Page 9

Adam

‘How is that even possible, sir?’ Khalid asks, frowning. ‘I can’t see anything if I look down my throat in the mirror.’

Someone titters at the back of the classroom.

I wait for laughter, but that’s pushing my luck.

‘We rely on our phones and other electronic devices to perform complex mathematical algorithms to send messages. We have our own personal totals... the number of steps taken, sentences said out loud, and texts sent in a day. Numbers are everywhere!’

Khalid nods enthusiastically. The bell rings, signalling the end of the day, and a large smirk spreads across his face.

His classmates scrape back their chairs and pack up.

I’m an idiot! Khalid’s questions were a perfectly timed ruse to distract me from going through their test papers and setting homework.

‘Wait! I mean, hold on, everyone... Please research Pascal’s triangle as prep for our next lesson.’

I write the mathematical term on the whiteboard.

By the time I’ve turned around, only a few stragglers remain.

It’s astonishing... they take forever to unpack and stop talking at the start of class.

But they move unexpectedly fast, like mutant plant zombies in The Last Of Us , when alerted to a mass exodus of warm bodies.

‘Bye, Mr Bailey.’ Khalid waltzes past, smiling victoriously.

I grit my teeth. I wouldn’t have been awarded my PGCE if this lesson had been observed during my training. I need to talk in private to Khalid about his disruptive behaviour, but I’ll deal with him next time.

‘We’ll go over your test papers in detail soon,’ I say sternly. ‘And I’ll be asking you to explain Pascal’s triangle to the rest of the class.’

‘Awesome! Sounds fun.’

The door slams behind him. Khalid is bright but gets bored easily and struggles to understand abstract concepts. He gained the lowest mark in my exam: 3 out of 40. It’ll be an uphill battle to explain Pascal’s triangle and prevent him from distracting his classmates.

I dump my pads and Biros into my rucksack and fish out my phone.

At least I remembered to mute it, unlike last week when I threatened to hand out a detention to whoever’s mobile was ringing, only to discover it was mine.

The screen blinks to life with an alarming number of missed calls from our nanny.

My blood pressure rises by about 30 points as my gaze rests on Anna’s final message, which contains just two words: I Quit ! !!

I press-gang the unfortunately named Mr Cross into holding my after-school robotics club in return for covering his detention class tomorrow and race home. Whatever has happened between Anna and Wren must be salvageable; I can broker a peace deal, even if it’s only fragile.

Anna is waiting by the door as I let myself into our tiny, terraced rented house. Her coat is on, and a scowl is plastered across her face.

‘Please don’t leave! Let’s talk.’

‘No! That’s it.’ She makes a swiping gesture with her hands, her chestnut ponytail swinging jauntily. ‘I’m not putting up with this. Wren is horrible to me – toujours !’

Ditto.

‘I’m sorry! You know things have been rough since her mum died. Carley was her most important person in the world and then she was gone, and everything changed... well, fell apart. Obviously, I’m a poor substitute. It isn’t easy for Wren, for either of us.’

‘I know you’re trying your best, but this’ – she shakes her head – ‘ c’est impossible! ’

‘I’m attempting to set boundaries—’

‘What boundaries? She called me a stupid bitch! She said she hated me. And for what? Cleaning her bedroom. It is a porcherie , a pigsty!’

This is more serious than I thought. Wren has tantrums but she’s never sworn at Anna or me before.

‘I agree, that’s unacceptable language,’ I say, snapping into school mode, ‘and it will not be tolerated in our house. I will make sure she apologises to you in person.’

She shakes her head. ‘She doesn’t listen to you! She doesn’t listen to anyone.’

‘I’ll make her.’ I stride to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Wren, come down right now!’

Anna taps her foot, rolling her eyes. My cheeks warm as we watch her point being proven in real time.

‘I mean it!’ I shout louder. ‘I know you can hear me. I want you downstairs now .’

Seconds tick by.

‘See?’ Anna throws open the front door. ‘No one can get through to her.’

‘I will, I promise. But don’t quit. I can’t do this alone. Please. ’

I’m not above begging. I will lie prone at her feet if it stops her from leaving. Anna hesitates.

‘I’ll make this right,’ I say quickly. ‘She will apologise and it won’t happen again. You have my word. Please, Anna. I don’t have anyone else to ask for help...’

What will swing this? More time off? A one-off bonus?

‘I’ll give you a pay rise... a thousand pounds more.’

She sighs heavily. ‘ Une dernière chance .’

One last chance.

‘Thank you!’ I beam at her, even though my stomach is churning at the cost.

‘This is only because I pity you when you are out of your depth, Mr Bailey.’

Ouch!

My grin becomes rictus, but I manage not to let the corners of my mouth droop before I’ve closed the door. Her wages are already eating away my salary, but it will be far worse to search for a nanny at short notice.

I climb the stairs, two at a time, and rap the bedroom door sharply.

‘Wren, it’s me. Can I come in?’

She doesn’t reply and I enter, bracing myself for battle. Her room is uncharacteristically tidy. Wren is lying face down on her bed, crying, next to the laundry basket, which is piled high with neatly folded clean clothes.

‘What is it?’ I ask, stepping closer. ‘What happened with Anna?’

She doesn’t reply, and her shoulders shake harder.

‘Why did you call her a bad name? You can’t speak to Anna, anyone , like that. You have to apologise.’

Wren sniffs but doesn’t move, so I continue talking to the back of her head.

‘I meant to tell her that you’d tidy up in here yourself, but I got distracted. She was trying to help.’

Wren sits bolt upright. Her face is blotchy and streaked with tears. ‘Help? She’s ruined everything! So have you!’

‘What do you mean?’

She grabs a bright-pink T-shirt from the top of the laundry. The muscles around my mouth tense as I recognise other colourful sweatshirts and blouses.

Wren kicks out at the basket, tipping it over. ‘Anna did this! And this!’ She scoops up armfuls of clothes and hurls them on to the carpet.

My heart thuds painfully as the realisation hits. I never wrote the WhatsApp to Anna. She’s swept up Carley’s old outfits into the wash along with Wren’s.

‘I can’t smell Mummy anymore,’ she says, in between huge, racking sobs. ‘Anna’s washed her away. I’ve lost Mummy forever!’

‘I’m sorry. I should have been clearer... I should have told her not to touch—’

‘Mummy’s smell is gone! I can’t ever get it back. That’s because of you!’

My cheeks sting guiltily. ‘We can try... Do you know what her favourite perfume was called? Or the washing powder she used?’

‘Do you ?’ Her eyes blaze with recrimination.

I perch on the edge of the bed. I have no idea. I reach out to comfort her, but she scrambles away, recoiling from my touch, and crying harder.

‘Leave me alone!’

‘Wren, please, can we—’

‘I hate you! I wish you were dead, not Mummy!’