School Run (13 page)

Evie felt a flicker of sympathy for the young woman. It couldn’t be easy coping with those two – they’d be a challenge for the most experienced mother. ‘Don’t blame your au pair. She’s doing her best.’ She glanced into the rear-view mirror.

Josh was looking at his shoes, downcast. ‘I don’t mean to sound harsh,’ she said, more gently, ‘but you need to learn to take responsibility for yourself. You all do. It’s part of being grown-up.’

‘But you’re always saying we’re
not
grown-up yet,’ retorted Natalie.

‘You are when it suits you, young lady. You keep telling me you’re grown-up enough to sit for hours on the computer without me checking what you’re up to. And you think you’re grown-up enough to go to that party on Friday even though it’s in a bar.’

‘Well, I am.’

‘Your father and I disagree.’

‘I’ll ask Mum.’

‘Do. If she rings.’

She shouldn’t have said that. Rachel hadn’t called that week, and every time the phone rang one of the girls had rushed to it, hoping it was their mother.

They drove on in silence. ‘I’m sure your mother will ring tonight,’ said Evie, as a conciliatory gesture.

‘Shut up,’ said Leonora tersely.

‘Don’t be so rude.’

‘Then don’t be rude about Mum not ringing.’

‘I wasn’t.’

But she had been, thought Evie, miserably. She had descended to their level while a good step-mother would have seen it from their point of view and made allowances for a pair of teenage kids who were not just going through the usual hormonal angst but also had to cope with their mother flitting from one man to the next.

She pulled over. ‘Hop out here, everyone. Quickly – I’m blocking someone in. ’Bye. Have a good day. And, girls?’

The twins glared at her from the pavement.

‘What?’ said Natalie sullenly.

Evie swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You will be,’ said Leonora, tucking her arm into her sister’s. ‘Come on, Nattie. Let’s go to school. At least people are nice there.’

Evie dropped off Jack at nursery and made her way to work, feeling wretched. She hadn’t meant to be bitchy about Rachel but the girls were impossible.

Bulmer, of course, was already waiting for her in the meeting room. It was furnished, according to minimalist taste, with just a pale beech table and eight chairs at the sides with a ninth at the top that he was sitting in. Janine was with him (how did she do it, considering she had kids too?), leafing through some papers.

‘Ah, Evie.’ Bulmer glanced at his watch, although Evie knew she was five minutes early. It wasn’t her fault if Janine and he chose to get there even earlier. Janine looked immaculate in a crisp white shirt that made her look both feminine and professional. Bulmer, on the other hand, was displaying his usual poor taste: today, his shirt was dark plum with a yellow spotted tie. His waist bulged out of his expensive suit and his hair – what was left of it – was either greasy or over-waxed. Evie often wondered how old he was. Forty, maybe, forty-five. But she had to admit he was good at his job. Bulmer had a reputation for getting the most out of magazines – and for being ruthless in achieving his aims. Evie knew at least two editors who had been told to clear their desks at an hour’s notice. Well, she wasn’t going to be another.

She settled herself in the chair opposite Janine, then poured a glass of sparkling water from the bottle on the table and got out her notes. At conference, she and Janine discussed the features they hoped to put into the next issue. They worked eight weeks in advance, like most magazines, which meant it was tricky to be both time-sensitive and up-to-date.

‘I thought we could do something on the new report that says over eighty per cent of women are happier after divorce or separation compared with fifty-two per cent of men,’ said Evie.

‘Actually, Evie, it’s fifty-three per cent,’ said Janine, smoothly. ‘We were discussing that while we waited for you.’

‘Yes.’ Bulmer narrowed his eyes – Evie couldn’t help wondering how any woman could bear to go to bed with that mass of blubber. He had nothing – absolutely nothing – going for him, apart from his salary.

‘By the time we come out, the tabloids will have done it to death,’ Bulmer went on. ‘It would be much cleverer to pursue Janine’s idea of turning it round and seeing what the children feel. Are
they
happier after their parents’ divorce?’

‘We could interview five families, representing different socio-economic groups,’ said Janine.

Evie listened while she outlined the feature idea. She had to admit it was a good one. Blast. She should have considered the timing herself but that row with the kids in the car had blunted her thinking.

‘Right,’ said Bulmer, tapping his pen impatiently on the table. ‘What else have you got for me?’

‘Something on why women are so disorganised and why men can’t find things,’ said Evie.

Janine laughed brittly. ‘Had a bad morning, Evie?’

Bulmer frowned. ‘Rather sexist, isn’t it?’

‘Not really.’ Evie tried to marshal her thoughts but they wouldn’t get into line. ‘Some men need a map to get to the linen cupboard.’ She paused, waiting for a laugh. None came.

‘I’m the organised one in our house,’ said Bulmer. ‘What else have you got?’

Evie ran through her ideas, followed by Janine. Bulmer picked up on some, played with them and tossed them out. After an hour or so, the editors from Practicals, Cookery and Health came in. Finally, when it was well past lunchtime, they had completed the flatplan for the October issue.

‘Right, everyone.’ Bulmer looked round the table. ‘Thanks for your input. I’ll be e-mailing you all shortly to confirm what we’ve agreed. Evie, can you stay behind for a bit?’

Great. She was starving and desperate for the loo – had been for the last hour. She hoped he wasn’t going to ask her for lunch to go over ideas for the Special – the name given to specialised editions of the magazine that ran alongside the regular monthly ones. The next – focusing on family issues – was due out in January. Evie hadn’t yet pulled her thoughts together on it.

He waited until the room was empty. ‘Thank you for your time, Evie.’

A chill flitted through her. Bulmer was at his most dangerous when he was polite. Again, he narrowed his eyes. Just like Shere Khan, thought Evie. Jack adored Jungle Book which they were reading together, in picture book format, at bedtime.

‘I have to say, Evie, that I wasn’t impressed by your ideas today, or the ones you came up with last month or the month before that. Circulation figures are continuing to drop, and if we don’t do something about it all our futures will be at stake.’

‘But—’ began Evie.

‘Please let me finish.’ Bulmer was drumming his stubby fingers on the table alongside the ring he had made with his glass of water. ‘I want a proposal from you by Friday on how to turn this magazine round. If it doesn’t sing, your head is on the block. Right?’

Evie nodded numbly. OK, so she hadn’t been performing in the way she used to before Jack – and before she’d met Robin. But that was because she had other things in her life now. Not that she could tell Bulmer that.

Her head on the block?

Evie shivered as she gathered up her papers.

Two of them unemployed was too unbearable to think about.

12

KITTY

Bernard Havers, acting head of St Theresa’s senior school, looked annoyed. ‘Would someone please turn off the television? We haven’t finished yet. Now, does anyone have any more questions about the Ofsted visit?’

He glanced round the staffroom, his forehead creased with anxiety. He looked a wreck, thought Kitty, and it wasn’t surprising. Until today’s staff meeting (postponed from yesterday), she hadn’t known how many problems the school had and she wondered if the parents were aware of the situation. Bernard had informed them that a group of sixteen-year-olds had been caught smoking cannabis in the playground. They had received a warning but if it happened again they would be suspended. In the meantime no one was to mention this to anyone outside the staffroom in case the school’s already doubtful reputation was damaged.

Kitty put up her hand. ‘Yes?’ said Bernard. She could see he was struggling to remember her name even though she had been there for nearly a year. Staff didn’t last long at St Theresa’s, which was why Bernard was currently ‘acting’ head. The actual head was recovering from a nervous breakdown, reputed to have been caused by pressure of paperwork and pupil behaviour.

‘I just wondered,’ said Kitty, nervously, feeling the eyes of all her colleagues on her, ‘why St Theresa’s doesn’t have a policy of excluding pupils immediately when they’ve taken drugs.’

There was a murmur, with some people nodding and others shaking their heads. ‘Since you are relatively new, Miss Hayling, you may not know that this is an issue we have discussed several times. However, the governors feel that in a mixed area such as this, children should be given a second chance to mend their ways. Any more questions?’

Kitty would have liked to ask if this was a matter they should keep from the Ofsted inspector on Thursday but suspected it was. Like most of the other teachers, she couldn’t help feeling apprehensive about the visit.

‘Well done,’ said Susy Hughes, as they made their way out of the staffroom to their respective classrooms. ‘I’ve been fighting for instant expulsion for ages. I’ve got three girls of my own and there’s zero tolerance in our house.’

Kitty liked Susy Hughes, who seemed to embody everything she had hoped to be: a good teacher with a balanced family life.

‘How did your date go last night?’

Kitty had forgotten she had told Susy – and she wouldn’t have if Susy hadn’t seen her changing in the ladies’ after school before she had received the call from Mark saying it was off.

‘He blew me out,’ she said airily. ‘Made up some excuse about a meeting.’

Susy’s eyes looked sympathetic. ‘He
might
have had a meeting.’

‘Somehow I don’t think so. Anyway, I’m not bothered. He wasn’t my type.’

‘Why don’t you go on one of these dating evenings that are advertised everywhere?’ said Susy, as they walked down the corridor.

‘I’m not that desperate.’

‘I don’t mean speed-dating. I’m talking about those upmarket dinner parties for professionals. I think Vivienne Price – you know her, she teaches IT – is going to one tomorrow. I heard her talking about it. Do you want me to ask her?’

‘No, thanks,’ said Kitty hastily. ‘I’ve got loads of marking to do and, really, I don’t want to meet a stranger.’

‘All men are strangers until you get to know them. Sometimes they become strangers after you marry them.’

Kitty looked at her carefully. ‘Really?’

‘Not that you need to worry about that at the moment. But give the idea some thought – occasionally we all need a helping hand.’

‘I will,’ promised Kitty. ‘Thanks.’ She popped into the loo to get away.

Why, she thought, as she rinsed her hands in the basin (no soap again) couldn’t she find anyone nice? She looked at herself in the mirror. A reasonably pretty – if ordinary – girl stared back, with shoulder-length curly hair, a splash of freckles, and brown eyes. She smiled. That was better. She looked more approachable now.

Mandy’s call yesterday had reminded her of how far adrift her life plan had gone. When they’d been at school, she and Mandy had had their lives mapped out. Mandy was going to be a scientist and Kitty was going to teach before they had families. They were going to have done both before they were thirty so they would have plenty of time after the children had left home to do other things like exploring the Himalayas.

Mandy had stuck to her life plan although she’d had Tom a week before her thirtieth birthday, which was later than she’d hoped. As for Kitty, she’d managed the teaching bit but there was no prospect of a boyfriend, let alone a husband, she thought. She’d been out with a few boys at university but had failed to find anyone who matched up to Alex. Although she wouldn’t admit it to Mandy, that was one reason why she had taken the plunge and moved to London this year. It would surely, she reasoned, broaden her scope for a social life. But, so far, it had been a dismal failure. She hardly knew any of her neighbours in the block where she rented her flat, and if she’d hoped for a social life via St Theresa’s she was disappointed.

‘There might still be Mark,’ she told herself. He had sounded genuinely regretful about cancelling their date. She’d met him last week at a party held by a university friend. He was a financial adviser, which hadn’t struck a chord, but perhaps Mandy was right about her being too picky.
If
he rang again.

As for their ‘bet’, it was ridiculous. A serious boyfriend in a week indeed! How crazy was that?

Kitty glanced at her watch. She’d better hurry or she’d be late for her next lesson.

‘Bruce, I told you before. I don’t want you sitting by the window. Come here. That’s right. The front row.’ Kitty waited while Bruce stood up sulkily and carried his books to the table she had indicated. ‘Now you can get on with the essay that everyone else is writing.’