Page 89 of Sex Ed

‘She has. When she came to your flat and I had lunch and was just leaving…’

‘I’m not dating Mia!’ I shriek.

Mum looks into the air for a moment trying to figure everything out. ‘Then who are you dating?’

‘Her name is Caitlin. She’s a Maths teacher at my school.’

‘Caitlin? But you always talk about Mia,’ she tells me.

‘What?’

‘You do. It’s always an anecdote about Mia. Oh, she did the funniest thing the other day… She helped me do this… She’s vegetarian, you know…’ she says, mimicking a voice that I think might be mine.

‘I do not,’ I reply indignantly.

‘Eddie, I know more about Mia than I do most people. I figured it was just a matter of time before you worked out you might like her.’

I pick up a nail and bang it into the wood with perhaps a little too much gusto. Maybe it’s at the mention of that name because the problem is I haven’t heard or seen from Mia in almost a week. This happens. Usually over the summer when she goes off to a Spanish island to kill her liver and dance on beaches in the middle of the night, but never during the school term when something as important as a suspension has happened. She hasn’t returned my messages, emails or voice notes. I am also at a tricky impasse where I know Caitlin isn’t keen on her so I’m doing all my messaging in secret, which doesn’t sit well with me.

‘Something I said?’ Mum asks, as I continue to hammer nails into the wood.

‘I’m not dating Mia. If anything, Mia seems to be avoiding me at the moment.’

‘Why? Is it because you’re dating Caitlin?’ she asks, sensing the hurt in my voice.

‘No. Well, I don’t think so. She also got suspended from school and she’s been laying low since.’

Mum pulls a face. ‘Suspended?’

‘Yeah. Caitlin heard it was because of some GDPR issue where she gave someone’s address out to a parent. Just a simple mistake. I’ve tried to get in touch to see how she is. Went round to hers but she wasn’t in. Or not answering the door. It’s just frustrating,’ I remark, because it is hugely frustrating to worry about her when she doesn’t even want to acknowledge me.

‘Or maybe she doesn’t like the Caitlin thing and she’s ignoring you,’ Mum comments.

I think for a second at how she turned up at my flat that night, drunk, warning me off her. Is there something here that I’m missing?

‘She’s just Mia. I guess she needs some time alone to understand her mistake. I bloody hope she hasn’t used it as a chance to go on holiday. I just thought she’d…’

‘Need you…?’ she tells me, putting a hand to mine, reminding me not to take my feelings out on the trellis.

Mum has a point. I’ve never quite understood my friendship with Mia but for all our differences, I always thought that in a difficult moment like this, she would know that I am here for her. She can come to me, and I will listen and help or bake her something vegetarian with lots of cheese. I hold her in that much esteem, I’d even use feta. In return, even though it’s only been a week, I’ll admit to missing her. I want to chat to her about Caitlin, I want to tell her that I managed to get one of my Year 8 classes to actually shut up and do some work the other day, I still look out for her clambering on the bus, chatting to the bus driver while she digs around for her Oyster card that I’ve always told her she should keep in the same pocket in her bag.

Mum watches me thinking these things through quietly, helping me stand the trellis upright on her lawn. ‘So, tell me about this Caitlin then?’ she asks, sipping noisily on her glass of lemonade, out of the same chipped glassware she’s had since I lived in this house.

‘She’s about five foot seven, blonde, slim.’

‘Am I a policewoman asking for a witness statement? I’ll need more than that.’

I smile. ‘She teaches Maths, we’re into the same things – noodles, books, houseplants…’

‘Is she funny?’

‘Is that important?’

‘Well, life is a strange old beast. It’s nice to have someone to share some lightness with.’

‘She reads Atwood.’

‘Known for her laugh-out-loud humour…’

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