In a Class of His Own (13 page)

Enjoy your break,

Jack.’

Abrupt
and to the point. Not
even a ‘love from’ or even a

‘Dear
Nicky’. I sighed once again as I turned the deputy’s badge over
in my hand. Had I blown it? Had I really told him I loved him – and
no less than three times?

From
the radio I could hear a plaintive voice singing
about being lonely at Christmas. I switched it off with violence.

Thanks a lot I thought
bitterly, just rub it in why don’t you? I put my aching head in my
hands, curled into the sofa and sobbed pathetically. I clutched
Jack’s present to me. As I wept, my tears fell on the gold wrapping
paper, marking little sodden splodges.

A box of tissues and a
pot of tea later and I’d calmed down a little. If I can solve a
problem I will and there was one thing I could do to begin to make
amends. Reaching for the ‘phone again I dialled the local florist.

“Yes,
thank you. I’d like to send some flowers to a Mr. and Mrs. Angus
Fairweather. Yes please, something seasonal. The address is …”

On the
rare occasion I slept in the flat over the next few weeks, it felt
odd to lie there,
knowing the empty vastness that was next door. I became aware of
night sounds and of the scratching of mice up in the attics of the
old building. Once or twice I’d been sorely tempted to sneak
through to the main part of the house and have a good snoop around.
Once to my shame, I’d even got as far as sliding the bolt back on
my side of the adjoining door. I didn’t know whether to be
frustrated or relieved when I found it was bolted on Jack’s side.
Then, illogically, I got cross. How on earth was I supposed to keep
an eye on things, as requested, when I couldn’t even get into the
property?

In the
end the Christmas break turned out to be fairly good fun, after all.
I’d deliberately kept myself busy. As I hadn’t done anything
towards Christmas until we’d broken up, this was easy. And while
it wasn’t quite like Oxford Street on Christmas Eve, last minute
present shopping on a late night Wednesday in Hereford was
atmospheric. My parents were ecstatic to have both of their children
at home for the holiday and Mum rushed

around fussing over Andy
with a never-ending beaming smile on her face. And when Joyce joined
us, with several bottles of her homemade and lethal carrot wine, we
actually had a really good time. My resolution not to drink ever
again was severely tested.

Christmas
Day came and went in its usual whirl of discarded wrapping paper and
drizzly weather and then it was time to drive down to London to visit
Bev.

It was
good to get away. Her large family welcomed me as one of their own
and I enjoyed going along with them to their alarmingly lively church
services. Bev and I managed to have a heart to heart about my
predicament, over a large box of Christmas chocolates, during which
she repeated her opinion of Jack Thorpe. It fell on deaf ears. She
tried desperately to pair me up with her favourite brother Toby, but
tall, lean and gorgeous though he was, it was to no avail. Darius
however, having just learned to walk independently, kept me
entranced. Collapsed on the sofa, at the end of a particularly
exhausting session of chasing him around the sitting room and much to
Bev’s amusement, I vowed never to have children. And then I
immediately thought what beautiful children Jack and I could have.
The daydream kept me going all the way back along the M40.

Andy came over to the
flat on the night that I returned home. Inez was nursing a bad cold
so he suggested an evening in the pub. Just the two of us. I
suspected that by now, he was finding Mum and Dad’s a little
claustrophobic.

“God,
are you ever going to throw those flowers away?” he exclaimed as he
came in, rubbing his hands to warm them. It was, as usual, freezing
cold in the flat. “They’re beginning to stink!”

I
looked at the bouquet of yellow roses that Jack had presented me with
on the evening of the Victorian gala. I had tended to them
religiously to keep them alive for as long as possible. Having been
away at Bev’s
though, the flowers were now reproaching me for my neglect. I touched
the dried petals gently. They were now a veritable Miss Havisham of a
bunch, brown around the edges and shrivelled. I thought back to the
words that Jack had whispered in my ear as he had handed them to me.
Had he really called me his love? What did he mean? Or perhaps it
didn’t mean anything of consequence at all. Perhaps it was just a
friendly northern expression. One of the cleaners at school Mo, an
indomitable woman with Black Country roots, had greeted me the first
time I met her, with the words “Hello me lover!” It had quite
alarmed me at first, especially as she was brandishing a mop at me at
the time. Later on I realised it was her customary greeting, she even
said it to a vaguely perplexed Jack.

As I
was getting my coat there was an authoritative rap at the front door.
From the bedroom I heard Andy open it and greet someone. A someone
who responded in a deep, northern accented voice. I rushed out, a
whole flock of butterflies taking up residence in my stomach. I
stopped, with my coat trailing from my hands. My face gave me away by
blushing furiously. Jack was standing in the doorway. From the
advantage that his height gave he glared down at Andy and I. My mouth
went horribly dry. For a moment, my eyes consumed him. I
wanted to simply drink him in.

He was
looking perfectly in control as usual, dressed in a pale grey
pullover and his black Levis. The chunky sweater made
his shoulders look broader than ever. The weather in Switzerland had
obviously been good for his face and hands were lightly tanned. The
colour made his face look thinner; it emphasised his strong nose and
highlighted the fine line of his cheekbones. His wolf eyes seem paler
and more vivid. The more so because he was looking from Andy to me
with thinned lips and an angry expression.

“Happy
New Year Nicola,” he said shortly. “I’ve just called round to
tell you that I’m back and to see if you’re all right. But I can
see that. So I’ll go.” He turned on his heel, in that brusque way
he had. It was almost as if he couldn’t bear to be in the room.

“Hi,
I’m Andy.” My brother said quickly and looked curiously from Jack
to myself but made no comment about the leaden atmosphere which had
suddenly descended. He bounded forward and reached out a hand. “You
must be Jack Thorpe.” The men shook hands briefly. “We’re just
off to the pub. Fancy coming?”

“No,”
Jack replied and he sounded abrupt to the point of rudeness. Then he
seemed to recollect himself and said in a fractionally softer tone,
“I’ve got some unpacking to do.”

With a
start I realised what was going through his mind. He couldn’t
really think? No, that would be farcical. As he turned again,
obviously impatient to go, I rushed out with, “Are you sure? My
brother
and I really wouldn’t mind.” As I emphasised the important word I
thought I could see a tiny flicker of relief in those cold eyes. Then
the familiar neutral expression reasserted itself.

He
nodded. “Thanks for the invitation but I really do have a lot to
do.” He looked again at Andy and
myself and smiled a little.

“It
was nice to meet you, Andy. I’ll see you at school, Nicky. Then he
disappeared into the cold night.

I sat,
moodily staring into the dregs of my wine. All around me were the
sounds of people enjoying their last few moments of holiday and
getting in some serious drinking before having to face the return to
work. The pub was hot
and crowded and I couldn’t

help feeling Jack had
made the right decision by not coming. I bit my lip, vexed. It would
have been good to clear things up before we encountered one another
at school. I closed my eyes briefly. It was going to be mortifyingly
embarrassing but I knew, at some point, that I had to apologise.

Andy came back from the
bar and thumped down two more drinks onto the sticky table in front
of us.

“Nic,
I’ve invited Mum and Dad over to Spain at Easter. Do you think
they’ll come? Now we’re settled into the villa there’s plenty
of room.”

Andy
had been dismissive of Mum’s illness. Perhaps he had more of Dad in
him than any of us realised. While
he had been here Mum had been putting on a brave face so the true
extent of her problem had been masked.

With a
struggle I brought
my thoughts back to my family.

“Have
you got room for one more?” I asked.

“Oh
you can come too,” Andy added hastily. “I didn’t mean …”

“I
meant Joyce Carter,” I smiled. She’s done so much for Mum. Be
nice to give her a holiday. To thank her.” I thought I saw panic in
Andy’s eyes as he contemplated his cool Spanish life-style becoming
cramped by several old-age pensioners. As my brother had a habit of
doing, he’d landed on his feet. Inez’s father owned several
villas on the Costa de la Luz which he rented out. Inez and my
brother were apparently living in great style in one of them. But
Andy wasn’t my father’s son for nothing. As soon as the subject
matter disturbed him, he changed it.

“So
sis, what gives? What’s between you and this guy Jack? Why was
there an atmosphere colder than a penguin’s backside in the flat
and why are you looking as if you’re about to have your throat
cut?” He tore open a packet of crisps with his white teeth and
grinned sympathetically.

I
looked up from swirling my unwanted glass of wine and sighed. Despite
Andy’s casual approach to life I had always got on with him. I may
not have approved of some of his life choices but he always offered a
sympathetic ear. I thought back to the countless times he had
listened to my tales of emotional despair. There was the time when I
had a crush on Christopher in primary school. Then there was my
equally hopeless crush on Andy’s best friend. Later on in life Andy
had seen me through one disastrous relationship after another. So
haltingly, I told him the whole sorry tale of my dealings with Jack
Thorpe. Not that there was a lot to tell. But I knew I could rely on
total support from my beloved older brother.

I should really have
known better.

“Well,
if he’s not married and you say he’s not gay, maybe he just
doesn’t fancy you. Hard to believe I know, sis.” Andy sat back on
his chair and grinned again.

He was
obviously of the same opinion as Bev.
I took a gulp of wine. Unrequited love was a miserable prospect.

“Or
perhaps it’s something else,” Andy added more thoughtfully. I
looked over at him with interest.

“Well,
at the school where I used to teach, you know the one?” he shrugged
and frowned and then went on. “Well, at that school there was an
unspoken rule that relationships between staff were frowned upon.”
He gave me a quick look. “They couldn’t do anything in law to ban
them of course.” He laughed bitterly, “They couldn’t do
anything like what they tried to do to me. But it was definitely
frowned upon, especially in the management team.” He waved a hand
around and added vaguely, “Something to do with trust and pillow
talk - that sort of thing. But you know Nic, that’s a really
old-fashioned point of view. I can’t see it being something to hold
Jack back if he really likes you.”

And that was the crux of
the problem. I had no real idea, apart from some signs that were
quite possibly creations of my over-heated imagination, of exactly
how Jack really felt about me.

And I still had to face
him at work.

Training Day - Spring
Term.

All too soon the first
day of the new term loomed. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Apart
from everything else, I hated January with its short days and cold
nights.

I hadn’t seen Jack at
all since my encounter with him when Andy had been visiting. Being a
total coward I hadn’t sought him out to say what I knew I had to
say. And of course, there was also the matter of facing my other
colleagues.

I actually felt
physically sick when walking into school on the training day. I had
dressed carefully wanting to give the impression of complete
professionalism. The grey-brown trouser suit which I’d picked up in
the sales fitted well but was, I had to admit, horribly dull. I
couldn’t bear to be completely lacking in colour so I’d added a
jade coloured shirt. The outfit may have looked smart but it wasn’t
really warm enough and I shivered as I made my way into school,
hampered by the heavy box I was carrying.

“Good
morning Nicola.” Mona was first to greet me. She looked me up and
down with a twinkle in her eye. “You look very smart this morning.
Did you have a good break? Recovered from the excesses of the season
I hope?”

I tried to smile back. I
supposed a bit of teasing was expected.

“Wasn’t
it a shame we didn’t get snow?” she continued, a little more
kindly. “I can’t remember the last time we had a white Christmas.
Jack is running a little late, he’s not here yet. He asked if you
would be so good as to start the meeting. He said something about
discussing the arrangements for the SATs Booster classes?” Mona
rattled on most uncharacteristically. Part of me wondered if she was
trying to put me at ease.

She
took the box that I was carrying and peered inside. It contained
bowls of hyacinths and early narcissi. I had brought them in to cheer
the place up. It needed something. This term was always a struggle.
There was usually nothing to look forward to apart from lots of
wet playtimes.

The weather was certainly
awful today. Outside rain spattered intermittently with squally snow
and was falling from an ominous looking sky.

“Oh
how lovely!” Mona sniffed in the heady aroma of a hyacinth in
bloom. “You can take one bowl straight through to the office. Jack
is still at the local authority. They asked him to go in first thing
this morning.” She looked at me with a worried expression and
finally said what was on her mind. “Do you think it might mean more
change at school?”