The Learning Curve (9 page)

‘Really?’ asked Nicky. ‘You mean Derek whom you want to knife in the face?’

Claire grimaced ‘Hmm,’ she conceded. ‘Sorry about that.’ She leant across to the bottle. ‘More wine?’

Later that night, Mark Samuels looked up from his notes at the living-room ceiling. He could actually decipher the lyrics of
Oscar’s music, it was so loud. He looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. He put his notes on the coffee table, placed his glass of wine next to it, and paced up the stairs. The music was off by the time he opened Oscar’s door. How did his son always hear him? He stood outside Oscar’s door for a moment. Oscar was on his computer, back hunched, fingers nimble.

‘What?’ he grunted.

‘Osc,’ said Mark, ‘it’s time for bed. School in the morning.’

‘I know.’ Oscar stared at the screen. He spoke in a monotone. ‘I’d have been in bed earlier if I’d come home from the party earlier.’

Mark wanted very much to walk out and slam the door behind him, but instead he came in and sat on the bed behind Oscar.

‘Osc, I’m sorry. But, mate, you have to cut me some slack sometimes.’

‘Why?’ shouted Oscar.

Mark never ceased to be amazed at how quickly Oscar’s tears came.

‘Just because I was half an hour late picking you up,’ he pleaded, as Oscar shoved his hand away from his shoulder, ‘it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It doesn’t mean I forgot you. It means I was half an hour late.’

‘Why aren’t any of the other parents half an hour late?’ Oscar swivelled round on his chair to face his father. ‘What were you doing that was so special?’

‘Working. I was working, Oscar. So that we have enough money to pay the mortgage and go on holiday this year.’

‘Fine.’ Oscar shut down his computer, got into bed, and turned his bedside lamp off. After a moment, Mark said ‘Goodnight’ and shut the door. He stood outside waiting. He couldn’t hear anything.

When he got back downstairs, he quickly downed his wine then poured himself a gin and tonic, going easy on the tonic. Maybe it would have been better if he’d been in the car crash and not Helen. She would have probably thrived on her own. It was a thought he’d had so often that he’d begun to wonder if Oscar ever thought it too. Did Oscar wish his mother had lived instead of his father? He stood up quickly. He thought of phoning Lilith – the perfect mother – for some emotional support, but decided not to. Instead he picked up his notes and got back to work.

By 10.30 that night Nicky was in bed. She didn’t like telling Ally everything that went on between her and Claire. It felt terribly disloyal to her sister. But, on the other hand, she was fairly confident that Claire told Derek everything about her. Why else would he continually feel the need to find her blind dates? So sod it. She told Ally everything.

‘How dare she pity you?’ squealed Ally loyally down the phone. ‘You’re ten times prettier than her, you’ve got a fantastic career and she’s married to Derek the Dweeb.’

‘I know!’ squealed Nicky.

‘How
dare
she!’

‘I know! Bitch.’

‘
Bitch
!’ agreed Ally.

‘Oy,’ warned Nicky. ‘That’s my sister you’re talking about.’

‘Sorry.’

Nicky sighed an enormous sigh into the phone. ‘How the hell am I supposed to act with Rob tomorrow?’

‘Like normal.’

‘What’s normal?’

‘You know . . . like you both fancy each other like mad but are too terrified to do anything about it.’

Nicky snorted down the phone. ‘But he
has
done something about it, hasn’t he?’

‘Really? What? He told you exactly how he felt?’

‘No, but he said all those things. All those hinty things.’

There was a pause from Ally’s end of the phone. ‘Hmm,’ she eventually said.

‘What?’ said Nicky.

‘Just . . . I don’t know,’ said Ally. ‘The timing’s fishy.’

‘The timing?’ asked Nicky. ‘Seven-year itch or something?’

‘No! God, you’re such a romantic.’

‘So what do you mean?’

‘Promise you won’t tell me off.’

‘Just say it.’

‘Well,’ started Ally. ‘OK. Here goes. You both get a promotion and are, in effect, now suddenly rivals instead of just friendly colleagues. And suddenly –
immediately
– he gets you thinking about him seriously again, even about the real possibility of becoming a mother instead of a headmistress. Just when you’ve turned into a possible threat to his career ambitions.’

‘Blimey,’ whispered Nicky, impressed. ‘With a twisted mind like that you could be a politician. Why are you wasting your time working with children?’

‘Well, OK, then,’ said Ally. ‘Why did he say it exactly
then
?
Just
after you’d both got the promotion? Tell me honestly, did it take your mind off your promotion?’

Nicky thought for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she answered quietly. ‘I suppose so.’

‘You see? I bet it didn’t take his mind off his promotion.’

Nicky stared up at her ceiling. It needed a touch of paint. ‘But maybe it just made him see me differently? Attractive in a different way? A more serious way?’

There was another pause. ‘Hmm.’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Nicky. ‘You think he was just faking it all?’

‘Well, he’s male, isn’t he?’

‘Last time I looked,’ agreed Nicky. ‘Mind you, that was a long time ago.’

‘Well, there you are then. He’s a bloke: so it’s fair game. All’s fair in love, war and career.’

‘Pete’s not like that,’ thought Nicky aloud. ‘He hasn’t got an ambitious bone in his body.’

‘Pete’s not a real bloke,’ dismissed Ally. ‘He’s a pixie.’

‘But I really don’t think Rob and I see the joint promotion as competition. We see it as something we’re doing together. He really congratulated me, Ally. You should have seen him.’

‘Well, of course he did! He’s not going to twirl his moustache and challenge you to pistols at dawn, is he?’

Nicky laughed. ‘I s’pose not.’ She sighed. ‘Well,
I
don’t see it as competition. I see it as sharing a job with a good mate.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s because you’re nice.’

‘Mmhmm,’ said Nicky slowly.

‘Look, I’m not saying he’s evil, Nick,’ conceded Ally, ‘I’m just saying he’s a bloke. They see their careers differently from most women. They have to. Especially from most women who’ve gone into teaching. Let’s face it, we didn’t go into teaching because we wanted a high-ranking, high-paying career. We went into teaching because we wanted to teach. Someone like Rob will have had his eye on management for years.’

‘What do you mean, “someone like Rob”?’

‘Someone really competitive.’

‘You think he’s competitive?’ asked Nicky, surprised.

‘Of course!’ cried Ally. ‘Look how he treats women! He sees them all except you (and me for obvious reasons)’ – she added dully – ‘as personal achievements.’

‘He never went for Amanda –’

‘If he’d gone for Amanda, he’d have lost the gang,’ cut in Ally. ‘He’s competitive, but he’s not a moron. Look, all I’m saying is that now he’s Joint Deputy Head, I bet he starts focussing his innate competitive spirit on his career instead of his bedpost notches. Just watch.’

‘Or,’ suggested Nicky, ‘maybe the reason he never went for Amanda is because he’s matured. He’s finally ready to settle down. And his sudden, unexpected promotion made him realise he could actually afford to, too.’

There was a long, long pause.

‘Yeah, well,’ sighed Ally. ‘I’m thrilled that I’ve managed to take your rose-tinted glasses off and you’re over your crush on him.’

‘I have not got a crush! It’s just that that might explain
why he suddenly turned all serious and romantic.’

‘Yep. Maybe. Whatever.’

‘Oh I don’t know. It’s all too confusing.’

‘You know what I think?’ asked Ally.

‘Go on.’

‘If you were meant to be together, you’d be together.’

There was a long pause. Nicky felt strangely relieved. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You’re right.’

‘You have got to concentrate on your new job,’ said Ally. ‘This is incredibly important.’

‘Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.’

‘Just try and forget everything Rob said and focus on your work. You’ll only get one chance at it, Nicky, and you’ll kick yourself if you muck it up. If you’re meant to end up with Rob, you’ll end up with Rob. Concentrate on your job.’

‘Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, Ally. You’re such a good mate.’

‘It’s all right,’ yawned Ally. ‘I just know how much it matters to you. Maybe more than you even realise.’

Nicky glanced over at her clock. ‘Blimey. It’s nearly eleven. I need to get to sleep.’

‘Beauty sleep?’

‘No,’ assured Nicky. ‘Brain sleep.’

‘Good girl. See you tomorrow, focussed on the job in hand.’

‘Yeah,’ said Nicky firmly. ‘You’re right. Thanks, Al.’

Then she finished her phone call, turned off her bedside lamp, lay down and dreamt of babies.

NICKY AND ROB
sat next to each other, opposite Miss James’s desk at their first meeting as Joint Deputy Heads, waiting for their esteemed Headmistress to finish off some paperwork. To the echo of children cheering from the neighbouring field, they both stared straight at her while she scribbled elaborate, curly notes she wouldn’t be able to decipher later.

There were two desks in Miss James’s office: one covered with all her papers, where she sat, the other covered by whatever latest puzzle she was finishing. She was a puzzle fanatic. Everyone who came in – absolutely everyone, whether secretary, child, parent, governor, caretaker or teacher – had to put a piece in the puzzle before they were permitted to leave her office. ‘It’s a community puzzle!’ she would declare to them all. This year’s puzzle was Europe and it was a complete bugger. Children had been known to miss a whole numeracy class trying to find Portugal. Teachers knew it was useless to complain to Miss James though, because they would be told the benefits of puzzle-solving, even though everyone knew that the only benefit of puzzle-solving was finishing the puzzle.

This morning, a Year 4 pupil was sitting frowning at it, his
face drawn and pale. Suddenly he let out a gasp, leapt up and fitted a piece in.

‘Off you go, Ralph,’ said Miss James affectionately. ‘Just tell Miss Jennings you were doing the puzzle.’

Nicky’s intestines were jitterbugging with excitement at the thought of having her first meeting as Deputy Head. Out of reverence for her new job she had worn a rather more severe skirt and higher heels than normal. The ensemble made her feel more serious and more respectable, although ironically (not that it mattered of course) she couldn’t help noticing Rob continually glancing down at her legs. He’d stopped doing it as soon as they were in the meeting though. She wondered now, while Miss James continued to draw hieroglyphics, how he was able to compartmentalise so easily. She also wondered how he was managing to keep so calm. She could barely sit still. She kept recrossing her legs and pulling at her new-length skirt. It was all she could do to stop herself from standing up and launching into a lusty rendition of ‘Climb Every Mountain’. Eventually Rob turned slowly to her and gave her a pointed look. She managed to control herself enough not to offer to sharpen Miss James’s pencils. Again.

Suddenly, apparently in the middle of writing a sentence – or sketching an elephant, it was difficult to tell – Miss James leapt up and made it to her door in three long strides, looking like a Quentin Blake pencil drawing, hair swaying, glasses swinging, skirt swishing.

‘ELIZABETH-LOUISE!’ she yelled down the corridor.

Rob and Nicky exchanged smiles. Miss James could distinguish a child’s footsteps from a hundred paces. There was a pause as Elizabeth-Louise made her way back to her headmistress.

‘What,’ began Miss James, pronouncing the ‘h’ in the word, ‘do we say about these hallowed corridors, my dear?’

‘Walk, don’t run.’

‘WALK, DON’T RUN! Exactly! And what were you doing down the corridor?’

‘Running.’

‘RUNNING! Exactly. So what will you do in future?’

‘Walk.’

‘WALK! Exactly.
So
glad we had this little chat. On you go.’

Miss James returned to her desk, putting her glasses back on her nose. She looked up at her Deputies, pulled off her glasses forcefully and nearly broke her neck.

‘Now, now, now, now,
now
,’ she said, slowly rearranging her neck. ‘How are my two generals?’

Nicky smiled and before she could answer she heard Rob say, ‘Fine.’ He looked at her and she nodded and they all grinned at each other.

‘Good,’ said Miss James. ‘Good, good, good, good, good,
good
.’ She clapped her hands loudly. ‘Right! What’s your
vision
for Heatheringdown?’ She stared, unblinking, at one and then the other and then back again.

There was a fraction of a pause. Nicky’s brain started to whirr. Then it sort of phut-phutted to a stop.
Vision
? Oh God. She wasn’t going to be up to this job. She had no idea what the correct answer to that was.

Miss James stared at her. Without thinking, Nicky looked at Rob for inspiration and inwardly cursed herself. Miss James followed her gaze.

‘Um,’ said Rob, ‘progressive?’

Miss James blinked at him slowly then gave a small nod.
Then she turned to Nicky and raised her eyebrows in a question.

‘I suppose,’ said Nicky slowly, ‘I see it as a multi-ethnic, multi-focussed . . .’ her voice trailed off. Multi-focussed? She realised she’d stopped talking and then she realised that she felt self-conscious in front of Rob – much more than she did in front of Miss James.

Oh God, she was going to be demoted ten minutes into her job. And all in front of Rob.

‘GOOD!’ exclaimed Miss James, scribbling what looked like an ancient Greek temple padlocked to a fish. ‘I’m
in love
with that. If it was a cat, I’d adopt it! Multi-ethnic, multi-focussed. Good
girl
.’ She stopped scribbling and looked up at Rob. ‘What was yours again?’

‘Progressive,’ said Rob forcefully.

‘Hmm.’ Miss James frowned. ‘In what way?’

‘Well, take ICT for a start –’

‘Ah! Yes!’ sighed Miss James dreamily. ‘ICT! So many initials nowadays, don’t you find? “Information Communication Technology” I mean, what on God’s good earth does that mean? In my day we had blackboards and were done with it. You knew where you were with a black—’