Page 52 of Don't Fall in Love (and how to break the rules)

“Yes,” agreed Nisha. “And you really shouldn’t leave a girl hanging.” She laughed nervously.

“Oh my,” said Chrissie. “I mean, I’m in love with you. I think I always was. But the moment you walked into that classroom with your dimple and your beautiful eyes, the day you made me run around in the mud and the rain. I knew I loved you. I hated that I loved you, but I did.” Chrissie stroked Nisha’s hair and cupped her cheek. “But now, I love that I love you too.”

Nisha smiled, and leaned in to kiss Chrissie on the lips. Chrissie closed her eyes. “It suddenly feels so easy,” she said, as she pulled away.

“Maybe that’s the Prosecco talking,” said Nisha, “or maybe we’ve been getting in our own way until now.”

“It’s not just the Prosecco,” said Chrissie, undoing Nisha’s towel and straddling her lap. “But I know for sure I’ve been getting in my own way until today.”

Nisha leaned back, her hands behind her on the bed. “Well, cheers to us growing up!”

Chrissie kissed her neck and ran her hand down her cleavage. “Yes, here’s to that.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chrissie tried to remember her pranayama breathing as she sat outside Mrs Hemingway’s office, waiting to be called in. As a child, she’d always assumed that it was only the pupils that got nervous while waiting to be summoned. The older she got, the more she realised that no one really ever lets go of their inner child’s insecurities.

The door opened. “Miss Anderson,” said Mrs Hemingway. “Come in and take a seat.”

The head teacher’s office smelled of pencil shavings and coffee, and had a painting of Birmingham’s Victoria Square lit up by the city’s Christmas market on the wall.

“It’ll be opening back up again soon,” said Chrissie, gesturing to the painting.

“Yes, I can’t wait,” replied Mrs Hemingway, showing uncharacteristic excitement. “I know not everyone cares for it, but I make sure I go several times over the season. It really brightens up some of the darker weeks of the year.”

“It does,” agreed Chrissie, making a mental note to make sure to go there with Nisha.

Mrs Hemingway sat behind her desk. “I know you asked to see me,” she said, “but before that, I wanted to congratulate you on the fantastic school trip to Paris.”

“Oh,” said Chrissie, taken by surprise. “Thank you.”

“I’ve heard rave reviews both from the children and their parents.” Mrs Hemingway straightened a pencil on her desk. “As you know, I did have my doubts, but the fact that you and Ms Rajan managed to pull it off, along with Mr Harvey, is really something to celebrate.”

“Well, thank you,” said Chrissie again. “And I must mention Dottie’s mum, Philippa. She was the person who helped us secure the funding, and she was a brilliant support on the trip itself.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Hemingway, “I’ve spoken to her too. She is something of a dynamic presence on our PTA. But, Miss Anderson, if you don’t mind me saying, without your enthusiasm and confidence in the children, this would never have happened.” She looked Chrissie in the eye. “Well done.”

Chrissie didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t expected this, especially since Mrs Hemingway wasn’t known for giving unqualified praise.

“Now,” continued the head teacher. “I’m here to listen to what you have to say. How can I help you?”

Chrissie gathered her thoughts, momentarily discombobulated by the unexpected direction the conversation had taken. She put her hands together and began. “I’ve seen that you’re advertising for someone to do a graduate teacher training placement next year. I was thinking about applying for it.”

She took a deep breath in and waited.

Mrs Hemingway beamed. “Yes, of course. I assumed you would, to be honest. I’d be delighted to see your application.”

“Great, well,” said Chrissie, rising from her seat. “I’ll definitely get that to you.”

“Lovely,” said Mrs Hemingway. “The deadline is the end of the week, so crack on.”

Chrissie spent the rest of the day planning out in her head how she would write her application, imagining what it would be like to return the next academic year as a trainee teacher.

In yoga later that evening, she felt a strength and calmness she hadn’t experienced for a long time. She rested in downward dog, breathing in rhythm with the rest of the class, and emptied her mind. She allowed herself to be guided by Rae’s voice, moving her limbs in sequence, finding her flow. Flow was a word Rae used a lot in classes, and today it felt more apt than ever before.

“You look happy,” said Rae, while they and Chrissie tidied up after the class.

“I am,” agreed Chrissie. “I sort of feel like I’ve moved into a new chapter of my life. I have a sense of who I am now, what I’m doing, and where I’m going.”

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