Instead, Becky ties her cardigan round the waist of her (long) denim dungarees and waits for the session to start. No sign of Andy.
But then, a tap on the shoulder.
‘Hey,’ says a voice behind her.
It’s him. Andy. A little thrill caresses her spine as she turns to face him.
‘Hey,’ she says back.
‘So, you feeling all luvvie, then?’ he asks her.
Is this flirting? she wonders. If so, then maybe she should half-flirt back. You know, just in case he isn’t, but maybe he is.
‘I could—’ she starts.
But whatever her comeback was going to be, it’s cut off by the authoritarian clapping of hands at the front of the room.
‘Right, let’s make a start, shall we?’ It’s a man, casually dressed in a black top and black jeans. He’s in shape. His clothes fit well and he looks like a bona fide actor. Except then he introduces himself as a teacher.
‘I’ll be leading the course,’ he says. ‘First off, I want you to warm up your bodies and voices. Make space – reach out so your arm span is wide enough for you to just avoid touching fingertips with the person next to you.’
Andy and Becky reach out their arms. They manage to just not avoid touching fingertips, and Andy gives Becky a little smile as they both hold their pose. Becky looks down modestly at the floor. When she looks up, Caitlin is magically by her side, with Gwen. Looks like she wants to play the same game with Andy. Becky moves over. After all, the long legs and short shorts are bound to get Andy’s attention eventually.
But Andy leans in close to Becky, certainly not regulation distance away.
‘If they want us to be in pairs, we’re a couple,’ he whispers.
She smiles. Her lips may not be coated in candy gloss, but she hopes she makes up for it in genuine emotion.
‘OK,’ she whispers back.
Andy stays by her side through the warm-up exercises, until the leader announces they should sit down and take a break. Becky sits, hugging her knees to her chest. Andy, Caitlin and Gwen sit next to her. Becky notices some sweat darkening the underarms of Andy’s maroon T-shirt (and also, to her satisfaction, those of Gwen’s bubble-gum pink one).
‘So, you’ll all be wondering what performance we’re working up to this week. Well, we’re going classic musical.’ He waits to allow muted cheers/boos to subside. ‘I want a medley of Rodgers and Hammerstein – I’ve selected scenes from South Pacific, Oklahoma, a couple of others. There’s enough there to give you an intro to song, dance and some serious acting as well. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be doing auditions for those of you who want principal parts. The rest of you are very welcome to the chorus roles – but I’ll still be divvying up some lines of the score for all of you. Sound fair?’
Some nods.
Becky doesn’t nod or shake. She would rather just hide in a maths textbook. What was she doing signing up to this? The idea of singing in front of everyone – Andy, Gwen, Caitlin, and all the thirty or so others is mortifying.
‘Eurgh,’ she says, just as Gwen says loudly, ‘Well, I’ll be the girl who just can’t say no, then.’ Gwen then laughs loudly.
Becky looks at her blankly.
‘It’s a reference to Oklahoma,’ Andy whispers to her. ‘I hope.’
‘Right, got you. Thanks,’ Becky replies, grateful but embarrassed not to have known. What is she doing here?
‘You auditioning then, Bex?’ Caitlin asks.
‘Um, that would be a no,’ Becky replies.
‘Oh go on, you must!’ Caitlin says.
Andy looks at Becky. ‘Go on. You’ve got a sweet voice, I bet you do. And you’re pretty. They’ll give you a part.’
Becky shakes her head. ‘Really, no – I’m the back-of-the-chorus-line girl. No way am I singing in front and centre.’
‘I will if you will,’ Andy says.
Gwen starts making chicken noises. ‘Scaredy-cat,’ she says.
Becky figures this probably isn’t the time to be pointing out mixed metaphors.
Just then, the teacher comes round. ‘Hi again, Caitlin,’ he says. ‘Nice to see you back this year.’
Caitlin preens.
‘You kids all auditioning then?’ he asks.
‘You bet!’ say Caitlin and Gwen.
Andy says, ‘I’m only auditioning if this lady next to me does too,’ nodding in Becky’s direction.
Becky could kick Andy. This is not her scene. She’s only here because of … him.
The leader looks at them both, then round the room.
‘Ah, come on, then – both of you should. We’ve got way more girls than guys here, and I need some male talent. Don’t stand in the way of my dream – what’s your name?’
‘Becky,’ says Becky.
‘Right, Becky, you’re up first tomorrow morning.’
‘But—’
‘No buts. And this young gentleman is going straight after you, so he can’t break his word.’
And away walks the leader.
Becky looks to Caitlin for some sympathy. She must know how hideous this is for her. But Caitlin has got her arm linked through Gwen’s and is whispering something in her ear. So much for best friends for ever.
Chapter 10
MIRIAM, SEPTEMBER 2018
Later that week, Harriet doesn’t arrive in Kirsten’s car.
Or her daddy’s car.
She’s in a white Audi.
No grown-ups get out – just Harriet. Bundled onto the sidewalk.
Miriam moves away from the window.
It’s no way to treat a child. Not how she would treat her own, if the day ever came that she was the one doing drop-off and pick-up.
Miriam’s preparing for the day’s lessons. One of the kids in the class has a new foster sister – from Syria. Maya. Doesn’t talk much, by all accounts. Hardly surprising, if you think what the little thing must have been through, and now separated by so many miles from her parents. Anyway, they’re building up to the little girl hopefully visiting the class, when she’s ready. Miriam wants to give the girl a chance to meet what would be her peers, in a welcoming environment. Maybe help her flourish in her new country. Show the kids that she, Ms Robertson, can provide a place of sanctuary.
She has to make sure first that the kids will provide a proper welcome, make sure they understand the context – in a way that is kiddy-appropriate. Today, they’re looking at journeys – over the sea, in crowded boats. Nothing scary. Nothing real. They’re far too young to lose their own innocence as well. Just enough for them maybe to understand, a little bit, when the little girl arrives.
So now, Miriam is preparing the vessels. Crêpe paper sails, cardboard hulls. Everything has to start somewhere, right? Cut, cut, snip, snip, make them pretty. Bright and cheerful for happy thoughts.
Why was the white car dropping Harriet off? Why wasn’t she with Kirsten?
Snip, snip, keep going. Miriam reminds herself she’s not a social services detective. She just provides safe harbour for refugees.
Her phone buzzes with a message. Can you give us a hand downstairs? Mrs McGee, the deputy head. Fine. Sorry, boats. Maybe the kids will hoist your sails instead.
She heads downstairs.
What’s happening?
There’s a swarm of children gathered around one child. Miriam hears sounds of crying.
‘What’s going on?’ she mouths to Mrs McGee.
But then the circle clears, and she sees who’s at the centre. Harriet. And another little girl. Izzie.
Izzie is clutching her hand and leaning against Mrs McGee in tears. Harriet is trying to move out of the circle, but the other kids aren’t letting her.
‘What’s going on?’ Miriam asks again, this time loudly.
‘She broke Izzie’s finger!’ one of the girls around Izzie shouts out. There’s an accusing point towards the she. It’s Harriet.
Miriam moves to the girls and bends to their level.
‘Harriet, what’s going on?’ she asks.
‘I’ve got this,’ says Mrs McGee. ‘Can you just focus on registering the other children? The TA will be back in a minute. She went to get a bandage.’
‘Harriet, did you hurt this little girl?’ Miriam asks.
‘Seriously, Ms Robertson, I have this – go and see to the other children.’
Miriam doesn’t have much of a choice, so she does what she’s told. As she walks away, she hears Mrs McGee saying to Harriet: ‘You’re a very naughty little girl, and we’ll have to tell your mummy and daddy about this.’
Miriam’s eyes fill with tears. Look at the wider issue! It’s so rarely the kid in the centre of it that’s the problem. Who was around her? Who was egging her on? Was it a dare, a bet?
Come on – you know you want to! One little sip, you’ll be fine. Everyone else is.
Miriam shakes her head. This isn’t about her. It’s about Harriet. The same day she arrives in a different car, she’s apparently violently molesting her peers. Has Mrs McGee not read any of the case studies on how to spot unhappy children? Worse: at-risk children. Or problem parents?
A little clammy hand forces itself into Miriam’s. Miriam looks down into the heavily bespectacled face of one of the kids in her class. Little Winnie the Pooh plaster on the glasses frames. Sweet, vulnerable, but not who she wants to be looking after.
‘What can I do for you, Wendy?’ she asks. Reluctantly, Miriam gives her the appearance of her full attention. She’s still trying to listen out for the Izzie–Harriet scene but it’s hard with all the noise going on.
‘I’m a little teapot!’ Wendy announces.
‘Are you? That’s nice,’ Miriam tells her, craning her head to see over to Mrs McGee and her Victorian ideas of Naughtiness.
‘No!’ says the child so sternly that Miriam has to look at her. ‘Sing I’m a little teapot!’
Then all the others begin clamouring for it too.
So there we are. By popular request, Miriam is soon tipping up and pouring out (here’s my handle, here’s my spout). All the others are joining in too. She feels like Mary Poppins, and she sees Mrs McGee shoot her a look of gratitude.
Miriam catches sight of Harriet fiddling with her fingers and staring at the floor. Everyone’s been so interested in Izzie’s tears – have they been interested in hers?
But the bell goes for morning lessons, so that’s not allowed to be Miriam’s concern. The children in her class are suitably responsive to the boat theme. They are incredulous when she suggests how many people might fit in the boats. One gives a little whimper when she says that yes, mummies and children, or sometimes just children, will be in them. So Miriam backtracks. Makes it just about the boats again – bobbing over the waves, whee! Isn’t it fun!
Some of the boats get eyes drawn on. Some get mascots. It’s all very civilised. Poor invisible Maya. Her boat probably had neither eyes nor mascots. Just the unrelenting beat of the sea.
While they are in mid glue and stick mode, the door opens, and Izzie walks in. Her hand is flamboyantly taped up, and she is holding it aloft.
Boats forgotten, everyone crowds round Izzie.
‘Are you OK? Does it hurt? Can we see?’
Miriam does her teacher bit, tells them to sit down and do their work. It has limited effect, so she goes over and joins in.
‘What exactly happened, Izzie?’ she asks her.
‘I was doing beads with Karen, and Harriet came over and said could she play, but it was a private game, so I said no, and she still wanted to play, so I said no again, and then she tried to grab one of the beads from me really hard and hurt my finger deliberately on purpose. It’s very serious.’
‘Would it not have been nice to let Harriet play with you? I’m sure there must have been enough beads to go round?’ Miriam asks Izzie.
Izzie stares at Miriam as if Miriam has missed the point. Miriam sees her lower lip pucker. Oh dear. She’s about to start reliving her moments of glory with Mrs McGee all over again.
‘Don’t worry,’ Miriam tells her. ‘Those bandages will do a great job, I’m sure. You’ll be playing beads again in no time!’
‘Not with Harriet,’ she says.
‘Let’s see – I’m sure you can be friends again,’ Miriam says.
‘We were never friends in the first place.’
Why did you let those girls talk you into it? They aren’t even your real friends!
A memory of her mother flies in, unwelcome. This is not the moment.
Get into the moment. Boats.
Soon enough, the classroom gets its buzz back. Miriam mutters her excuses to the TA and slips out of the classroom.
She needs to know what has become of the other little girl in her care.
* * *
Miriam finds Harriet siting in the corridor outside the head’s office. Another Victorian approach. Harriet’s just waiting there, staring at her hands. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe she’s meant to be reflecting on what she’s done.
‘Hey, Harriet,’ Miriam says gently. She wants Harriet to see her as a confidante, a friend. They can build things up from there.
Harriet looks up, but doesn’t say anything.
‘You doing OK?’ Miriam asks her.
She shrugs.
Miriam sits down next to her. ‘I know you didn’t mean to hurt Izzie,’ she tells her.
‘Yes, I did,’ Harriet says.
Right. OK.
‘Why’s that, then?’ Miriam asks.
‘Daddy said if someone doesn’t give you what they want, you have to twist their arm until you get it. But it was her fingers that had the beads in, so I twisted them.’
‘Why did you want the beads so badly?’ Miriam asks. She doesn’t want to get into the Daddy issues today. That sounds like a separate conversation.
Harriet shrugs again. ‘They were pretty. I thought there were enough for all of us. And I couldn’t bring my own toys today.’
‘Why’s that?’ Miriam asks.
‘Mummy and Daddy were not able to bring me to school today because sometimes they have to work very hard. Auntie Yvette drove me very safely in her car.’
Miriam wrinkles up her nose, trying to pick between the obviously parent-schooled phrases.
‘Are Aunty Yvette and Mummy and Daddy kind to you?’ Miriam questions.
‘They don’t let me have beads either,’ she tells her.
Miriam nods. ‘Sometimes grown-ups are mean,’ she agrees. Harriet gives her a shadow of a grin. Good. They’re getting somewhere.
Miriam stands up. ‘Give me a moment,’ she tells her. Miriam’s about to knock on the head’s door, but she stops. She bends down to Harriet again.
‘Harriet, do Mummy or Daddy, or Auntie Yvette, ever do anything that makes you unhappy?’ she asks.
Harriet shrugs, avoiding Miriam’s gaze.
‘Harriet?’ Miriam asks again.
Very slowly, she looks up at Miriam.
‘Yes,’ she says.
It’s all Miriam needs.
Chapter 11
KIRSTEN, SEPTEMBER 2018
Sometimes all it takes is for someone to ask you a question.
A question it should be easy to answer.
A question like: ‘How do you think things are going?’
It all comes out.
Or it doesn’t. That’s the test.
Kirsten realises she’s failing it when she hears herself saying to Harriet’s headmistress ‘… and then her father just won’t come home on time – or do anything around the house. And I want to keep the family together, for Harriet, because I didn’t have that, but sometimes it’s just so hard, you know?’
Harriet’s headmistress looks at her sympathetically (at least, Kirsten hopes it is sympathy).
Kirsten clears her throat. ‘What I mean is, we’re all a bit busy, aren’t we?’
The headmistress nods. ‘But we have to prioritise our children, don’t we?’
Yes, yes of course they do. Even though Kirsten will have lost, what, about a grand because of today’s antics? That’s just direct costs. And then more in reputational costs – people let down at the last minute, who will spread toxicity about the practice. No more custom, no chance of getting a partner. Maybe all because Ian was trying to make a concession to her, getting Yvette to drive Harriet in, unsettling Harriet.
But sure, whatever the antics, you always have to put your children first. No one seems to understand that if you put them second for a bit, it’s because you’re trying to earn enough to put their food on the table and shoes on their feet, and keep a roof attached to a gargantuan mortgage over their heads. No one apart from Kirsten.
‘You mustn’t let Harriet pick up on whatever … difficulties there are at home,’ the headmistress says.
‘Ian and I love Harriet very much,’ Kirsten says. ‘We don’t let anything get in the way of that.’
Listening to herself, even she is unconvinced. She hugs her thoughts of Harriet to her, holds them tight, kisses them. She feels tears forming, tries to blink them back. It’s not just about Harriet; it’s the thought of having had to run out of the surgery, again. Putting Harriet first always seems to create a conflict.
Perhaps she can send her back to class, rather than take her home? Maybe she doesn’t need to cancel all the afternoon’s appointments, can still rescue the afternoon? She flicks a glance at the clock.
‘What lessons does she have this afternoon? Ones she’ll be happy in?’ she asks.
The head answers, ‘I’m sure Ms Robertson has got some lovely plans for them.’
Yes, Ms Robertson. She seems nice.
‘Great, well, perhaps I don’t need to take her home, perhaps she can still go to those?’ Kirsten says, trying to sound bright.
The headmistress frowns. ‘I’m not sure, in the circumstances …’
‘It’s a little playground tiff; let’s not over-egg it.’
Kirsten regrets her words immediately. She can see the woman drawing herself up.
‘Listen,’ Kirsten says, before the head can speak. ‘How about Harriet goes to Ms Robertson’s lessons this afternoon, and then we see what measures we can put in place?’
While the head’s busy ushering Harriet to her classes, Kirsten can call Jess, tell her they might still have a chance for the 1 p.m. appointments.
The headmistress sighs her assent. Kirsten follows her outside the room, where Harriet is waiting, and she tries for a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. At first, Harriet doesn’t respond, but then she flings her arms round Kirsten, and buries her head into her legs for a long hug. It breaks Kirsten’s heart to tear her away. Maybe she could just take her to the surgery with her now?
But no. That’s no way to run a business. Or to parent. Is it?
‘I’ll see you later, sweetie,’ Kirsten tells her. The headmistress prises Harriet’s hand away. As they go off together, Kirsten notices Harriet’s socks don’t match. They’re both white, but one has a frill, one doesn’t.
Kirsten waits in the headmistress’s office. She doesn’t call Jess immediately. Instead, she gives in to the tears. What is she doing? How has she misconfigured things so much that her little daughter, at what is meant to be such a beautiful age, is turning to violence? If Kirsten can’t even manage to dress her properly in the morning, is it any wonder? Is Kirsten even present when she’s with her? Does she need to phone Clare, get some sessions, some pills? No. No, don’t phone Clare more than needed. Not these days. Keep the distance, keep her sweet. Kirsten will have to prescribe herself something, maybe. But what? Mothering instinct? Magical hugs?
Maybe it’s just a phase. Maybe when Harriet’s older, and Ian and Kirsten are hopefully still together, and have cash for everything Harriet wants, maybe Kirsten will still look back and cherish this stage. Because as people keep telling her, your kids are only this young once.
Kirsten blows out her cheeks, still regrouping.
And then, of course, Jess phones her.
‘Oh, I didn’t expect you to answer,’ Jess says. ‘I was going to leave a message. Everything OK?’
‘Yep, fine,’ Kirsten says, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.
‘Right,’ Jess says. Jess is remembering, Kirsten is sure, how she ran out of the office in a flap, past the patients in the waiting room, shouting that she had to go to her daughter’s school for an emergency. ‘Anyway, that’s good, because people are complaining up a storm here.’ Jess lowers her voice. ‘One patient is refusing to leave. Says she was guaranteed an appointment. They go on holiday tomorrow, and if she doesn’t have her coil fitted today she says she’ll sue us for the inconvenience.’
‘Christ’s sake, can’t she just use a condom?’ Kirsten mutters.
‘Sorry, didn’t quite catch that – what did you want me to tell her?’ Jess asks.
‘Nothing, nothing. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Good, because I’ve just seen a comment up on the website – someone complaining you’re unreliable. I mean, we’re unreliable – the practice.’
But of course she means me, Kirsten thinks. I’m unreliable.
The tears threaten to return.
‘Don’t worry, I’m coming back.’
Kirsten gathers up her things. She’ll leave a little note for the headmistress, say she’ll make an appointment – work emergency, very sorry.
The headmistress walks in just as Kirsten is rummaging round the desk for a Post-it.
‘Mrs McGee, I’m going to have to run – everything’s kicking off at work, and …’
She’s met with a stony stare.
You don’t get it! Kirsten wants to scream. I’m just trying to be good!
But instead, Kirsten half sits, half stands, at the chair by Mrs McGee’s desk.
‘Ms Robertson had some suggestions to make,’ the head says. The tone is chilly, different somehow to when they last spoke. ‘And I think they might help you out. How does a breakfast club sound to you? And some casual extra after-school lessons – to help Harriet with these behavioural issues?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Kirsten says. She wants to shout that Harriet doesn’t have behavioural issues. But the clock won’t stop ticking.
‘Ms Robertson also had one slightly more … controversial … suggestion. A child psychologist? She thinks psychologists can have a really powerful effect – work wonders.’
Christ, the irony … Kirsten knows full well what wonders they can work. It’s why her sister still won’t speak to her.
But no. This is going too far.
‘Tell Ms Robertson I appreciate her concern, but I don’t think we’re at that stage yet. My daughter just wanted to play with another girl’s toy. And she’s only just five. She doesn’t need a shrink.’
‘Research suggests—’
But Kirsten cuts her off. ‘No, Mrs McGee. I’m sorry. I have to get back to work.’
You can see the disappointment lines on Mrs McGee’s face – little pinches round the corners of her mouth, a special line amongst the crow’s feet round her eyes.
Kirsten draws herself up and remembers suddenly the power of being a working mum. She knows how to pull rank.
‘I have emergency patients waiting for me. If there are any additional fees for these clubs, over and above what we already pay you, then of course we can pay. Now I really must go.’
And of course, at the mention of emergency patients, of fees, Kirsten sees Mrs McGee remember Kirsten’s place in society outside these walls. That this matters too.
‘Yes, of course,’ the head says. ‘I’ll see you at parents’ evening in a couple of weeks and we can catch up then.’
Maybe Kirsten actually flinches. She must do something, because the head follows up by saying, ‘There’ll be an email reminder coming out soon.’
But Kirsten doesn’t acknowledge she’s forgotten about parents’ evening. She just goes. And then, finally, she’s on the way to the clinic. Stress levels rocketing. In the olden days, she’d have called Ian, calmed down that way. Now she relieves her stress by channelling it into anger towards him, practising the argument she knows they’ll have later on. Not just about this.
Because this is all his fault. If it weren’t for him, they wouldn’t be where they now find themselves. They wouldn’t have to rely on Kirsten trying to be in two places at once. Or on Ms Robertson’s breakfast clubs. But thank God they will now have those. Because they can only be a change for the better.
