Page 18 of Don't Fall in Love (and how to break the rules)

The three walked to their favoured corner of the staff room. “She scares you,” said Chrissie.

“Yes,” he agreed. “And honestly, if she doesn’t scare you, you’re missing something. That woman has Jedi skills. I don’t even know how I ended up telling her, she just looked at me yesterday after the staff meeting and it all came pouring out.”

Nisha rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t worry,” said Chrissie, patting his arm. “It was ok. We managed to do some quick thinking and get things back on track.”

“Well, Chrissie did,” Nisha pointed out with a half smile. “But we have to come up with the goods – a cast iron plan and some cash. Neither of which we have at present.”

“Oh, well done,” said Dan, “you’re both made of sterner stuff than me, clearly.”

“Clearly,” said Nisha. She grinned. “We’re going to have to have a serious think about how we get this organised, though. We need to sort staffing and everything.”

“I totally believe we can do it,” said Chrissie, a sense of joyous confidence coming over her. “If we really want it to happen, and put our hearts and souls into it, we can.”

“Ah, there’s the hippy we know and love,” replied Nisha, a fond tone in her voice – a tone that felt like it might hold an apology somewhere.

Chrissie laughed. She spoke again. “I’ll put my thinking cap on in the next few days, and then perhaps the three of us can meet up and create a masterplan?”

Dan and Nisha nodded. “Oh,” said Chrissie, “dare I ask what Dottie’s mum wanted?”

“Something tiresome about the PTA. Did you know she’s the chair?” asked Nisha.

Dan piped up. “Philippa? Yes, I think she may have mentioned it. A few hundred times.”

“Ah,” said Nisha, “her reputation goes before her.” She opened her lunchbox and took out a floppy cheese sandwich. “She wanted to talk to me about the school festive fete in November.”

“I mean,” said Dan, “it’s a Christmas fete.”

“Yes,” said Chrissie, “but Philippa is concerned that people of other faiths may be offended by calling it that, so she never calls it that.”

Nisha rolled her eyes, “But we mark Diwali and Eid and Passover as well at the school. It’s a Christmas fete, everyone knows it!” she sighed. “But that’s not what she was talking about. She wants us to do a call-out for stuff to sell at the bring-and-buy stall.”

“She doesn’t want much, does she?” said Dan. “Is she aware that Ofsted could visit us at any timeandwe have SATs to prepare for?”

“Don’t give her such a hard time,” Chrissie told him. “She’s trying to do what she can for the school. She doesn’t have to worry about Ofsted and SATs, and in reality, the kids shouldn’t be worried about that either, should they?” Nisha and Dan gave sage nods. “Perhaps we have an opportunity here?”

“What do you mean?” asked Nisha.

“She’s chair of the PTA, right?” said Chrissie, furrowing her brow.

“Yes,” said Dan, frowning. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“So, she’ll have all the clearances for working with children and vulnerable people, right?”

“Well, maybe,” replied Nisha, suddenly cottoning on.

“Wouldn’t she be just the person to help us in our mission to get Year Four to Paris? She could come too, and help us organise it,” said Chrissie.

“Oh my God, you’re a genius,” said Dan. “She has the organisation skills of an air traffic controller.” He paused and thought for a moment before speaking again. “It would mean we’d have to actually spend time with her, though.”

“She’s not so bad,” said Chrissie. “And it might distract her from her quest to turn the ‘festive’ fete into the event of the season.”

Nisha smiled. She looked pleased with the idea, and gave Chrissie a warm look that made her feel slightly liquid inside. She excused herself to go to the toilet. This was going to have to stop. She couldn’t keep having such strong a physical reaction to Nisha.

Chapter Fourteen

The weekend came as a welcome relief after a busy few days at work and out of it. Chrissie and Nisha hadn’t been able to talk properly alone, and soon a day or two had gone by and they hadn’t addressed what had gone between them at the café bar. It was as though it had never happened, swept up in planning for Operation Croissant, as Nisha had started to call it. Not the most subtle of code names.

But for Chrissie, the words Nisha had said kept coming back to her. She sat at her kitchen table, the rain pouring down the window pane, writing in the purple-bound notebook that served as her journal.

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