Page 16 of A Midlife Marriage

‘I know.’ There was a ripple of irritation in her voice. Tomasz had grown up on a farm and all through this process, she had ceded to his superior knowledge. It was just that, sometimes his superior knowledge was irritating. She knew vegetables didn’t keep, of course she did.

‘Dinner at six?’ he said as he wiped his hands on a tea towel. ‘And I’ll see if I can turn the Aga down, OK?’

‘Perfect. I’ll get changed.’ But she wasn’t even slightly hungry, and grabbing her bag from the hall, she hurried up the stairs, aiming for the coolness of the bedroom, as far away as she could get from the heat of the kitchen.

13

As Kay walked along the narrow corridor that led to the school staffroom, a walk she had done thousands of times, the eyes of hundreds of children watched her. From the fresh faces of year sixes, all shiny hair and rounded cheeks, to the long limbs and awkward smiles of year elevens, all of them forever young behind the functional glass photo frames that held them. Because to walk from the potted fern that marked the beginning of the corridor, to the faded notice stuck to the staffroom door:Staff only,was to pass through a permanent exhibition in the fleeting nature of time.

It wasn’t that she’d failed to notice, more that it hadn’t always had the effect it had now. As a newly qualified teacher, rushing in for a swift coffee break, arms full of papers, she’d looked at the photos without seeing them. She’d been so young herself and was yet to experience the swift cycle of the school years once, let alone twice, let alone thirty years’ worth. But it didn’t take long. Five years in and the air would stick in her throat, as she realised the laughing face of an eleven-year-old she was looking at, had morphed into the sullen, scowl of a fifteen-year-old. And then there were the years that the walk had been almost impassable- the year she’d had to take Alex out of mainstream education, the lonely years after her marriage broke down, the first weeks of her cancer diagnosis, episodes when what she had thought was the solid reality of her life, had proven to be glass after all, shattering as easy as a bauble. Those times, she had kept her head down. What else could she do?

As she stopped in front of the year-eight photograph, her own class, her last class, she put her hand to her mouth.

‘You haven’t aged a bit,’ Craig said kindly. ‘I’ve got one of these at home and you look exactly the same.’

‘Don’t …’ she started and waved her hand. This was ridiculous! If she could no longer walk this corridor without crumbling under the weight of nostalgia, it was time to move on. The thought was as unexpected as it was welcome, like a door opened to let in a cool breeze. She blinked her eyes dry and turned to Craig. ‘Are you ready?’ Yes, maybe it really was time.

‘It’s very quiet,’ Craig whispered as he looked at the closed door ahead. ‘Doesn’t sound much like a party.’

‘It’ll be a few paper cups of warm white wine and some Pringles,’ Kay whispered back. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘I don’t care.’ He grinned. ‘I just want to see the staffroom’.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let’s do it!’ And she pushed the door open.

The wall of noise that hit her was physical. It had her gripping the door handle, as her jaw went slack and her mind, for a brief extraordinary moment, was wiped clean with astonishment. Never, she thought (when sense returned), had she seen so many people, packed into such a small space. From the entrance to the wall opposite, the staffroom was a sea of smiling faces. All of whom she recognised. Nick, her headmaster, a head taller than anyone else, stood right at the front, his arm raised high in a welcome salute, a paper cup in his hand. There was Emma the school secretary, and Michael and Suzanne from the board of governors who had been such asupport to her through the difficult months of Zach’s mother’s complaint. And Wendy and Marion from the canteen, and, Oh! Kay covered her mouth. Not just Wendy and Marion,allthe girls from the canteen were here. And over to the side, Joanna the scattiest funniest drama teacher, who’d moved schools years ago, and Dan, who she had mentored in his very first term, who had also left years ago. The room was a montage of her teaching career, from the very beginning to the very end. Colleagues who had retired themselves, colleagues who had only started at the school this last year. All of them gathered here, for her. Just for her? With her hand still at her mouth, she shook her head, only a tangible force of goodwill and good wishes keeping her upright. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she whispered and because she couldn’t say anything else, ‘I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it.’ She felt her cheeks warm. This party,herparty, had been planned, had been discussed and organised. People had gone out of their way, used up their own precious time, contacting and arranging and discussing. Forher.

Nick stepped forward. He had a second paper cup in his hand now, which he handed to her.

‘How did you find …’ But again, words failed. She took the cup. Nick had only been at the school for five years. How did he know about Joanna? Dan too had left before he’d even started.

‘Someone helped me with the names,’ he said, as if he had read her mind. ‘Would you like to meet her?’

‘Her?’

‘The person who helped me find everyone.’

‘Yes …I …’ Kay frowned. She felt utterly confused, reeling with a shock that was softening to delight.

‘Here she is.’

And suddenly the crowd parted like a biblical sea to reveal a tiny woman, leaning on a walking frame. She was dressed in a smart blue cardigan and tweed trousers, her hands splatteredwith dark liver spots. Her back was rounded as a question mark and, when she lifted her chin, her head shook, but her eyes were stars of intelligence. Exactly as Kay had remembered them. ‘Lizzie!’ she gasped.

Elizabeth Parsons, her first (and best) headmaster, stretched a hand forward. ‘Kay.’

The tears started again, swifter than ever, unstoppable. ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ she gasped.

Lizzie laughed. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Kay. You were always my favourite teacher.’

‘And you were always my favourite head.’ Looking at Nick, she mouthed, ‘No offence.’

He held his hand up. ‘None taken.’

‘And to think you were just going to sneak off, love.’

At the sound of her father’s voice, Kay turned. There he was, with his own paper cup, dressed in his navy suit, wearing a white shirt and a patterned tie. And the sight of him, so smart, cracked open a vault in her mind shining light upon the only words of poetry she’d ever managed to commit to her mathematical mind:Joy and woe are woven fine.Because the last time she’d seen her father in his suit was at her mother’s funeral, nearly a year ago now. Blake’s words rolled past, the truth of them echoing on. Life was varied, its light and shade as unpredictable as it was unavoidable.

‘I’m glad I didn’t,’ she said as she turned and beamed at all the faces in the room, beaming back at her. ‘I’m so glad I didn’t.’

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