that call I’ve tried really hard, but something is missing. The special spark of whatever it is that marks out a Beth King picture book (Sunday Times bestseller, don’t you know?) just isn’t there. And I don’t know what to do.
I’d deliberately not worked over the Christmas period, thinking the break would do me good. And then all the stuff with Mum and Dad happened. I’m still reeling from their news. I know my parents have never been particularly lovey-dovey, but they’ve always seemed to get along, and I assumed they always would. This has come like a bolt from the blue.
As families go, despite our differences we are as happy as the next one. Or I’ve always thought so anyway. When I was in my teens I used to worry Mum and Dad might split up – I seem to remember a lot of arguments back then. But now? I’m about to hit forty, my mum is about to hit seventy. This should have been a year of happy family celebrations, particularly with Sam turning eighteen and a new baby being thrown into the mix. Instead Mum and Dad are barely speaking. Mum is spending all her time indoors, and won’t be coaxed out, while Dad is being silently sullen about the whole thing. That’s the thing that kills me. I’ve always worshipped my dad – to be honest I get on better with him than with Mum. When I was little he was always the cuddly one, the one I went to when I was feeling low. Mum’s always been a more of a pull-yourself-together kind of parent. Dad always propped me up at those times when I felt I couldn’t cope. The thought of him having had an affair makes me feel sick. And I feel partly to blame too. If only I hadn’t encouraged him to go to art classes, he’d never have met this damned Lilian woman.
But then, how could I have foreseen what would happen? I find it so hard to believe that my lovely, funny, kind dad could have behaved so badly. I’m furious with him, and I hate feeling like that, but he’s made me angrier than I’ve ever been in my life. I don’t know where it’s all going to end, but I expect I’ll have to pick up the pieces. I usually do in this family.
On top of this, I feel so pressurised by the book. The deadline is looming over my head, and I’ve been so distracted that the creativity I so desperately need just isn’t happening.
Normally, I’d try and thrash this out with Daniel. Although he never tends to be very critical, it’s always lovely to hear his supportive comments. But at the moment he’s really preoccupied with work stuff. He’s still finding his feet at his new school, and some days I know it’s a struggle for him. They’re expecting an Ofsted inspection this term, and he’s already fretting about it. As the first black Head Teacher in a white, middle-class school, there’s an awful lot riding on it. Even though said school was woefully mismanaged before he turned up.
I know he’s feeling the pressure, and I don’t want to burden him with my worries. Besides, I think he’s taken the Mum and Dad thing pretty hard too – he’s always loved my parents, especially because of his own situation, and now they’ve thrown us all a huge curveball.
This is not good. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus on the work in front of me.
So – the Littlest Angel – where is she and where is she going next?
I get up to make coffee. I just can’t concentrate. My little angel is very lost. And so, I fear, am I …
Daniel
‘Don’t run in the corridors!’ Daniel admonished two Year Seven boys who were doing skids down the corridor, blissfully unaware of his presence. They stood up, startled, automatically tucking their shirts into their trousers and adjusting their ties with a ‘Yes, sir, sorry, sir,’ before scooting away.
Daniel grinned to himself, remembering Sam at that age. He’d been so easy to deal with back then. But now? Now he was a closed book. He didn’t appear to be doing any work for his A Levels at all, and any attempts to talk about his future were met with hostility. Years of experience dealing with teenagers had given Daniel the knowledge that a hands-off approach was probably the best; he’d come round in his own good time. But it was much harder doing it yourself than advising other parents. Beth fretted so much. She always wanted to know what Sam was up to, when to Daniel it was clear he didn’t always want to say. It was the source of most of their arguments. Beth was a great mum, but sometimes Daniel felt she wanted to interfere too much with the children, and she’d be better off just letting them be. On the other hand, Beth thought Daniel was too laid-back and should be more assertive with them. It was a conundrum they didn’t look likely to solve any time soon.
Having dispatched the boys down the corridor, Daniel headed for his office to catch up on some paperwork. He loved his job, enjoyed the cut and thrust of running a school, and the interactions with the kids. He’d gone into education to make a difference, just as long ago a couple of teachers had made a difference for him. After his dad had left home when Daniel was ten, there’d been a time when he had been so angry and bitter, he had become quite self-destructive. Without the support of an English teacher when he was in Year Seven and a maths teacher in Year Nine, Daniel might never have found his calling. He could so easily have gone off the rails. As it was, those two teachers had changed his life, and it had fired him up to do the same for others.
He had never regretted his decision to be a teacher, and he was really enjoying working in the new school, where there was a good ethos and the kids, in the main, wanted to study. But it wasn’t the world he’d entered all those years ago, and the pressure to succeed was immense. The thought of the Ofsted inspection was giving him sleepless nights. He knew he had a good management team in place, though he could have done with a couple more senior figures on it; the governors kept going for money over experience. It was cheaper to pay a twenty-eight-year-old to be head of department than a forty-five-year-old. And with the way the budget was looking – a big headache to address this term – saving money was paramount. He was grateful for the enthusiasm and energy his new staff members brought to the school, but he did worry that there was a lack of experience too. Something else he needed to sort out.
Daniel’s phone buzzed. A message from Beth. He loved the way she still texted him in the day. Though they had married young – too young some of their friends had thought, especially with a baby on the way – theirs was a good marriage, and he was more contented than most people he knew in his position.
Having a slow day. Any chance of lunch?
He smiled. Eighteen years married and he still was just as much in love with Beth as when they’d first met. He really wished he did have time for lunch.
Sorry, no can do. Meeting. But let’s do dinner tonight.
And with the thought of that playing happily on his mind, he strode down the corridor with renewed purpose. As long as Beth was beside him, he could cope with anything.
Lou
‘Can I get you anything, Mum?’
I’ve come into the kitchen to find Mum staring into the garden. She’s still wearing her dressing gown and looks like she hasn’t slept.
‘A different life?’ asks Mum bitterly.
Oh God. Here we go. Every day since I’ve moved back in she’s been like this. Never mind that my own life has spectacularly imploded since Jo left. To top it off, I finally got made redundant just after Christmas. My manager blamed cutbacks, told me it was nothing personal, but it was the last thing I needed after the blow of Jo leaving. I can’t afford the rent on my flat without a job. If I’d still been with Jo, I could have gone to stay with her. But
