Page 19 of Textbook Romance

She chokes a little at the comparison and her cheeks fill with colour. ‘Or not…’ I smile with relief to notice she’s not too offended. ‘I’m just nosy. I remember you telling me you lived with Ed at university?’

‘Yeah. He was a biologist, I was a botanist. He was an exceptional housemate.’

‘I can imagine. He bakes a good muffin…’ she mumbles, a forkful of coleslaw in her mouth.

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Oh yes, an expert with muffins. Good rise, excellent distribution of fruit, good shape.’ I don’t know why I use my hands to demonstrate.

‘Which is important.’ She tries to contain her giggles and not let this descend into innuendo. ‘So, a botanist. That means you’re good with plants?’

‘Well, anything that can be planted really. It’s my thing.’

‘So, you can tell me to sod off if it’s none of my business, but then why are you cover teaching?’ she asks.

I like the way she asks. Most people ask that question with judgement in their tone, but I can hear the care and curiosity in her voice.

‘Oh, I guess since university I’ve drifted between jobs. I had to put family first for a bit. I once worked on a cruise ship for a month…’

‘Were you in charge of the anchor?’

That was funny. ‘I worked the casinos. I managed to get in some travel. It was fun.’ I’ll omit the part about how it was a huge orgy behind the scenes, and I suffered liver damage from the drinking. ‘I also was a manager of a Zara. I still have my staff discount card if you ever need…’

‘Continental, well-wearing knitwear?’

‘Bingo. So, when I saw Mia and Ed over the summer, they told me that your school was crying out for teachers, and they said they thought I’d be excellent at it so… here I am.’ There’s a look in her eyes. I hope that’s not pity. But I also sense some curiosity over what I’ve said about family. I see her pause, as if she’s wondering whether to pry further. Either way, I don’t mind that my route into adulthood has not been traditional. I have time. In my head, I feel I’m still allowed moments to freewheel and try on different jobs before I settle, but I guess that can look unappealing. It can look like I have no staying power. ‘And how long have you been a teacher?’ I ask her, changing the focus from me to her.

‘Literally, left university, got my QTS and have been teaching ever since. It’s all I know.’ I can hear hints of sadness in her voice. Given the age of her kids, you can tell that, unlike me, her life went in one singular direction and being caught off course has thrown her.

‘It just means you’re expert level. I bow to your greatness and years of experience.’

‘And what do you know of my experience?’ she says, smiling broadly.

There’s a silence. This has descended into innuendo again, hasn’t it? I remember this from the wedding. There was helmet talk, we’ve dipped into muffins and now we’re chatting about her experience. She doesn’t seem to mind the innuendo, it makes her smile, and I will also admit that I enjoy being a participant. There is something intriguing about her, that makes me want to keep sitting here, to find out more. It makes me think her husband was an idiot to let someone like this go.

‘Well, I saw someone great today. Someone who knew exactly what they were doing, who knew how to take control, who had all the right words.’

She shakes her head, silently laughing to herself, and picks up another of her very spicy chicken wings, her teeth tearing at the flesh. I look at the curve of her jaw as she chews and she side-eyes me, pondering. I don’t think she can quite read me. Is she here for my company or is she here for the chicken? I feel the pendulum swings in the favour of the flame-grilled wings; I’m only a sidekick so she doesn’t have to sit on her own.

‘I think you’ll be a good teacher. The girls will like you, for sure… Younger ones who look like you will always have a head start with all the hormonally charged teen girls,’ she tells me, looking over at me for a moment.

‘Ones who look like me?’ I enquire.

She narrows her eyes at me. So she thinks I’m attractive? ‘Well, the girls have either you or Mr Lindsay in IT. He wears boat shoes and sweater vests. I reckon they’ll be following you and your Zara knitwear around for sure.’

I laugh.

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ she asks me. I shake my head. I sense she’s asking out of curiosity rather than personal interest. ‘Is this because you’re still trying out different things? Like the job situation?’

It’s painful to know I can be read like a book so quickly.

‘That would be a yes.’

‘Longest relationship?’

‘Seven months, Cara Maddison. She asked me to move in with her. Before we’d had a chance to discuss it, though, she’d announced it on Facebook and made moving postcards that she sent out to all her family.’

She laughs, and to hear Zoe laugh, to see it, is deeply satisfying. I’m seeing a side of her that may be authentic and not steeped in grief. And yes, it’s funny now but back then my friend, Sarah, misread it for an engagement announcement and bought herself a new dress.

A message notification beeps on Zoe’s phone, and she looks down at her peri-peri covered fingers, before reaching for napkins.

---