Page 58 of Don't Fall in Love (and how to break the rules)

“Oh, we are,” Chrissie agreed, through a mouthful of bhuna. “But what’s the line in that John Lennon song? Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans? It’s sort of like that. I don’t want to hold her back.”

“I don’t think you could,” said Philippa. “I’m not going to pry, it’s your business. But have faith. I feel like the two of you are supposed to be together. Didn’t you say you were a thing back when you were in your teens?”

“Yes,” replied Chrissie, with a smile. “It was a summer of hope and naivety and dreams and for a few weeks, it was perfect. Then we went our separate ways and didn’t see each other for twenty years.”

“It sounds wonderful,” said Philippa, looking wistfully up and over Chrissie’s head, as if remembering something from her own past. “I didn’t do anything nearly as interesting when I was in my teens. It makes me wish I had.” She looked back at Chrissie, her cheeks pink.

“It’s never too late, you know,” said Chrissie. “I know that to be a hard, cold fact.”

“Hmm,” said Philippa. “Yes, perhaps. But keep your hope and naivety, Chrissie, it suits you. Things may work out still.”

“We’ll see. But before that,” said Chrissie, wiping a blob of sauce from her plate with her naan, “we need to get through this wretched inspection.”

“Yes, although I feel like between you, Dan, Nisha and Mrs Hemingway, you will absolutely smash it.”

“Is that a legal term?” asked Chrissie.

“Of course,” replied Philippa, elegantly wiping the corner of her mouth with a piece of kitchen roll. “We always promise ourselves that the night before a big case. And we always order in curry.”

“Well, thank you for making me part of your tradition,” said Chrissie, touched that Philippa had thought of her.

Chapter Fifty-Five

The next day there was a fevered energy to the school. There were only twenty-four hours until the inspectors were due to descend, and there was a lot to do. Chrissie found herself busy replacing all the tired displays from one of the hallways, trying to make the learning environment look as ‘vibrant’ as an Ofsted inspector could dream of.

“What is that supposed to be?” asked Dan as he hurried past her.

“Rude,” called Chrissie, “you can clearly see that it’s a crocodile. It’s a new display on books the children have loved this year.”

“Oh yes, of course,” said Dan, papers clutched to his front. “Sorry, thought it was a green turd for a moment!” and with that, he disappeared around the corner.

“Charming,” said Chrissie, with a laugh, grateful for her colleagues and their support, however differently they all showed it.

“Nice,” said Nisha, emerging into the corridor from the classroom for a moment. “An avocado, I assume?”

“Very droll,” replied Chrissie, rolling her eyes.

“Sorry,” said Nisha, “I heard Dan and I couldn’t resist. Although now all the children have heard him say the word ‘turd’, so I have some serious reverse-engineering to do.”

“Tell them he was saying ‘curd’,” said Chrissie, “like Little Miss Muffet and her curds and whey.”

“How very Victorian,” said Nisha. “But I might well try that. Although I feel that, with Hardev and Dottie in the room, that genius plan won’t survive for long.”

“True. Now, once I have the teeth on this thing, it will all become clear,” said Chrissie.

“It will.” Nisha smiled, then pulled out her phone from her pocket, before frowning at it again.

“All ok?” asked Chrissie, hardly bearing to know the answer. She knew it would be Jake, and she knew it would be about London.

“Yep,” said Nisha, plastering on a smile and disappearing back into the classroom.

Everyone was anxious about the arrival of the inspection team the next day, but Chrissie felt more worried about the outcome of the conversation she and Nisha had planned for Friday night, once the inspectors had gone. It was clear that Nisha was still very distracted, which did not bode well.

At half past eight that night they left the school, after a final staff meeting with Mrs Hemingway at the helm. Even she had seemed slightly frazzled, a strand of her hair uncharacteristically freeing itself from her hair band.

“Do you want a quick glass of wine at the Vine?” asked Chrissie, as she and Nisha crossed the threshold into the cold and dark.

“Oh, er, sorry,” replied Nisha, appearing uncomfortable. “I have something I need to do.”

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