Page 44 of Rewrite the Stars
‘Caroline texted me to say her big weekend with the girls is coming up soon,’ he says quickly, coming to my rescue. ‘You know the one she takes every six months or so? It normally takes them all a week at least to recover when they head off to – where is it again? Marbella? Long way to go without the children for someone so dedicated, but she deserves a break like the rest of us. We all have to live life how we choose to ourselves, don’t we?’
I have to excuse myself to use the bathroom to avoid the look on Marjorie’s face but, as always, Jack knows how to floor her, hook, line and sinker when she starts. To my relief, by the time I get back his parents are already talking about how they really need to go soon.
‘Chill out for a while,’ Jack says to them. ‘What’s your hurry? I thought you were going to have some lunch?’
Jack Sr rolls his eyes and finishes his pint of beer. ‘God forbid that we’d leave that damn cat for a whole afternoon!’ he says to us, swallowing his drink like he’s swallowing nails. ‘I swear our Tiddles has more say in what we do every day than I do! It’s time I took up golfing again.’
I feel sorry for Jack’s dad a lot of the time. In fact, seeing the two of them together is a gentle reminder of how lucky we are that Jack and I are so compatible. He makes me laugh, he knows when to push me and when to back off, and I still get a rush when I see him every evening when he comes in from work.
Marjorie looks around, trying desperately to get another jibe in before she leaves but she’s struggling as there really isn’t a lot to ridicule around here. The staff are a delight, always greeting us by name and making us so welcome to the community, as are the nearby villagers who have gone way beyond the call of duty to let us know where they are if we need anything. Everyone we met on our short walk down the hill to the pub had a smile and a wave, which is a far cry from the anonymous city life that Marjorie is used to. It’s killing her not to have anything negative to say, I just know it. I’m so glad she is leaving. Truth is, I can’t bloody stand her and never could.
‘Early start tomorrow?’ she says to me as she puts her Burberry clutch bag under her arm. ‘I’m sure the children are much more disciplined at Holy Trinity than they were at St Patrick’s. Much easier on the head after a busy weekend, yeah?’
Boom, she got me after all. Boy, I’m so glad to see her go.
‘She reminds me of the parents at school,’ I tell Jack as we stroll back up the hill towards the cottage over an hour later, our hangover well settled with the hair of the dog. ‘Always looking down on me, always reminding me how I’m not one ofthem. I’m different, I’m working class, I don’t really belong but they’re giving me a chance to try and fit in because of …’
He stops in his tracks.
‘Because of me?’ he says, looking very offended.
‘Yes. Because of you and your family,’ I tell him. ‘They accept me, or tolerate me should I say, because of the fact I’m Doctor Jack Malone’s wife. There’s no way I’d have even got an interview at Holy Trinity had I still been plain old Charlotte Taylor who grew up in Loughisland on a housing estate and you know it, Jack.’
He shakes his head, his forehead creased into a furrow. ‘No, Charlotte, please don’t ever say that!’ he pleads with me. ‘You got the job in Holy Trinity because you were the best candidate for it, not because of anything to do with me or my parents. Don’t think that way, it’s not true.’
I may be a little tipsier than I thought because I can’t stop now. I’m on a roll.
‘I hate it there, Jack,’ I say, falling into his chest now. ‘I totally hate it and I’d give anything to be back in St Patrick’s singing my songs to children who appreciate me, instead of stuck-up little brats who would rather give snide comments on my clothes than show me some respect. I hate it.’
Jack looks like I’ve stabbed him in the heart, but I had to say it. I can’t go on pretending any more, even though it had been his idea I went for the job in the first place and I hate to hurt him. It was a step up the ladder, that’s for sure, but it hasn’t turned out that way for me inside. I want him to tell me it’s not worth all this stress, I want him to tell me to jack it in and be myself, the type of teacher I used to be, the type of person I am deep inside.
‘You’ll—’
‘Don’t say I’ll settle in, because I don’t think I ever will,’ I say to him, hoping for him to support me so badly. ‘I dread every day in that school, you’ve no idea how much I do. I love everything about our life, absolutely everything apart from my job.’
He lifts up my chin and looks into my eyes. ‘And my mother,’ he says with a smile. ‘You couldn’t possibly like her either?’
I manage to laugh through my tears. ‘OK, I’ll admit I’m struggling to like her too, but that’s not a new thing and I can cope with her from a distance.’
He tilts his head to the side and kisses my hair, making me feel better already. It’s moments like this that I’m so glad I have Jack to lean on every day.
‘Come on, let’s go home,’ he says, putting his arm around me. ‘We’ll have a good chat tomorrow when we’re perfectly sober and after we’ve had a nice early night. We’ll make some plans because there’s no way you’re working in a job if you hate it that much. Life’s too short. But in the meantime I have plans for you this evening, Mrs Malone, and I can’t wait to get you home.’
There’s no way you’re working in a job if you hate it that much.
I couldn’t have asked for a better response. Jack knows me, he loves me and he has my back on every decision I make.
I get a whoosh of butterflies in my tummy, longing already to be snuggled up beside him in our kingsize bed with its cool linen sheets and cosy, duck down duvet. So I push the dread of work tomorrow to the back of my mind for now and we stroll up the hill at our leisure, me leaning into him, loving the familiarity of his smell and the feel of his jumper.
I will give it another week in that school, and then I’m making up my mind once and for all. Jack’s right – life’s way too short for feeling this sickness in the pit of my stomach every Sunday evening and I don’t need to keep going through this hell.
‘Are you sure there’s nothing else bothering you?’ he asks me as he turns the key in the front door. ‘You would tell me if there was, wouldn’t you Charlotte?’
‘Of course, I would,’ I tell him honestly. ‘It’s just the job. I’ll give it one more week and we can talk about it then.’
It’s just the job.
Isn’t it? Yes, of course it is, I convince myself, but deep in my heart I’ve an awful inkling that things mightn’t be as secure in my life as they seem on the outside. I don’t like this feeling at all. It’s like a gut-wrenching anxiety that when things seem too good to be true, they probably are.
