Page 10 of Don't Fall in Love (and how to break the rules)

“Oh, really?” said Chrissie. Nisha was eyeing her in a strange way. Chrissie looked back at her, realising they’d both paused in their lap of the playground.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” said Nisha, almost under her breath. Chrissie faltered, and then turned as she heard a scream from behind her.

“Miss!” came an urgent voice. “He’s cracked his head open, come quickly!”

Chrissie dashed over towards the child on the ground, Nisha alongside her and a crowd of other children following close behind, desperate to soak up the drama.

“God, I hate blood,” said Nisha as they approached.

“It’s ok, I’m the first aider on duty, I’ll sort it,” said Chrissie, striding ahead.

The child on the ground had a small graze. There was blood, but nothing that wouldn’t be sorted by the judicious application of a piece of wet blue paper roll – infamous in primary schools for its healing properties. A few minutes later, the ginger-haired boy from Year Three was sitting on a chair in a classroom being tended to by Chrissie.

“I think I need a plaster, Miss,” he said.

“I think you’ll be fine, Ted. Look, it’s stopped bleeding now. I think you can be brave and get on with your day now.”

“Yes,” said Ted, “perhaps I can.” He paused. “I think I’d better take another paper towel though, just in case.”

Chrissie nodded, a grave expression on her face. “Well yes, of course Ted, we need to be prepared for any eventuality, including haemorrhage.”

Ted nodded back at her, equally serious. Chrissie smiled at him, while writing out a note to hand to his mum later that day. They always had to report any knocks or scrapes, however minor.

Chrissie and Nisha were packing up after the children had gone home for the day. “I think that went ok, don’t you?” Nisha commented. “I feel like we’re getting into a rhythm with these little guys.”

“Honestly, Nisha, they adore you,” said Chrissie, wondering why saying those words made her cheeks warm.

“Oh, you’re sweet,” said Nisha, who seemed wrong-footed for a moment. The dimple appeared.

“Maybe we should grab that drink we talked about,” suggested Chrissie, without thinking.

“Oh, I can’t,” Nisha replied immediately, and Chrissie felt daft for bringing it up. She should have known that Nisha was just being polite at the start of term.

“No, of course, you have your stuff,” said Chrissie, unsure of what she was saying or why, just wanting to fill the awkward silence.

“I just mean, I can’t tonight. I have football,” said Nisha, who seemed a bit flustered. She was gathering bits and pieces from her desk.

“You still play?” asked Chrissie, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject.

“Yep. Right,” said Nisha, “see you tomorrow.” She disappeared so quickly that by the time she was gone, Chrissie hadn’t even put her coat on.

She sighed to herself. Nisha running out on her. Some things changed. Some things didn’t.

Chapter Eight

Chrissie opened her journal. She had time to jot a few things down before meeting Rae at the community centre.

Rule one progress: Nisha. Obviously, I’m not in love with her. Is this an echo of love? Like the memory of a moment? I mean, what even happened back then? No, this is just a frisson of a shadow of a hint of something long dead. We’ve both lived our own lives since then. And even if I was in love with her (which I’m not), she definitely isn’t in love with me, and anyhow, I am not doing this again. Bad things happen when I fall in love.

Rule two progress: No questionable facts believed today, and no cults joined today. Hurrah!

Rule three progress: Off to serve lunch to anyone who needs it today. I’m not changing the world, I get it, but perhaps someone gets a meal today that will keep them going.

Chrissie laid down the glittery pink pen and smiled. Yes. It was all coming along nicely. Rebuilding your life after escaping acult wasn’t easy, but she could do it. She remembered the words of the counsellor she’d seen for the first seven or eight months after she left:progress isn’t always a straight line. She’d definitely had her jagged moments, but right now she couldn’t complain.

She walked the ten minutes to the village square, passing trees as she went. The sun was shining and the leaves were mostly green, but a few were beginning to turn yellow around the edges. Autumn was definitely making its presence felt. She quickly crossed the road before passing the Jam Pot café. She never went in there, preferring the Vine and other cafes.

“Morning,” she said, as she walked into the community café attached to the church. Initially Chrissie had been hesitant to join in any activity that might be connected to the church – in the spirit of questioning everything. At first, she’d been concerned that the friendly reverend might try to entice her into the pews. But Rebecca, the vicar, hadn’t said a word about prayers or hymns or soul-saving. She’d not tried to offer Chrissie any answers. She simply got on with cooking up massive vats of hearty soup and provided a kind ear for the many people in the area who needed one.

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