The Learning Curve (27 page)

Then she had a bath.

She slipped off her underwear and pointed her toes daintily into the water. Her eyes closed blissfully. She sank in, relishing the nearly painful heat as it spread up her body.

She rested her head back and floated in the bubbles. She smiled. In just two hours, her favourite pupils for years were going to take a massive leap towards the adults they would one day become, and she would be watching from the wings. Tonight they would find confidence and faith in themselves. Tonight she would see their parents glow with pride. Tonight –

She balked. She sat up so quickly that water splashed on to the floor.

‘Great futting scum,’ she whispered.

Oscar was playing Ali G. Oscar’s father would be in the audience. Tonight she would have to face Mark Samuels again.

She washed quickly and got out of the bath, splashing more water on to the floor, picked up her tea and returned to her wardrobe, where she took out a dress that went in and out exactly where dresses were meant to. She took out a pair of shoes that provided something for all; comfort for the wearer; pleasure for the voyeur; a week’s mortgage payment for the designer. Then she prayed to the Goddess of Make-Up and began work on her face. The Goddess chose to be
kind to her and lo, when it was done she looked fab. And finally, she geared herself up to the task of doing her hair with a determination she’d never felt before. In fact, she was so determined that she knew she’d succeed. Half an hour later, thick, glossy curls accentuated the heart-shape frame of her face and her upper arms ached from the exercise.

An hour later, she was back at school. She walked straight to the corridor behind the stage where the children’s changing rooms were, her dress silkily skimming her knees. She scanned the furthest section where her class was meant to be. No one was here yet. She wondered when they would start coming. Several of the Reception children were already here, dressed in biblical garb, their excitement causing all sorts of bodily functions to go awry. Feeling not dissimilar, she turned to go to the Ladies and give her make-up a final check. She had a feeling one or two of her eyelashes weren’t giving their all.

She walked down the darkened corridor towards the toilet. It was only after she had finished appraising her reflection that she heard a murmur followed by some giggling. She walked out of the Ladies hoping to tiptoe back unnoticed but found herself staring squarely at the door of the Gents when it was flung wide open and there stood Rob and Amanda, Rob squeezing Amanda’s waist. She forced a quick, wide grin and then turned and walked on.

‘Aren’t you going to say hello?’ asked Amanda brightly after her.

Nicky turned back to them quickly enough to catch Rob eyeing her rear view.

‘Hello!’ she said, just as brightly as Amanda.

‘We were just –’ started Rob, following her.

‘We were just,
you know
. . .’ giggled Amanda, following him.

‘So, how are you anyway?’ asked Rob.

Nicky turned round at them and beamed. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said.

They all walked together to the changing rooms, Nicky wondering if it was a good or bad sign that she wanted to punch Rob as much as she wanted to punch Amanda.

Back at the changing rooms an entire dwarf-sized nativity tableau had arrived and Nicky’s heart expanded at the sight of so many cutie-pies. Mary was edible, especially when she held the baby Jesus by his left foot. One of the donkey’s mothers had made his costume to match Eeyore and Joseph’s obligatory tea-towel had cricket rules on it. She wanted to scoop them all up in her arms and hug them till their freckles fell off.

Then she almost shrieked with delight when she saw the back of Oscar’s head. She called out across the changing room and ran towards him. He turned round, his face radiating so much happiness it almost warmed the entire room. He was dressed like Ali G, complete with tight hat and big gold rings. ‘Yo,’ he said, and then snorted hysterically.

‘Dad’s in the audience,’ he announced in his normal voice.

‘Well of course!’ she replied.

‘It’s the first time he’s ever come,’ he announced again.

She managed not to repeat herself.

‘He wants to see you tonight,’ continued Oscar.

Nicky bit her lip. ‘Oh,’ she managed. ‘Does he?’

‘Yes. He has to tell you something. About meeting Miss James.’

Nicky’s blood chilled. She managed to nod. Then she stood up and looked round to see if the rest of her children were here. As she did so, she spotted Amanda leading Rob out by the hand. He turned his head just before he was out of sight and she looked away quickly. She had more important things to think about. Like the fact that Mr Samuels couldn’t wait to tell her about meeting her boss himself.

The sudden sound of loud clapping from Miss James set off a Chinese whisper of shushes, followed by giggling, followed by more shushing. This moment was usually Nicky’s favourite bit of the whole event, the anticipation, the thrill, the fun. But tonight she could have happily hit someone. Her nerves were so jangled she was amazed she was still able to function. She was covered in goose-bumps at the same time as sweating. It was times like these you needed a mum. She got up quickly and started fussing with Bruce Forsyth’s shiny seventies-style suit.

‘Now, everyone,’ called out Miss James, ‘your family and friends are all seated and ready.’

More hysterics and shushing.

‘And I know you’re all going to show them the most wonderful Nativity they’ve ever seen.’ She smiled dotingly at all of them. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘where’s my trusted right-hand man? Mr Pattison? Mr Pattison?’

Nicky waited for Rob to appear suddenly, hair unkempt, lipstick on his cheek, grin on his lips. But no. He was obviously being shown too good a time. Men, she thought bitterly. If it’s not their au pair girl, it’s their colleague just before curtain-up. She wondered if Oscar’s au pair would be out there in the audience. Oscar hadn’t mentioned it so possibly not. Or maybe –

‘Miss Hobbs! Will you step into the breach, my friend?’

Nicky looked at Miss James.

‘Of course,’ she replied. What had she just been asked to do?

‘Excellent, excellent!’ said Miss James. ‘All you have to do is introduce the Nativity and then read out this little list of announcements.’ She held out an A4 piece of paper and Nicky made her way through the changing room to take it out of her hand. The list was made up of ten points, including a request for fundraising ideas, a car-park notice and copious thank-yous to everyone who had been involved in tonight’s production. Miss James smiled at her.

‘I’ve got a bit of a throat coming,’ she whispered with a smile that Nicky was beginning to despise. She stared at the piece of paper and wondered why it was shaking so much. Then she realised it was because her hand was. She hadn’t spoken underneath a spotlight since her own nativity plays, about twenty-five years ago. And Mr Samuels, who hated and pitied her, was sitting in the audience, preparing himself to give her a piece of his mind.

Just then Rob appeared.

‘Ah!’ cried Miss James. Thank the Lord, thought Nicky, her body instantly relaxing. ‘Looks like you’ve missed your chance of stardom,’ Miss James told him happily. ‘Nicky’s going to introduce tonight’s show. You’ll have to do next year’s.’

‘I don’t mind,’ said Nicky faintly.

‘I’m sure you don’t,’ Miss James held her hand in a tight grip. ‘But tonight’s your chance to shine.’ Another smile. ‘Come along, my dear. Beginners in five.’

Nicky looked down and watched her feet follow Miss
James out to the front of the changing room. She kept her eyes down as she passed Rob and Amanda, but she felt fairly sure she was not missing any great expressions of enthusiastic solidarity. The next thing she knew, she was standing next to Miss James in the wings. Her heart was pumping so fiercely she was worried that the audience would be able to see it through her sheer dress. And as she stood there, the thought struck her that there was every chance tonight would be the first night that a teacher, and not a pupil, had an accident in the wings.

Outside, in the auditorium, Mark could not believe how terrified he was. His hands were sweating so much he could barely hold the camcorder. He showed Lilith, who was sitting next to him.

‘Well, what did you expect?’ was her unsympathetic response. ‘To enjoy this?’

‘What if he forgets his lines?’ he whispered. ‘Or falls over? Jesus Christ. This is torture.’

Lilith stared at him. ‘What did you imagine it would be like?’

He shrugged. ‘Fun?’

She laughed. ‘Fun? You make it sound like a trip to the cinema. Parenthood isn’t a leisure activity, it’s an extreme sport.’

‘I’m beginning to see that,’ he said quietly.

Lilith sighed. ‘You have so much to learn.’

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ mumbled Mark.

The lights went down.

‘Well, you’ll have to hold it in,’ said Lilith harshly. ‘Ooh look,’ she cried suddenly, as a few wolf whistles sounded from the auditorium. ‘It’s Nicky!’

Mark forced himself to look up at the stage. Fully expecting to see his only child trip up out of the wings, break his neck and die, he was pleasantly surprised to see Miss Hobbs standing in the centre of the stage, ignoring wolf-whistles.

He stared. It dawned on him that although he’d met her several times now – and one memorable time while she was wearing only a bikini – he had never really had the chance to look at her properly; to study her, to take her all in. This was mostly because it was rude to stare, but also because it was hard to study a woman when she was shouting abuse at you.

He sat back. First he looked at her face. It was too cute to be called beautiful, but there was definitely something arresting about it. A dimple appeared in one cheek whenever she smiled. He traced the ringlets of lustrous, chestnut hair that shone with auburn highlights under the spotlight and came to rest on her chest, rising gently with every breath. Her dress flowed in and out like a river, and, although he was no expert, to his eye the only thing keeping her high heels on were tiny little bows at the front of her dainty ankles.

Once he felt he’d accumulated enough visual data, he decided to turn his attention to what she was saying. He was surprised to find that the voice that had seemed so strong when it had been screaming at him, was now distinctly soft and even quite tremulous. He observed that every few words were punctuated by a little cough and she kept coiling her hair behind her ear, a futile action, as it kept popping out again. When she got annoyed with it he smiled to himself. She was cute. Definitely cute.

After collating all the visual and aural data he came to the
conclusion that Miss Hobbs was suffering from stage-fright. And was extremely cute.

His neck stretched forward every time she coughed. Bloody hell, he thought, as he watched her lick her increasingly dry lips, the poor woman was terrified. She came to a faltering end, gave an apologetic smile – there was that dimple again – and then walked extremely cautiously off the stage. He was surprised to hear clapping around him.

He didn’t take much in after that, especially as he knew Oscar wasn’t on until the second half. The first half was the Reception class re-enacting the Nativity scene. Any other year he’d have found it a grotesque waste of an hour of his life, but this year, it moved him almost unbearably. He found himself occupied with wondering what was happening backstage. Did the teachers stand in the wings? Was Oscar with her right now?

During the interval, he and Lilith queued for some mulled wine and he grimly studied all the other parents over the rim of his paper cup. When he realised some of the teachers were milling around among the parents, he watched them with surprise. He had no idea they’d be so young. He almost choked on his wine when he saw Rob wander past. He recognised him immediately as the tosser who had almost got them killed by his dangerous driving at the fireworks display. This bloke had definitely been driving Nicky home that night. He gave him the once-over. So, this was her type, then. He almost dropped his cup when Rob recognised Lilith and grinned happily.

‘Ms Parker!’ he greeted her. ‘How lovely to see you.’

To Mark’s disgust, Lilith seemed just as delighted to see
him. He stared as they openly flirted with each other, growing increasingly disconcerted at the discovery that this young bloke, who couldn’t drive and was screwing Miss Hobbs, had been Oscar’s teacher for all of last year. He went off and queued for another two plastic cups of wine, contemplating the thought that this bloke had spent every day of last year with his son and had probably worn those ridiculous trendy jeans in the classroom. No wonder Oscar’s clothes sense was screwed.

After Rob wandered off, he joined Lilith, tutting loudly and shaking his head.

‘What?’ demanded Lilith.

He nodded towards Rob. ‘Thinks he’s God’s gift.’

Lilith watched Rob go. ‘Well, maybe not God’s
gift
, but a voucher, definitely. I wouldn’t mind choosing something off that.’

‘You’re kidding?’ said Mark. ‘That’s good-looking, is it?’ He finished his wine and went straight on to hers.

‘God, yes,’ said Lilith enthusiastically. ‘Sex on legs.’

‘Looks like a tosser to me,’ muttered Mark and looked away from Lilith to avoid her amazed stare at him. By the time the lights went down again, he was feeling much more relaxed.

When he felt a sharp stab in his right rib, he woke with a start. He sat up. Where was Oscar? He scanned the stage for an extortionate pair of shades that looked like naff swimming goggles.

‘Where is he?’ he hissed to Lilith.

Two parents in front shushed him.

Lilith pointed to the tall boy at the back, standing in a parody of a rapper pose while Busted sang a song about what
they went to school for. It hardly seemed an appropriate song, but it was surprisingly good.

Then Oscar swaggered to the centre of the stage and the lights dimmed. Mark stared at the stage breathlessly, waiting for the lights to come back up. When they did he was struck by how tall Oscar was. When he first heard him speak his lines – lines Mark knew off by heart – he let out an audible gasp. Oscar’s voice was so clear, so loud and so confident. He thought his heart might burst out of his ribcage. He lifted his camcorder up to his eye so quickly he hit himself in the face. No matter, he flicked it on to record and took in the sight of his son grasping himself by the goolies and singing ‘Away in da Manger’ to increasingly hysterical laughter from the audience. When the rapturous applause finally came, Mark made noises he’d never heard himself make before. On the tape it sounded like crying, but he swore it was laughter.