an illustration,’ said Laura briskly, marshalling all her inner resources and kicking herself ferociously on the ankle, whilst Nasrin and Shana gaped open-mouthed at her and started laughing. Laura flapped her arms at them to shut them up, and said, with what she hoped was an air of finality in her voice, ‘I’m sure if Marcus Sussman used inappropriate language he was doing so to try and communicate with them. But I totally understand what you mean and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
Mrs McGregor droned on in the background, but Laura didn’t listen, only vaguely registering that she had to get rid of her in order to reply to this email.
‘…have to speak to Rachel about this, Laura, yes, I will. Nasty man. Smooth young prat with cufflinks who thinks he can treat these kids like dirt because he went to university and they didn’t. It’s vile. And I’m surprised at you for not seeing it.’
‘They’re ten, Mrs McGregor,’ Laura said, finally losing her patience. ‘Of course they haven’t been to university, don’t be stupid. Fine. Talk to Rachel, but I’m surprised you’re being so blinkered. I always knew you were an inverted snob but I didn’t think you’d let it derail the volunteer programme like this.’
‘Oh!’ Mrs McGregor inhaled sharply. ‘Laura Foster. You’ll regret this, I promise you. Yes you will,’ and she slammed the phone down.
‘Laura!’ said Shana, her eyes sparkling with the unexpected office excitement. ‘Fuck, bum, willy, vag? What the hell…?’
Laura put her head in her hands and moaned softly to herself.
‘It was brilliant,’ said Shana joyfully. ‘Best thing I’ve heard in ages.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Laura, finally looking up at Nasrin, who put the magazine down and gazed at her. ‘St Catherine’s again. Mrs McGregor. Stupid old bitch, I hate her,’ she said defiantly. ‘I’m going to get in trouble, aren’t I?’
‘She always makes a fuss, every year,’ Nasrin said placidly, picking up Pick Me Up again. ‘Rachel knows that, don’t worry. She’s just a sad old rebel without a cause.’
Laura turned back to her email again. Now she was free to read it properly, she didn’t want to. Mrs McGregor had spoilt her afternoon.
A holiday is a great idea. You and me, nothing else. Imagine what we could do all week. Why don’t you start thinking about where to go. July is best for me, by then everything’ll be sorted. We can celebrate properly. I want you.
Dxx
Laura blushed with pleasure. The email, the email she’d been waiting on for over two days since she’d tentatively emailed him on Monday to ask if he thought they should go away. And here it was. He wanted to go away with her, everything would be sorted by then – so when was he going to talk to Amy? And then they’d be together. He was serious about her, she knew he was. Going on holiday, that was a big step, but they were ready for it. They’d spent so much time together they knew each other better than most other couples, and they certainly got on better than most other couples – look at Dan and Amy, she thought, and then realised they weren’t the best couple to compare Dan and herself to. Laura rolled her eyes at her own stupidity, but her heart was singing, and the rest of the day passed more pleasantly than she’d expected.
The next day it was still raining, and Mrs McGregor wrote a letter of complaint to the local education authority about Laura. She faxed it to Laura’s boss Rachel, who gave Laura a formal warning. She had no choice, she said, looking firmly at Laura as she twiddled a pencil between her fingers. Laura watched the pencil, sliding in and out and around, and wondered what all the fuss was about. Mrs McGregor was wrong, she was a horrible woman and she was wrong. Marcus Sussman was a bit hearty but he seemed to be a nice man: all he’d done was to tell a kid who called him ‘a fucking cunt’ to shut the fuck up – well, was that so bad? No, not in her book. Who cares, she thought, mentally shutting down and blocking out the memory of Mrs McGregor’s droning voice.
‘I won’t say I’m not disappointed,’ said Rachel, leaning over her desk towards Laura. ‘I thought that was one of your strengths, people management. You’ve always been so good at it, Laura. They love you at St Catherine’s, too. What happened?’
Laura looked at her and felt tears start in her eyes. She was being stupid, she knew it, behaving so irresponsibly, but she didn’t know how to start to explain. So she just said, ‘Oh, you know. I just – she really was so vile. I just couldn’t take it any more. I’m really sorry, Rachel. You know it won’t happen again. Can I ring Mrs McGregor and apologise?’
Rachel smiled at her, slightly more warmly than before. ‘Of course. Thanks a lot. You know how it is, Laura. We have to follow procedures. You know that. Just don’t let it happen again. And watch that Marcus Sussman. You’re sure he’s OK?’
‘Absolutely,’ Laura said. ‘I promise she’s making it into something from nothing. This is the last time, I won’t let you down.’
‘So, darling,’ said Angela Foster that evening, smoothing the sofa cushion over with her hand. ‘How’s work?’
She glanced around the sitting room, as if she expected a troupe of tiny tap-dancing mice to can-can out from a hole in the skirting board and pirouette off with her handbag.
‘Fine, fine,’ Laura said hastily. ‘Today was…er, fine. Thanks so much for these, they’ll look great.’ She gestured to the pastelspotted blinds her mother had bought her from John Lewis as a belated birthday present. ‘It’s so nice of you to bring them round, Mum, you shouldn’t have.’
‘Not at all, darling,’ said Angela. ‘And I wanted to see my girl. We haven’t seen you for such a long time, you know. You’re so busy these days.’
Laura changed the subject hastily. ‘So, Mum. Have you got time for a cup of tea or do you have to go?’
Angela looked at her. ‘I can see you’re longing for me to stay,’ she said dryly.
‘No, of course I am,’ Laura replied hastily. ‘Of course. Do stay. I’ve got some biscuits, too. Sit down, Mum. I’ll put the kettle on. Sit down, make yourself at home.’
‘I’ll try,’ said Angela, lowering herself gingerly onto the blue sofa with its tea-stained arms and cigarette holes in the cushions. She moved aside Paddy’s copy of Maxim with her heel and sat with her ankles neatly crossed. She smiled up at Laura.
Laura sighed and hurried into the kitchen, glancing anxiously at her watch. Dan had said he’d come round later, and she didn’t want the two to collide. Not that it was likely they would – he only ever turned up after the pubs shut, whereas her mum was usually in bed and fast asleep by that time. She hunted desperately in the cupboards as she waited for the kettle to boil, searching for biscuits of some description, but of course could find none, and then one of the kitchen unit doors finally gave up the ghost and pitched itself sideways, the MDF cracking and ripping as the door fell flat on the floor. ‘Shit,’ Laura said, picking it up and wedging it back into place again. She had heard similar sounds the previous night, very late, after Paddy had got back from a marathon drinking session, and suspected he might have done exactly the same thing himself, leaving it as a nasty surprise for her the next day. No biscuits, then. Laura grabbed some slightly soggy Carr’s water biscuits and took them back into the sitting room with the tea instead.
‘How nice,’ said Angela, taking one. ‘Hm.’
