Occasionally they met each other’s husbands either during the school run, if one of the men had a rare day at home, or over a casual supper. But by unspoken mutual agreement, both women preferred to meet without their husbands. Pippa had never warmed to Charlie, who had always seemed distant – with her and even his children. Unlike his wife, he was tersely impatient when Bruce misbehaved. ‘Bruce, don’t do that,’ he had snapped one afternoon, when his son tore past him through the front door after Pippa had brought him home from school. ‘Say thank you for the lift. Where are your manners?’
‘It’s all right,’ Pippa had said. But she could see from his face (noble aquiline nose and bushy black eyebrows with the odd grey hair) that it wasn’t. It was little things like this – and other incidents to which Harriet alluded casually – that had stopped her being totally surprised when Harriet had told her about the text message and Charlie’s two-month stint in Dubai, which seemed highly convenient for him, if not for his wife. At times, she thought secretly that her friend would be better off without her handsome husband, who seemed so much more interested in his banking career than his family. But it was hard to cope without a husband nowadays, even given the high number of women who did. Derek might not be able to show his feelings as much as she’d like but at least he was there for her and the children. Life without him was unthinkable. But how would he manage if anything happened to her?
Pippa stood up, willing herself to stop. It wouldn’t help to go down this road. Besides, she had to tidy up the chaos around her before Harriet got here. With a supreme effort (why was she constantly tired?), she began to clear away the mess that the girls had left in their wake. Harriet was always telling Pippa how well behaved they were in the car, and sometimes Pippa wondered if she was talking about the same children. Why was it that your own kids were always so much nicer when they were with other people?
Yet now they were gone she felt guilty at her lack of patience that morning. If she was ill, would they remember her as a mother who was always snapping and trying to meet deadlines?
As she ran upstairs to get dressed, she vowed she would be nicer to everyone – providing she had the chance. Quickly, she slipped into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then fastened on Gus’s silver necklace. She had worn it all the time since he had given it to her on her twenty-first birthday at university. Sometimes Derek bought her (cheaper) necklaces and occasionally she wondered if he was testing to see if she would swap loyalties. But she couldn’t do that, and if it annoyed him he never showed it.
‘Hi! Anyone at home?’
Pippa dusted her face with powder, ran a brush through her hair (once blondish, now light brown) and flew downstairs. Harriet had wandered in, as she usually did in the summer, through the conservatory that was joined on to the kitchen. The sitting room was on the next floor where, in theory, Pippa and Derek could have some peace. In practice, there was never time for that.
Harriet was in the kitchen, leaning against the range. Pippa gave her a hug. ‘You got my message?’
‘What message?’
‘I asked you round for coffee.’
‘Actually, no. I thought I’d just pop in to see how you were. Better not be catching or we’ll have a great start to the summer.’
Pippa tried to smile. ‘I don’t think it is. It’s just a . . . well, a kind of funny feeling.’ She stopped, wondering whether to go on. ‘To be honest, Harriet, I . . . Oh, don’t cry, Harry. It’ll be all right.’ Shocked, she led her friend to the checked sofa (a
Good Housekeeping
offer) next to the french windows and put her arm round her while Harriet sobbed into her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry, Pippa, but I’m so scared. I don’t know what Charlie’s going to say when he comes back and I’m frightened. Suppose he wants us to split up? Suppose he
is
having an affair?’
Pippa tightened her grip. ‘Then you’ll have to be brave. It happens, sometimes, but you’ll get through it and I’ll help you.’
Harriet raised her tearstained face.
She was so pretty, thought Pippa. That bastard didn’t deserve her.
‘So you
do
think he’s having an affair?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Pippa, carefully. ‘I just think you have to face the facts. Some woman sent him a text. He’s been away for two months.’
‘But he wanted time to think,’ said Harriet. ‘I can understand that.’
She doesn’t want me to point out the obvious, thought Pippa. And she certainly couldn’t burden Harriet with her own problem now. She stood up. ‘How about that coffee? Look, I’ve even got some yummy
pains au chocolat
from the new bakery. Fancy one?’
‘No, thanks.’ Harriet looked as though she might be sick.
‘I can’t eat much at the moment. I never can when I’m all churned up. But I’d love a cup of tea – with sugar.’
‘You never take sugar,’ said Pippa.
‘I need the sweetness.’
‘I’m the same but I eat too. It’s why we’re different shapes.’
Pippa looked down ruefully at her comfortable size-fourteen figure and across at Harriet’s size ten. Harriet smiled through her tears. ‘That’s better,’ said Pippa. ‘Damn! That’s my mobile.’
‘You’ve changed the ring tone.’
‘No, Lucy did. She also spent ten pounds on downloading a new one for herself.’
‘She didn’t!’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I only found out yesterday and I went mad. Derek said it showed initiative. There, it’s started again. I’d better get it. Here, have a look at the paper. I won’t be a minute.’
Pippa ran upstairs with the mobile in her hand. She waited until she had reached the sitting room before she answered. She knew who it was, of course, from the screen.
‘Hi, Gorgeous, how’s it going?’
Pippa relaxed. Only Gus could make her feel truly at ease with herself. It wasn’t just the way he always called her Gorgeous, even though she knew perfectly well she wasn’t. It was that he had known her longer than Derek and, more importantly, he understood. He never told her to stop worrying like Derek did. He just accepted that that was the way she was.
‘Not too brilliant.’ Her voice cracked.
Instantly his voice was filled with concern. ‘Why?’
She gave him a brief run down. Funny, she didn’t even feel embarrassed about the physical bit – not as embarrassed as she’d felt with her husband that morning. But she’d always been able to do that with Gus – and he with her – she could come straight out with an intimate subject that most married women couldn’t discuss with anyone other than their husbands. For his part, Gus told her details about his relationships with other women, which flattered her and – if she was honest – made her wonder what it would be like to be in their place.
‘Really? What does the doctor say?’
‘I can’t get an appointment until tomorrow.’
‘Well, for God’s sake, go to a specialist not just some ordinary GP.’
‘Mine’s very good.’
‘You do have health insurance, don’t you?’
Pippa swallowed. Derek didn’t believe in that kind of thing and, besides, money was always tight. There never seemed to be enough with two children and the supermarket bill and the council tax and all the other outgoings. Derek was also what her aunt called a ‘careful’ man. Some people, Gus included, translated that as mean.
‘No. But my GP
is
good. Really. Don’t worry.’
‘Well, I will. Of course I will. You’ve got to ring me as soon as you come out of that place. Promise? Is Derek with you?’
‘No. He had to go to work.’
‘I see.’ Gus’s disapproval was almost tangible.
‘But I’ve got a friend here.’
‘I hope it’s a woman. I don’t want any competition.’
Pippa felt better. Gus and she always flirted like this but each knew it couldn’t mean anything.
‘Well, I’ll be waiting for your call tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You can get me on the mobile.’
‘Must go now. Harry’s waiting.’
‘I thought you said it was a woman.’
‘It is. Harriet. You know. Talk tomorrow.’
‘Can’t wait.’
Pippa ran down the stairs, aware she’d left Harriet longer than she’d meant to. Her friend looked up from the paper.
‘You really don’t look well, you know. You’re awfully flushed.’
Pippa turned her back to put on the kettle and hide the glow on her face that she always felt after speaking to Gus.
He made her feel so good about herself; desirable – in a way that Derek never did. ‘I’m fine,’ she said evenly. ‘Now, let’s have that tea, shall we? I’m desperate.’
6
KITTY
‘This is Capital Radio and . . .’
Let’s see. First lesson with year nine. Great – that’s Bruce, God help me. Must remember to maintain eye contact when giving instructions – vital for hyperactive kids – and make sure he’s not by the window again (too much distraction). Then science with Mrs Griffiths’s class if she’s still ill. Note: get Leonora and Natalie to wear labels indicating which is which. After the coffee break it’s year ten. Oh, no, that means Kieran . . . Lunchbreak duty, followed by – if I survive – Othello with year thirteen. Note Two: take black trousers to change into after school for Big Date. Who am I kidding? Mark (that was his name, wasn’t it?) really isn’t my type – far too loud and flash. It’s not that I’m being picky. It’s more that I’ve seen too many Mr and Mrs Wrongs. School is full of them, and I’m talking parents
and
teachers. All I want is Mr Right. Someone who comes up to scratch in my marking book. Someone’s who’s ten out of ten and not seven or eight. Like Mandy says, I could do better. If I really tried.
‘It’s coming up to eight fifteen. The American schoolboy in Ohio, who has taken his classmates hostage, is thought to possess a gun.’
As the sound faded in and out, Kitty adjusted her headphones at the bus stop. There was something wrong with them, which was irritating as she enjoyed listening to the radio – even when there were scary incidents like the one concerning the gun-happy American kid. It passed the time when she was waiting for the bus and provided diplomatic immunity from the kids, who were fascinated by teachers outside school. It was as though her appearance beyond the classroom gave them
carte blanche
to tease her, like an animal in the zoo.
‘Can I borrow your headphones, Miss?’
‘I’ve got a pair just like those at home. My mum got them from LowPrice.’
‘Stop sucking up to the teacher, Kieran.’
Kitty pretended she couldn’t hear them and tried to look as though she was concentrating on the road, which was packed with cars, vans and lorries but no buses.
Blast. It was late, which meant that unless the bus developed turbo wings, Kitty was going to be late for school. She’d been waiting for ages and although she normally liked to think of herself as a reasonably patient person, the kids were getting on her nerves.
‘That’s my teacher.’
‘Fit, isn’t she?’
‘Got any biology for us, Miss?’
Kitty got out her mobile and pretended to study it for messages. The kids who were trying to get her attention were from St Theresa’s, her school. St Theresa’s was good teaching experience, but it came at a price. When Kitty had dreamed of being a teacher while at her own quiet, home counties school, she hadn’t realised she’d need to develop such a thick skin. Some of these London kids were impossible and the teachers weren’t much better. One was having an affair with the married mother of a child in year nine and another had been married to the head of science until he went off with a teacher from the primary school. The staffroom was a hotbed of sex, weak coffee and educational magazines they were all meant to be reading in preparation for the Ofsted visit later this week.
In fact, everyone had someone, except her.
‘Here’s the bus!’
‘’Bout time.’
‘Got your biology book ready, Miss? We’re doing reproduction today, remember? Mrs Griffiths is still ill, you know. So you’ll be taking us, won’t you?’
Looking straight ahead, she attempted to climb on board in a dignified manner, even though sharp elbows on either side were digging into her in the rush to get on.
‘One at a time,’ said the driver, loudly, raising his eyebrows at Kitty. She acknowledged him with a smile. It was always the same man. He had a rather nice smile and open face (a bit like Jonny Wilkinson’s). And she couldn’t help noticing that he always wore a crisp polo shirt, open at the neck, instead of a uniform. Maybe that
was
the uniform nowadays, or perhaps in this heat they were allowed to leave off their jackets. He spoke differently from the other bus drivers too.
Kitty knew it was snobbish of her (and she wasn’t usually a snob) to notice this, but still . . .
‘Morning!’ He barely glanced at her pass.
‘Hi.’ She gave him a quizzical look. ‘You’re late today.’
He ran his hands through his hair – short, but not too short. ‘Tell me about it. This traffic drives you mad.’ He glanced at the kids behind her. ‘It’s your lot that cause the trouble. All these cars taking everyone to school.’