Page 61 of Sex Ed

Beth offers me another sweet and twists around to eyeball the kids who’ve started rapping some grime tune with questionable lyrics. ‘But surely you should train men up for yourself? Not to pass them on to someone else?’ she asks.

‘Please. I will take great pleasure in passing him on. Ed irons his pants. I’ve never envisioned a man like that as part of my future.’

Beth smirks. ‘Then who is part of your future?’

‘Who knows? But he’ll be more spontaneous, chill… He won’t be obsessed with weather apps and office stationery.’ Beth continues to smile broadly in her seat. ‘Why are you smirking?’

‘Nothing. This feels like a very charitable endeavour. I am impressed.’

I grin to acknowledge she’s seen the good in what I’m doing. ‘You know, I was thinking this the other day. I am telling him tricks and secrets that all men should know. Someone needs to write a book about these things. This shouldn’t be my job.’

‘But isn’t that the job of time? The more people you date? The sum of our experiences?’

I can’t say that for Ed, there’s been no one to do that. I’m doing the job of at least four different past girlfriends at this point. ‘Well, that depends on the quality of the girlfriend, no? I’ve dated men who’ve passed on nothing to me except a common cold.’

Beth giggles in her seat. She’s been with the same man for a while now and has super cute little babies whose names all begin with J. She’s constantly tired but there’s a peace about her that makes me think that’s what I want when I’m older. ‘Just as long as you know what you’re doing, Mia. I like both of you too much to have to pick a side if it all goes wrong.’

I know she’s thinking of Julia and Graham (Biology and Physics) who were going out for three years and then broke up and used to have raging fights over their shared Dalmatian. We had to sit them on separate sides of the staffroom.

‘It’ll be fine,’ I explain.

‘So, when he moves on to Caitlin from Maths, what about you? Are you dating? Is there anyone on the horizon?’

I get my phone out to show her someone on Tinder.

‘I chat to this fella occasionally. His name is Scott. He teaches in a private school in Surrey, so things in common, and he has abs. Look at the abs.’

Beth raises her eyebrows to look at him on my screen. Scott is a distraction, someone I’ve not met in the flesh, but praise be, the man knows how to sext and I’ve spent many an evening with my hand in my knickers having long-drawn-out conversations with him.

‘He’s a bit of a specimen,’ she notes.

‘He’s got pants on in this pic, Beth. You should see the selfies where he’s got his package out. He’s certainly more my type. We shall see what happens…’

Beth continues to quietly laugh in her seat. I hear the Year 7s still singing in the back of the bus and pop my head into the aisle.

‘YEAR 7, that is not appropriate for a school trip!’ I yell. The lad with the lunchbox looks petrified.

‘Then what is appropriate, Miss?’ one lad asks me.

‘Something where I’m not hearing women being referred to as “bitches”.’ The children giggle to hear the word come out of my mouth. ‘Taylor Swift is acceptable,’ I say, thinking how proud Ed would be to hear me recommend her.

The bus leans around the corner as we drive up to the school and I see a crowd of parents waiting to pick up their darling little ones. This pain is finally over. We are hoping that the kids will at least have remembered something from today but most likely, it’ll be the fact that Nathan with the giant puffer coat does farts that could kill small animals. As the coach stops, the children all stand up.

‘PLEASE REMEMBER ALL YOUR BELONGINGS AND YOUR RUBBISH!’ Beth shrieks. We watch them file off the bus to murmurs of, ‘Bye, Miss… Thank you, Miss,’ and Beth exhales, a sighed groan which tells me wine will be part of her Thursday evening.

‘You teachers are bloody saints,’ the bus driver tells us as we disembark. Beth stops to talk to him while I get off the bus and look into the early evening night air.

‘Mia?’ a voice calls out from behind me.

It’s a strange thing. I know the voice, but I don’t know why it’s here. It doesn’t belong here. I turn around.

‘Rachel?’

She doesn’t utter a word but stands there looking at me silently, the colour drained from her face, her eyes bloodshot and sore. I don’t quite know what to do so I pull her into me and hug her tightly.

‘I’m sorry about the coffee. It’s all we have. Budget cuts,’ I say, as I hand Rachel a mug, having found a sofa in a quiet room away from the hustle and bustle of the school closing down for the day. She does not look well, so given what happened to our mum, I can’t help but jump to the conclusion that she must be ill. What other reason could she have to be here? She’s never come to see me in my workplace before. Her hand shakes and I reach down to steady it.

‘Where are the kids? Are they OK?’

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