Page 9 of Don't Fall in Love (and how to break the rules)

“What is it?”

“The Winds of Lake Calloway. It’s by R S Montague, whoever that is. Never heard of them,” said Chrissie, who was only a few pages into a book that would start a chain of events that would alter the course of their summer, and perhaps her life.

Chapter Seven

“Bonjour, la classe,” said Nisha to the children in front of her, who responded with a giggle.

She frowned.

“Ai-je dit quelque chose de drole?”

The class fell silent. Chrissie was standing at the back, attempting to hide a smile. This was Year Four’s first French lesson, and Nisha had arrived that morning wearing a Breton striped blue and white top and a beret. She winked at the children and gave them a winning smile, then nodded at Chrissie, who had been briefed for today’s antics.

“Good morning, class,” Chrissie said, and the pupils whipped their heads around to face her. “I will interpret for Ms Rajan. She said hello to you all, and when you giggled, she asked if she had said something funny.”

“Oui,” said Nisha, smiling, allowing her dimple to show. Her black hair was shiny and set off the beret perfectly. She suited stripes, thought Chrissie, and immediately found herself wondering why she was paying so much attention to the way the teacher looked.

Chrissie walked to the front of the classroom and spoke. “Ms Rajan is speaking a different language this morning. Can any of you tell me what language she is speaking?” Dottie’s hand went up straight away. Chrissie studiously avoided looking at her, as she was always the first with something to say. She looked over at Francis, who for the first time since he had arrived in the class had put his hand up. Or at least, he had lifted it very slightly off the table in front of him. He looked terrified, but she decided to take the risk and call on him to respond.

Francis spoke in no more than a whisper. “It’s French, Miss.” His face went bright red as all the children focused on him.

“Yes,” said Chrissie, injecting as much positivity as she could into that one word. “Very good, Francis, that’s exactly right.” She looked across at Nisha, who smiled at her in silent celebration. It had been a week since Francis had joined the school, and he’d barely spoken a word. “I think that deserves a marble in the jar.”

Nisha immediately went over to the shelf where the marble jar sat, and ushered Francis to join her. Each week it would start off empty, but when a child did something suitably impressive, they would get to choose one of the colourful glass spheres and put it in. Francis smiled, cautiously, selecting a yellow and blue one and gently dropping it in.

Nisha and Chrissie were on duty together that lunchtime, and discussed their success as they strode around the playground with their respective hot drinks.

“Do you still not drink coffee?” asked Nisha. Chrissie smiled. She recalled Nisha working hard to acquire the taste while they were revising back when they were eighteen.

“I try and avoid caffeine where I can,” she said, lightly.

“You are still a hippy then,” said Nisha, gently jabbing Chrissie with her elbow.

Chrissie frowned slightly. The word ‘hippy’ had become intertwined with some of the accusations her ex-wife had madetowards Infinite Bliss. Accusations she had rejected at the time, but which now made perfect sense. She thought of Kiera in that moment, and hoped she knew how sorry she was. For everything. “I just like to know where I am in my body,” said Chrissie. “Call me a hippy if you like.” She tried not to sound stiff, but could hear the defensive note in her voice. “But I can recommend vanilla chai,” she added, attempting to soften things. “It’s gorgeous.”

“I can smell it from here, so I’ll take your word for it,” said Nisha, taking a slurp of the instant coffee that Chrissie had spotted her putting two sugars into. “You’ve changed, though.”

“It’s been over twenty years,” said Chrissie, “of course I’ve changed.”

“Ouch,” said Nisha. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.” Chrissie sighed. “I mean, I have changed. But probably more in the last couple of years than anything else.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” said Nisha. She looked over at Chrissie, and there was a softness in her brown eyes that captured Chrissie for a moment. Memories of that look came flooding back, and a warmth seeped into her body. Chrissie opened her mouth to speak, but Nisha got in first. “But I can see that you don’t want to talk about it right now. I understand.” They walked on in silence.

After another lap of the playground, Chrissie looked at Nisha and burst into laughter. Nisha looked at her quizzically. “Oh my God, you’re still wearing that beret!” said Chrissie.

“Ha! I’d totally forgotten.” Nisha reached her hand up to her headwear. “Oh God, so that means when I was telling Hardev to pipe down for the twenty-seventh time, and using my very serious voice – that’s trademarked by the way – I was wearing this?”

Chrissie sniggered. “You totally were, Mademoiselle Rajan!”

“Well, merci for that. You should have told me,” she said, nudging Chrissie again, who was suddenly feeling more relaxed.

“I think I stopped noticing it, too,” Chrissie told her, stopping before she added that she had been looking at how cute Nisha’s dimple was when she spoke French, and that it had distracted her. “By the way, I think you did a great job of remembering your dim and distant French degree.”

“Well, it’s a little more than that. I lived out there for a bit, actually,” said Nisha.

Twenty years really was a long time. Chrissie didn’t know what she thought Nisha had been doing since they’d last met, but it wasn’t living in France – or becoming a teacher, for that matter.

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