is headed. I grab a coloured pencil from a pot and a scrap of paper.
‘Look, I know this is not the done thing but this is my mobile number. If you’re stressed and worried then you shouldn’t be alone. Call me if you need me.’
She looks at the number tentatively but smiles and puts it on her desk.
‘Thank you.’
‘You know, you are liked. The kids love you, that’s all that should matter.’
‘Thank you, Miss Callaghan. It’s appreciated.’
‘This classroom, this stress, won’t be the worst thing you go through. Stick with this because it’ll make you better and stronger. Prove them wrong.’ I don’t know where those words come from and I am not sure if I’ve overstepped but I hope they are of worth.
She nods but her expression drops for a moment. ‘Ummm, where is Maya?’ she suddenly asks.
I scan the playground outside and my heart plummets. Maya? Crap. We run out of the classroom and I look for hints of movement in the bushes and toys. Shit. Where are you? You’ve never been a runner. Where are you, little one? The tumult of a million and one emotions and possibilities rush through my entire body. Call the police. Road blocks, helicopters. However, I pop my head out of the gate and instead find her merrily swinging on the fence with her sister. Fuck fuck fuck. My heart. I go over and bundle her into my arms, trying not to let the panic show in my face.
‘You. Little cheeky chicken. Were told to wait. You didn’t wait.’
Miss Loveday exhales with relief while Cleo and Maya stand there looking worried by my breathlessness. My heart races, out of sheer panic but partly due to the fact that my sense of guardianship and responsibility always feels more important as it’s been bequeathed to me. There are too many people watching.
‘I’m sorry. I wanted to show Cleo a rock I found,’ Maya says matter-of-factly.
I cup her face and hold the girls close to me.
‘She let her run off into the road, seriously? No wonder the school are letting her go.’ The voice wafts in like a bad smell.Don’t.
‘Seriously, Carrie. Piss. Off.’ My stress forces the words out of my mouth.
Cleo holds her hands up to her mouth to giggle. Miss Loveday’s eyes are like saucers, not quite knowing where to look, where to go. A few mums in the vicinity stop talking, trying to hush their children so they can hear better.
