Page 23 of Still Falling for You

The line is dead.

I plough on. ‘I was cheated on by a boyfriend who liked to have needles stuck into his buttocks. He liked to polish his very small and disgustingly greasy…’ I pause there for effect before I continue. ‘…car every Saturday so that all the neighbours noticed it. He would sit in it for hours because he couldn’tafford to fuel it.’

Still nothing.

‘He made me move out into a tiny studio where I suspect at some point somebody tried to hide a cadaver under the bathroom floor.’ I hear a small giggle.

‘And my neighbours like to do it at two o’clock in the morning while one of them is neighing like a horse.’ She chuckles. It’s almost like a sigh of relief.

I top it up. ‘I’m so poor that I have less than ten quid in my bank account and have no food in my fridge. My ECT mentor, who is also my first-ever boyfriend, just tipped the only food I had onto the floor, his tie and his shirt. I, being the nice person here, tried to wash it for him. I made him strip to the waist and actually managed to ruin his shirt forever. Who knows, he might still be stuck there. Crying and topless.’ She’s fully laughing now. ‘Better?’

‘You did not?’ she questions with disbelief. I have to admit it does sound far-fetched.

I look up at a sliding sound and just see the door to my class closing like somebody was about to enter but changed their mind. I hope that whoever it was didn’t hear me.

‘You’re stronger than I think you are sometimes. I just hate adding extra stress to your shoulders, Holly. You’ve had so much going on recently and my problems seem so petty next to yours.’

I swat my hand before I’m reminded she can’t see me. ‘Don’t be silly. What do you need? I’m here for you.’

‘I’m feeling a bit swamped lately. Gabby hasn’t been sleeping, and Richard has been working late. When he comes home, he’s tired, we both are, but sometimes I just feel alone in this parenthood thing. You know me. I’m logical and analytical, I don’t get overwhelmed that easily, but I have a conference today. I’ve slept three hours, and our babysitter pulled out last minute because she’s got the flu. And Lydia has a date.’

There are unshed tears in her voice. She’s so strong, but parenting is hard, and whoever says it’s not is an idiot.

‘I’m free. Besides, I have so much marking to do, I’d rather do it at your house where it’s warmer and doesn’t smell of mould.’

‘I’ve got a fridge full of food and you’re welcome to anything in it. Even the Strings & Things Yollies and you know how obsessed Gabby is with them,’ she offers happily. ‘You are the best, and if any idiot tells you otherwise, you send them to hell, or better, to Lydia.’

My brain rewinds to what she said about Lydia.

‘Lydia’s got a date?’

‘Some guy from work. Ted, I think.’

‘NotTed TalkTed?’ I ask incredulously. That guy cannot stop engaging people in intellectual one-sided conversations. Lydia called it a disease. She must know what she’s doing. ‘Anyway. What time do you want me at your place? I can swing by straight after I have a shower and get changed.’

After the call, the morning proceeds without any hiccups. Apart from my terrible lower comprehension set that I dread every week. They’re just a bit too rambunctious and unfocused. Despite all the positive reinforcement I’ve been putting into building a relationship with them, I can’t get through to them.

I expressed this to Alex at the last meeting, but I still almost choke when I catch him quietly slipping to the back of the classroom when the kids start streaming through.

Out of all the days, he had to choose today to observe me. I can’t stop myself from feeling satisfaction when I notice he’s wearing what looks like a borrowed blue polo shirt. It’s a bit tight on him, and I can tell from here it must be itchy as hell.

He doesn’t acknowledge me, his expression indecipherable and unapproachable as always. However, when a few pupils wave at him, his demeanour changes completely. He’s obviously popular with the children. He even asks Kyle about his hamstercalled Kevin. Why didn’t I know that Kyle had a hamster called Kevin?

‘OK, settle down, class,’ I call out in what I hope is my best authoritative voice. I reward a few pupils for being ready and ask everyone to put their names and dates down on the recap sheets in front of them. Alex scribbles something down. There hasn’t been any time to get anything wrong, or has there? My stomach feels scraped out like a hollow tree trunk, but I’m not sure whether this feeling is connected to the lack of food in it or the dread caused by Alex’s presence.

‘Before you start with the recap, can anybody tell me what literary genres we learnt last week?’ There’s a moment of silence when not a single person raises their hand, the fear of all teachers during an observation.

Alex is about to speak, probably to jump in with something spiteful, when I start re-enacting Harry Potter brandishing a wand with dramatic swings. When there’s only confusion in my pupils’ eyes, I channel my inner Hagrid, and in a very bad West Country accent, I holler, ‘Yer a wizard, Harry.’

The class erupts into laughter, and a good half of the class start shouting outfantasy. For somebody so sombre and serious, I’ve always been a comedian in the classroom.

I motion with my hand for everyone to settle down and mimic putting my hand up. Most of the hands shoot up, ready to answer. I do a little victory dance at my success which makes everyone giggle.

‘Evie.’ I point at a girl with black pigtails and dark grey eyes. She’s always very quiet, and I have the feeling she needs a bit of confidence-boosting.

‘Fantasy,’ she mumbles, and I immediately peel a star from my reward sticker chart and stick it onto her hand.

‘Ten points to Gryffindor.’

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