Underneath (4 page)

Handsworth only has the local supermarket cafe, so I drive further afield, to a garden centre cafe in Wentworth that I enjoy visiting. The cafe is surrounded by a row of small shops including a butcher’s, a leather shop and a small craft shop. A little further on is a pet shop and a small petting zoo. I sometimes bring Joe to spend the day here. Bettina and I dodge branches from shrubs and take care not to knock into garden ornaments on our way into the cafe. I take us to the waitress service section where we order two coffees and two teacakes.

‘Have you seen the sign for help with the summer fair at school?’ Bettina asks.

‘I have, but I don’t usually get involved to be honest.’

‘I thought it might be a good way for me to get to know some of the teachers, but I’d feel a bit stupid going on my own. Would you come to the meeting with me? You don’t have to sign up for anything. Just come for moral support.’

I chew my lip as I try to think of a way to get out of it, and then remember I’m meant to be making an effort. ‘Go on then, when is it?’

‘Tonight at six.’

Inwardly cursing, I decide we can have a quick pizza tea and that the curry I took out of the freezer will keep for tomorrow. I don’t want to arrive at the meeting smelling of garlic. I don’t realise I’m daydreaming, mentally planning the evening meals, until Bettina touches my arm.

‘Is that okay? It’s not too short notice, is it?’

‘No that’s fine. I’ll text Niall and let him know to get straight home after work. I’ll meet you outside the school at five to.’

‘Thank you so much. I’m so pleased I know you. You and Joe are being so kind to us.’ She reaches across the table and gives my hand a squeeze.

‘Honestly, don’t worry about it.’ I feign a cough so I can take my hand away and have a sip of my coffee.

‘But you really are being so helpful.’

‘I believe in treating everyone as I’d like to be treated myself.’

‘Oh, I agree with that,’ she replies, looking towards the window for a moment. She turns back. ‘Any ideas as to what we’ll get roped into at the fair?’

‘Hey, no
we
. I’m the moral support, remember? But I’ll put your hand up if there’s any custard pie throwing.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Bettina flicks a stray currant at me. We start laughing and I relax a little. Maybe she’s not so bad after all.

The meeting starts at six pm prompt. In the school hall there’s Mrs Sullivan, the Head Teacher, and an assortment of other teachers, assistants and parents. Amongst them is Mr Kingsley, who’ll be Joe’s form teacher next year. The Year Five classroom is on the opposite side of the school in the main building. He started halfway through the year to cover maternity leave, so I’ve only seen him once or twice. He’s a bit of a nerdy looking thing, with his gelled back tufty brown hair and glasses. The green pullover and grey slacks don’t help either. I guess he’s over six feet tall because he looks similar in height to Niall. I find myself thinking that he must be around his mid-thirties because he doesn’t have the beginning of Niall’s middle-aged spread. It’ll be a nice change for Joe to have a male teacher though, another male mentor. Mr Kingsley pulls up a chair up next to mine and gives a small nod in greeting. Bettina looks at me.

‘Who’s the geek?’ she whispers.

‘Sssshhh, you’ll miss the pie casting.’

She sticks her tongue out at me and laughs. ‘I’m so putting you up for something now.’

Mrs Sullivan explains how she’s hoping that this year we’ll raise even more funds for the school as the library is in need of a makeover. I adore books and reading and decide to volunteer to run the book stall. I whisper the idea to Bettina and she gives me a thumbs up. Mrs Sullivan says she has a number of roles to fill and will then discuss any further issues. She’s a formidable looking woman, I guess in her late fifties, with bobbed light brown hair. She frowns a lot which has left two vivid crease marks over her brow. She gives us the date of the fair – just under three weeks away, on Saturday the twenty-second of June. I quickly check my diary, but we have nothing down for that day so I know I’m clear to volunteer.

‘Right I’ll go through the roles we have to fill. Please raise your hand if you’re interested. Okay, firstly there’s the cake stall ...’

She goes through a few of the more usual stalls including tombola and ‘guess the amount of marbles in the jar’. Bettina’s yet to volunteer and I’m waiting for the book stall to be called out.

‘Now we need a very willing volunteer for the sponge stocks ...’

Quick as a flash Bettina lifts my hand up. ‘Lauren’ll do that. She said she wanted to do something along those lines.’

‘Brilliant Mrs Lawler, that’s so kind. It’s usually difficult to get a volunteer for that one, so thank you.’

I look at Bettina, a half smile on my face, wondering what she’s playing at.

‘And now the book stall,’ says Mrs Sullivan.

Bettina looks at me, biting her lip. ‘Err, could Lauren help me with that instead of doing the sponge stocks?’

‘I hardly think a small book stall requires two people,’ Mrs Sullivan berates in her scary head-teacher voice.

Bettina visibly shrinks and then turns to me mouthing. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say. ‘You can always swap with me.’

‘I would, but I’m scared of water,’ she replies, her eyes filling with tears.

‘I’ll help Mrs Lawler with the sponge stocks,’ says the male voice to my right. Mr Kingsley has finally spoken up. ‘The kids would much rather pelt a teacher, and Mrs Lawler can collect the money and pass me towels to help me dry off.’

‘A good point,’ says Mrs Sullivan. ‘Well, that’s the roles all decided then. I suggest you take some time to consider what you need for your stalls, and we’ll reconvene at the same time next week. If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you then.’ Her tone suggests that the ‘discussion’ part of the meeting isn’t something she’s required for and we’re all dismissed.

I turn to find Mr Kingsley hovering beside me. ‘Can you spare me ten minutes to go through what we need to do?’

‘Sure,’ I say turning round to Bettina. ‘I’ll catch you tomorrow missus, and you’d better watch out on fair day for stray flying sponges.’

‘I’ll do you proud with the book stall,’ she says in a quiet voice.

‘You’d better,’ I say to her retreating back.

‘Right, well, school’s closing. Any chance you can nip round the corner to the Queen’s Head?’ Mr Kingsley shifts from foot to foot.

‘Why not?’ I reply. I feel riled with Bettina and consider I need a drink after being roped in to being hit with wet sponges all day. At this rate I’ll be in The Priory by the end of the term.

The Queen’s Head is about a five minute walk from school. It’s an old fashioned pub that’s been there for years and is badly in need of redecoration. The burgundy leather seating is worn, but comfy, and I deposit myself on it. Mr Kingsley takes the seat opposite me on a purple and gold chair in need of some TLC.

‘What would you like to drink?’

I go to get my purse from my bag.

‘Oh, no, this is on me.’

‘Oh, okay, thanks. A whisky with ice then please, Mr Kingsley.’

He bursts out laughing, which suits him. His teeth would be flawless except for one at the front that twists just slightly.

‘Seb, please,’ he says, ‘or I just won’t answer you.’

‘Okay, Seb please,’ I josh back. ‘I still want a whisky.’

He smiles and heads to the bar.

Drink placed in front of me I watch as Seb looks around and removes his glasses. ‘Phew, that’s better.’

‘Do you wear contacts?’ I ask, taking a drink.

‘I’ll let you into a secret Mrs Lawler,’ he leans over the table towards me and whispers near my ear. ‘I don’t need glasses, they’re just for show.’

The mouthful of whisky I’ve taken splatters ungainly from my mouth. ‘It’s Lauren, sorry. I don’t get it.’

‘Well, Lauren sorry I don’t get it,’ he deadpans back at me. ‘I’m just dressing for the job.’

‘What?’ My forehead creases. I lean back into the seat and cross my legs. Seb gets up from his seat.

‘Give me a couple of minutes,’ he says.

The brown haired man who returns to the bar from the gents’ loo bears little resemblance to the man I sat next to at the school fair meeting. His hair is tousled in very sexy waves. At a guess I’d say it’s been wet and dried in the bathroom. Without the glasses, I see that he has the most beautiful dark brown eyes. He’s removed the pullover and undone the collar of his shirt. I suddenly get the thought that Niall would not be happy to find me sitting here with this version of Mr Kingsley.

I rise from my seat and take a last swig of my drink. ‘I need to go.’

‘But I’ve not explained yet,’ he says.

I hesitate. ‘Okay, five more minutes then,’ I reply as I am a little intrigued. I sit back down.

‘I’ve not been very reliable in the past, so I decided to try a new tack.’ He shrugs. ‘I dressed up in my best impression of a stereotypical teacher, gelled my unruly hair down, put on a pair of fake reading glasses and went for an interview. I gave it everything I had. The head said she’d keep me on if I knuckled down and earned the respect of the other teachers. I’ve had to dress like it ever since. It works though; the other teachers love me, but it’s killing me dressing like Clark Kent.’

‘It serves you right for being fake.’ I take out my ponytail and re-fix it.

‘Hey, we’re all fakes in some way,’ he replies, his brown eyes on mine. ‘People can be completely different with others. Look at you, acting like you were interested in being part of the fair tonight.’

I shuffle in my seat.

His mouth turns up at the corner and his eyes sparkle with mischief. ‘I’d like to know what’s underneath the surface of you, Lauren Lawler.’

I look down my nose at him. ‘What you see is what you get. Anyway, now that I have your life story, what do we need to do about the fair?’

He stretches his hands behind his head. ‘Well, we turn up on the day. Get the stocks, sponges and the bucket out of the store room and we’re ready. Can you bring some towels?’

My voice turns sharp. ‘You could have said that in the school hall.’

‘But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your lovely company.’

‘I’m married, Mr Kingsley.’ I place emphasis on his name.

He puts his hands up in front of me. ‘Have I stated any improper attentions towards you? No. It’s very presumptuous of you, Mrs Lawler, to imply I was angling for a shag or something.’

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, although I’m not someone who usually blushes.

He carries on, ‘I just thought the pub would be nicer. I fancied a pint and don’t like drinking alone.’

‘Well, I need to head home now,’ I state, and get up to leave.

‘Of course, if you do fancy a ....’

‘Goodnight Mr Kingsley.’ I almost run towards the door. I turn back just before I leave to make sure he’s not following me and he winks. I’m too shell-shocked to respond and head home where the whisky bottle comes out of the cupboard for the second time that week.

Chapter 3

Niall is red in the face with mirth. ‘Hey Joe, did you hear? We can pay to hit your mother in the face with wet sponges. Don’t need any practice, do you, Love? We could always go out in the garden and hit you with the bath and kitchen ones?’

‘Ha, bloody ha. I’m not being pelted. I’m the money collector.’

‘It’s a good job with your 36Ds. The husbands’ would all be skint, the wives’d swap the sponges for rotten fruit, and the kids’d be scarred for life.’

‘Aren’t you jealous about me towelling down Seb Kingsley?’

‘What am I supposed to be jealous of? Joe says he’s lame. You’re hardly planning on putting his arms in the stocks to have your wicked way with him are you?’

I huff and waltz into the kitchen to do the packing up. Niall follows me in.

‘Don’t suppose you can borrow those stocks?’ He grins.

‘Only thing on you I want to lock up is your mouth,’ I fire back.

‘Kinky,’ he replies, smacks me on the rear and returns to his favourite chair.

That evening I sit on the sofa near Niall as he watches some sports programme. He doesn’t utter a word. I’m wondering if he’s no longer interested in my conversation, or if we’ve just run out of things to talk about. I know if I was to start talking now he’d get annoyed because I’d be interrupting his listening. I decide I’m going to talk anyway.

‘Why do we always sit here in silence?’

‘We don’t sit in silence, Love, cos you can bet the minute I’m trying to listen to a crucial point, you yack on about something and interrupt me, like right now.’

‘My conversation should be more important than anything on the television.’

‘I’ve been at work all day -’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s all I ever hear,’ my voice rises as my temper does. ‘Don’t interrupt the news. Don’t interrupt Gordon Fucking Ramsey. Don’t interrupt me being a boring fart.’