Page 55 of If I Could Say Goodbye
‘We have a member of staff who could talk to Hailey, she is trained in grief counselling, maybe that would help?’
I nod slowly.
‘Great, I’ll set that up then. Now there is the matter of their attendance.’
Attendance? There is a problem with their attendance? They haven’t been off school at all apart from the day at Muddy Creek. I feel sick. Like the whole world knows a secret apart from me.
‘Of course, when I say attendance, I do mean the late arrivals. The school day starts at eight fifty-five and although it’s only fifteen minutes here and there, Hailey and Oscar are missing a key part of the day.’
I nod as if I know that my kids have been arriving late. ‘There have been a lot of road works—’ I hate that I’m lying and more to the point, I can see in her face that she knows I’m lying. ‘But I’ll make sure that they leave earlier in future.’
‘That would be great.’ She gives me a concerned look. ‘When the children arrive late, they are walking into a classroom already set up for the lesson, they may not get to sit with their friends if group work has already started . . . it just gets them off to a bad start.’
‘I’ll fix it,’ I say.
I need to fix it.
‘Right then, well let’s talk about today, shall we?’
She talks and I listen. I listen as she tells me Hailey is being teased about her ears sticking out by a bunch of kids smaller than her, that they have been calling her Princess Fiona (fromShrek, I have concluded). I listen as she tells me that Oscar came ‘really rather gallantly’ to his sister’s defence. I listen as she tells me that Oscar will lose his playtimes for a week and that it would be good if I could have a ‘little’ chat with him about fighting not solving problems. But all I hear is my own voice.
I need to fix this.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jennifer
A noise is pulling me from the darkness; it’s pinching my skin, shaking my shoulders. My hand reaches out, grasps my phone and brings it to my ear.
‘—lo?’ my voice says. I try again. ‘Hello?’ My eyelids are too heavy to open. I heave my head upright from the arm of the sofa and look at my phone screen, but I don’t recognise the number. I blink, trying to focus on the digits in front of me. The darkness is calling me, wrapping its warm arms around my body, the warmth spreading into my stomach and chest.
I focus on the digits telling me the time. I panic; the lead in my veins fights against my muscles as I try to push my body further upright. I punch the screen, selecting the school’s number; the answerphone picks up. ‘Hello!’ I shriek as I force my feet into my discarded sandals. ‘It’s Mrs Jones, Oscar and Hailey’s mum.’ I spin around, trying to locate my car keys. ‘Can you tell them I’m on my way, I’ll be right there . . . my car, my car is broke, um, my car is broken . . . down, I’ll be there in a few minutes.’
As I step out of my house, rain falls heavily and I’m soaked through by the time I unlock the car and slide into the seat. As I pull the seat belt across my chest, I can see the curve of my breast beneath the green cotton of my shirt; I’m not wearing a bra. I consider going back into the house, but lightning has sliced through the sky and the rumble of thunder vibrates through me.
I reach for the air-con button and turn it on full, trying to wake myself from the fog of sleep which is still beckoning me. I should never have taken a pill in the day, but I was so shaken up after Nessa’s that I just wanted to block it out; I only took one and it was still morning when I got home. The anger I’m feeling towards myself brings tears to my eyes. The wipers are hard at work slicing across the screen, right, left, right, left, right, left; the engine purrs encouragement as I slowly back out of the drive.
Traffic is slow; my reactions are slow.
I notice that I’m over an hour late as I pull up outside the school. The roads are clear, because the children have all gone home; all been picked up by their perfect parents. I turn off the ignition and stare at my reflection. My eyes are glassy and swollen, my cheeks blotchy and my hair is hanging in lank tendrils; my hair is wet, of course it looks messy, I try to justify. Nobody will think anything of it – I’ve just been caught in the rain – but then Kerry butts in.‘It’s not rain, it’s grease.’
I snap the visor shut, take a deep breath and climb out of the car.
My feet slip and slide while they try to hang on to the thong of my sandals: they’re smooth and gritty all at once, tiny pieces of gravel rubbing their way between my toes.
The school doors loom in front of me. I try to open them, but they don’t budge. I press the buzzer; there is no voice on the other end. I buzz again but there is still no answer. I press my face to the glass and pound my fists on the door as another crack of thunder rumbles through the atmosphere. I look up towards the sky as a bolt of lightning flashes across it; my shoulder makes contact with the door and I fall through into the reception area, my knees slamming onto the floor, my hands splayed, starfish-like either side of them. I’m disorientated, the displays in garish colours splattering and swirling all around me.
Warm hands pull me up; Ed’s face comes into my view.
Across from us stands Mrs Park and Mr Newton, whose eyes are trained towards my chest. Mr Newton looks flustered: he glances back to my chest, his cheeks turning red as he looks away again. I turn towards Ed, whose eyes are focusing on the same area that seems to be giving Oscar’s teacher so much trouble. I look to where I can see my nipples visible through my saturated – now transparent – shirt. I fold my arms over them; shame and humiliation prickle my skin.
Oscar’s blue eyes are wide and confused. Hailey’s hand grips his tightly but she isn’t looking at her brother. She’s looking at Ed, a conversation passing between them: it’s not one of the roll of the eyes because Mum has said something silly, it’s something else – it’s a conversation filled with judgement.
‘I’m sorry I’m late, the car—’ My words are thick and slow.
‘Kids, grab your things.’ Ed’s face is pinched as he takes off his suit jacket and pulls it over my shoulder. His chest rises as he takes a deep breath, runs his hands through his hair as he turns towards our audience. ‘Cars, eh? It’s about ready for the great garage in the sky, I think.’
Oscar has let go of his sister and slips his hand into mine. I look down at him: his eyes are wide like they are when I’m reading him his favourite story, like he’s just seen the page where the monster is hiding. I pull my arm around him and he leans into me, his wide eyes seeking out his sister’s. She responds with a barely noticeable shrug.
