The Learning Curve (41 page)

‘Well, it’s complicated,’ she repeated.

‘I see.’

There was a long pause.

‘Well,’ she said, for some reason desperate not to misinterpret herself to Mark, ‘I did kiss him. Once. Fairly recently, I suppose. A while before you came to the school.’

He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

‘Well,’ she blundered, ‘technically several little times under the umbrella title of “Once”.’ She coughed.

Mark propped his head in his elbow which was on the back of the sofa, his face now inches away from hers. She wanted to stay there for ever.

‘And . . . what happened?’ he whispered.

‘He kissed me back,’ she whispered back.

Mark nodded slowly. ‘That was decent of him,’ he allowed.

‘Well, he’s a polite boy.’

Mark roared with laughter and she stopped herself from jumping on him there and then. Instead she used the opportunity to lean forward and whisper, ‘Are you a spy?’

He roared again.

No,’ he laughed, shaking his head. ‘I’m not a spy. I’m just the new boy trying to understand the office politics.’

‘Ah! I see.’

‘So.’ He smiled. ‘After the kiss?’

She’d never realised before how highly charged the word ‘kiss’ was. It was very highly charged. It kept highly charging her.

She grimaced. ‘It got complicated for a bit,’ she replied. ‘But it’s much more simple now.’

‘Is it?’

‘I think so.’

He smiled and drank some of his wine. She decided, on reflection, never to tell him that she kissed Rob the night she’d first seen him at the fireworks display because her insides were all lit up with nowhere to go. Nor would she tell him that, if she were being completely honest, she had actually seen flashes of Mark under her eyelids during the kiss with Rob. No. She would stop short of telling him that, because it might make her sound just a little bit completely barking. Instead, she kept her eyes down.

‘How so?’ asked Mark.

‘Well, basically because I didn’t want to start anything with him.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘The End.’

She heard Mark suck in breath through his teeth and tut a few times.

‘I see,’ he said, a slight smile on his lips, and still leaning in towards her. ‘And since then?’

For some reason, the relief Nicky felt at being able to answer this was enormous.

‘It’s funny you should ask,’ she said. ‘He’s just started making serious noises again, all of a sudden. Just after this morning’s meeting, in fact.’ She tried to laugh, but looked away when she realised her eyes had moistened. ‘But I think that’s just because Miss James is trying to get us to gang up against each other and . . . it sort of spurred him to get back at her.’

Unable to look Mark in the eye, she didn’t see his features relax into a beam.

‘Excellent reason to get serious with someone,’ he said.

‘Yeah well, that’s what I mean,’ said Nicky. ‘It’s complicated. It’s all over the place. But basically we’re old news. Very old news. He’s been out with Amanda since me and
he’ll probably go out with her again. And I don’t envy either of them.’

‘Mm.’

‘Anyway,’ she said, bravely looking up, ‘I don’t want to talk about him.’

Mark’s eyes seemed to light up from inside, as if the tiny family living in his head were switching on their evening lamps. His eyes were so expressive that she went gooey just looking at them. Wow. This moment was delicious. She just wanted it to go on and on. She wanted to bottle it.

‘Of course,’ said Mark. ‘Sorry. Change of subject.’

She realised she was just sitting there smiling at Mark. And he was smiling back at her with a smile so pensive and slight that she felt intrusive looking at it. Intrusive and soft-centred.

After a lengthy silence, she took a gulp of wine and, in doing so, lifted her eyes to meet Mark’s. His skin was utterly perfect. She thought of her freckles and managed a tight little grin. She could feel his soft breath on her cheeks.

There was a long silence. She cleared her throat. ‘So anyway,’ she said, huskily, ‘about this table quiz –’

‘Fuck the table quiz,’ murmured Mark, edging closer, and she almost had a coronary. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard. She’d never be able to hear the words ‘table quiz’ again without feeling faint. They locked eyes and hovered timelessly, before his gaze slid down to her lips. She swallowed. She heard him swallow. She looked down at his lips.

He leant ever so slightly towards her, his face tilting fractionally. Feeling dizzy, she leant towards him. He stopped suddenly. She stopped suddenly. He looked back up at her eyes. She looked back up at his. He gave a fraction of
a smile. He looked back down to her lips. Her back was beginning to ache. Then he softly brushed her thigh with a warm hand and started leaning and tilting towards her again, his breathing thick. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

‘Hello!’ cried Oscar from the kitchen. They both leapt two feet in the air. Nicky spilt her wine and Mark knocked his shin on the sofa leg.

‘Hello!’ they both shouted.

Oscar froze. They froze. Oscar’s cheeks reddened and his eyes filled. He raced out of the room. Mark raced after him, but when he heard Oscar’s door slam, he stood on the stairs for a moment before coming back down.

He found Nicky in the hall.

‘I’d better go,’ she said, looking at the floor. She got her scarf a bit tangled and decided just to carry it.

‘Right,’ said Mark.

‘Right. Bye.’

‘Bye.’

It wasn’t until Nicky had been in bed for a while that the liquid wooziness stopped completely. As she fell asleep, her phone bleeped. She stretched across to her bedside table.

Night-night, my lovely rival! Rx

She flung herself back on her pillow and groaned.

Meanwhile, after tidying up the kitchen, turning out the lights and locking up, Mark tapped on Oscar’s door. When he heard a muffled ‘Come in’, he tiptoed into the dark room. Oscar was curled up in bed.

Mark sat on his bed and leant over him.

‘Sorry,’ squeaked Oscar.

He hugged him and Oscar sat up and cried in his father’s chest.

DURING THE NEXT
month, Nicky had no choice but to focus on the issues at hand. She had real, proper work to do for the table quiz, which did exist and was now only three weeks away. She had masses of organising to do for the summer trip to Bournemouth, which was to start nine days before the end of term. With only one and a half days of school after it, she had final-ever reports for thirty children to write before the end of term. And, she was informed during a morning meeting, she now had two headship interviews, one with Miss James, the other with six of the school’s governors, to look forward to. Meanwhile, she had her Joint Deputy hinting at babies in every other text and a knee-trembling crush on her favourite pupil’s father.

Focus, focus, focus.

But first things first. The morning after the ‘meeting’, her first priority was to sort things out with Oscar. Poor, poor Oscar. After she’d got home from Mark’s, and spent a few heady hours replaying certain aspects of the evening, she moved on to replaying Oscar’s cameo, though key, appearance. The more she remembered his expression the more wretched she felt.

Bright and early the next morning – five o’clock to be precise – she realised she must apologise to him personally. She emailed Mark as soon as she got to work.

She deleted several versions in her quest to find the right tone for such an email. It was a toughie.

Dear Mark
, she began.

Too formal.

Mark
.

Too cold.

Dear Mr Right
?

Too needy.

How difficult could it be? All she wanted to do was ask how Oscar was. After half an hour, ten minutes before she knew the staffroom would be buzzing, she finally found the right tone.

How’s Oscar?
she wrote.

Nicky.

She clicked Send and then gasped. There was an email for her. From him. He was in already. Down the corridor. Probably in a black suit, white shirt, no tie and his Adam’s apple.

How are you?
it said.

Mark.

Her throat squeaked. Their emails had crossed each other. She leapt up to go to his office. As she reached the staffroom door, she almost knew what was going to happen next before it happened. She waited a second and then, lo and behold, the door opened and there stood Mark.

‘Hi!’ they both said.

‘Our emails crossed over,’ he said. ‘I thought I might as well just come and talk to you.’

‘Yes. Me too. How’s Oscar?’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘He just felt terrible because he thought he’d interrupted something personal.’

Nicky’s hand flew up to her mouth. ‘Poor thing!’ she cried. ‘I’ve got to talk to him.’

‘He’s fine!’ insisted Mark. ‘How are you?’

‘Is he in already?’ she asked.

‘Yep. In class. Reading his book.’

‘I’ll go up,’ she stepped forward to pass him.

‘How are you?’

She looked at him and shook her head. ‘I can’t . . . It’s about Oscar. I feel terrible.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I’m his teacher, for goodness’ sake.’

‘I know.’ Mark stepped back. ‘Absolutely. Talk to him.’

She ran up the stairs and found Oscar sitting in his seat, reading his book.

‘Oscar, my love,’ she started. He could barely look her in the eye. She went to him and knelt down beside him, careful not to make the physical contact too intimate. It almost hurt. She wanted to hug him till his teeth twanged.

‘You are a wonderful boy,’ she whispered.

He nodded one sharp nod.

‘I had no right to make you feel uncomfortable in your own home.’

Another sharp nod and a sniff.

‘You have nothing to be embarrassed about at all.’

Another nod, another sniff.

When she returned to the staffroom, Ally was there and the others weren’t.

‘So?’ whispered Ally, as soon as she got near.

‘It was a real meeting,’ whispered Nicky.

‘And?’

Nicky took a deep breath. She mustn’t tell her. This was dangerous. It could lose her her job.

‘
And?
’ repeated Ally.

‘We nearly kissed.’

Crap.

Ally blinked at her. ‘That was some meeting,’ she murmured.

‘
Nearly
.’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ murmured Ally. ‘Perhaps I should reconsider my principle of not getting involved in school activities.’

‘Don’t tell anyone,’ begged Nicky. ‘Promise.’

Ally looked hurt. ‘Who would I tell?’

‘I don’t know. Pete. Rob.’

‘Are you kidding?’ said Ally. ‘And risk them swapping your secrets for a fumble with Amanda?’ She snorted. ‘I’d rather pickle my own eyes.’

Pete arrived and joined them immediately.

‘Hello, laydeez!’ he said. ‘Who wants a coffee?’

‘Ooh lovely!’ said Ally.

‘You star!’ said Nicky.

They watched him go to the kettle.

‘Bless,’ said Nicky fondly.

‘I know,’ sighed Ally. ‘It’s like watching a child in the body of a slightly bigger child.’

After that day, Nicky made a point of going to the canteen for lunch later than usual, and she completely stopped popping in to see Mark in his office. He kept his distance too. She made Ally promise never to mention the meeting again.

Suddenly, and purely coincidentally, her list of jobs had grown so long it had practically doubled and she only had time to think about Mark properly in the privacy of her own home. Purely due to lack of time she didn’t even have the chance to chew the situation over slowly – usually twice, like a pensive cow – with Claire, which was her usual way of dealing with this kind of problem. There was just so much to do.

When she wasn’t finalising table quiz arrangements, which involved marketing, enjoying convoluted phone calls with members of the PTA about
University Challenge
versus
The Weakest Link
, selling tickets during lunch-hours, collecting prizes for the raffle, organising the dinner ladies, emailing Mark with the latest updates about it (two PTA members were writing the quiz, Mark was collecting the money from all the teams and sorting final numbers), finalising numbers, allergies and dietary requirements for the summer trip to Bournemouth, which involved writing to parents, hassling parents and then collating replies (Rob was organising the trip’s daily itinerary, and Miss James was finalising the hostel because the owner was an old friend), or writing thirty reports (with no music in the background), she was just teaching, really.

It came as no surprise to Nicky that her biggest worry soon became the table quiz.

Partly because it was the first hurdle to jump, but mostly because it would mean spending two and a half hours in Mark’s company (which she now found so confusing that the only thing she believed in was his name) in front of Miss James, most of the other teachers and about a hundred parents. And it would mean dealing with the PTA, dinner
ladies and her boss. Let alone Rob, her arch-rival who was now merrily talking procreation; Ally, who knew about her history with Rob and her recent history with Mark and had been known to get so drunk at school functions that she got confused over what was a secret and what was a public announcement; Pete, who may or may not know about what had happened with Rob; and Amanda, her new best friend and ally whom she despised and who despised her.

Now, what did one wear for such an evening?

Summer had been last week, so Nicky’s choice of skirts was narrowed down to three. The previous weekend (midsummer) she’d been doing her weekly shop and happened to find herself in a posh chemist where, as a little treat to herself, she spent practically half her monthly salary on some new, sheer stockings and a Clarins cleanser. Perhaps when she was Head she’d be able to afford toner too.

Hours before the table quiz, she was feeling stressed, so she allowed herself a break from organising the Bournemouth trip and preparing for her interviews. She got home before six and in only three hours, she was nearly ready.

She kept to her simple work uniform of skirt, heels and fitted top, except that tonight, she took the plunge and decided to wear something slightly different. It was an evening do, after all. Tonight’s skirt was smart and fitted but made of black leather. Tonight’s shoes were that bit higher, and did things to her ankles and calves that, combined with the sheer new stockings, worked on testosterone as nectar to a bee. And tonight’s tight-fitting top was low-cut, fitted and short, yet thanks to its overall casual design, looked as if it wasn’t really trying.