Page 12 of When We Were Young

‘Fine,’ I mutter and leave before I say something I’ll regret.

Back in the office, Kay is draping her jacket on the back of her chair. She grimaces at the sight of my face. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Whiplash is a pain in the neck,’ I joke, but her concerned look cuts right through it.

‘What happened?’

I tell her Liv distracted me by fiddling with the car stereo, that I took my eye off the road. It’s not exactly true, but it’s what I’ve been telling people.

The doorbell chimes. I go to turn my head but stop short with a yelp.

Kay looks over the counter separating our little office from the reception area. ‘It’s your boyfriend,’ she says with a wink.

I rotate the whole chair around on its wheels to see Florence Harding’s dad waiting at the glass door. I groan and buzz him in. Since Kay found out he’s divorced, she’s been trying to set us up. I’ve told her I’m not interested, but she won’t listen.

‘I’ll go – you look horrendous,’ she says, standing, but I get to the counter before her, to prove how uninterested I am.

‘Morning,’ I say, brightly.

‘Oh my God, what happened to your face?’ he blurts.

‘Oh – I was in a minor car accident. It looks worse than it feels.’

‘Sorry. How rude am I? It doesn’t look that bad. You hardly even notice it.’ He stops jabbering and takes a breath. ‘Apparently, I’m supposed to hand in this form about the maths workshop.’

‘I can take that for you.’

‘Great. Well, I hope you’re okay. Get well soon.’ He flashes an awkward smile and ducks out.

Kay sighs as the door swings shut behind him. ‘He’ll never ask you out now. He probably thinks you’re a cage fighter.’

‘Ha. He’d never ask me out anyway.’

‘Why do you think he comes in here every Friday afternoon?’

I place his form in my in-tray. ‘To pick his daughter up from her guitar lesson.’

‘Why do you think he gets here fifteen minutesearlyevery Friday afternoon?’

I stifle a smile as I sit back at my desk. ‘Because he’s punctual?’

‘Because he fancies you.’

‘Rubbish.’

After lunch, a boy from Year One is brought to the office looking peaky. Before I have time to call his mum, he projectile-vomits up the filing cabinet and it takes half an hour to clean up the mess.

The rest of the day drags. I stare out of the window. A gust of wind whips up a crisp packet and carries it across the playground. I used to love watching Liv playing out there when she was little. I took this job so I could spend the school holidays with her, but seeing her from my desk, knowing she was safe, was the best part. Christ knows why I’m still here, Liv left for secondary school four years ago.

I’ve been doodling teardrop shapes all over the page of my notebook. Large ones, small ones, some with scalloped edges, others filled with ever-decreasing duplicates. A nagging feeling tugs at my attention, then I remember. Cold dread washes over me. My limbs are heavy, weighing me down, and I fight to suppress the sob rising in my throat.

I know what to do. This used to happen all the time.Breathe, just breathe. I drag myself up and somehow make it to the ladies’ loo. Locking myself in a cubicle, I sit and cover my face with my hands, but in the darkness his face emerges, and it’s excruciating. I count my breaths like they taught us in yoga class. When I reach a hundred, the panic fades, but I count to a hundred again to be sure. As I open the door, Iglimpse the woman in the mirror and wonder if she has the strength to do this again.

Thursday is parents’ evening – my least favourite day of the year. I sound like a broken record sayingHello, what class are you here for?every five minutes. My voice was chirpy earlier this afternoon, but it’s becoming more of a squawk as the evening wears on.

Figures gather at the glass door. Florence Harding’s dad is among them with his ex. He holds the door open for a group of parents while his ex comes over to check in. She doesn’t make eye contact the whole time we speak and strides off to greet a friend without saying ‘thank you’.

Mr Harding hangs back until everyone is signed in, then clears his throat and steps forward. ‘Hi.’

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