Page 7 of When We Were Young

Emily

A pile of Post-it-covered papers is waiting on my desk.

Mrs Taylor, the head teacher, looms in the doorway.

‘Ah, there you are. The email for the Year Three trip needs to go out this morning – it should have gone yesterday. Good Lord, Emily,’ she adds, ‘couldn’t you have put make-up on? You’ll frighten the children.’

And she’s gone without so much as a ‘how are you?’

She’s right though, an inky purple stain has formed at the outer corner of my right eye and the eyebrow looks like one of the reception kids glued it.

I head to the kitchen. I’ve been working for that witch for a decade, and if I’ve learned one thing, it’s my day will go much better if I make her a drink. Just thinking about spitting in it gives me enough pleasure to make it unnecessary.

‘I made coffee,’ I say, entering her office. I do an odd little curtsey to place the drink on her desk with my stiff neck.

‘Glad you’re feeling well enough to join us.’ She keeps her eyes on her computer screen.

I’m taken aback. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t forget to give Diane your doctor’s note.’

‘Oh, I didn’t think I’d needed a doctor’s note – I was off for less than a week.’

‘Speak to Diane. You’ll have to fill out a form.’

‘Fine,’ I mutter and leave before I say something I’ll regret.

Back in the office, Kay is draping her jacket on the back of her chair. She grimaces at the sight of my face. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Whiplash is a pain in the neck,’ I joke, but her concerned look cuts right through it.

‘What happened?’

I tell her Liv distracted me by fiddling with the car stereo, that I took my eye off the road. It’s not exactly true, but it’s what I’ve been telling people.

The doorbell chimes. I go to turn my head but stop short with a yelp.

Kay looks over the counter separating our little office from the reception area. ‘It’s your boyfriend,’ she says with a wink.

I rotate the whole chair around on its wheels to see Florence Harding’s dad waiting at the glass door. I groan and buzz him in. Since Kay found out he’s divorced, she’s been trying to set us up. I’ve told her I’m not interested, but she won’t listen.

‘I’ll go – you look horrendous,’ she says, standing, but I get to the counter before her, to prove how uninterested I am.

‘Morning,’ I say, brightly.

‘Oh my God, what happened to your face?’ he blurts.

‘Oh – I was in a minor car accident. It looks worse than it feels.’

‘Sorry. How rude am I? It doesn’t look that bad. You hardly even notice it.’ He stops jabbering and takes a breath. ‘Apparently, I’m supposed to hand in this form about the maths workshop.’

‘I can take that for you.’

‘Great. Well, I hope you’re okay. Get well soon.’ He flashes an awkward smile and ducks out.

Kay sighs as the door swings shut behind him. ‘He’ll never ask you out now. He probably thinks you’re a cage fighter.’

‘Ha. He’d never ask me out anyway.’

‘Why do you think he comes in here every Friday afternoon?’

I place his form in my in-tray. ‘To pick his daughter up from her guitar lesson.’

‘Why do you think he gets here fifteen minutes early every Friday afternoon?’

I stifle a smile as I sit back at my desk. ‘Because he’s punctual?’

‘Because he fancies you.’

‘Rubbish.’

After lunch, a boy from Year One is brought to the office looking peaky. Before I have time to call his mum, he projectile-vomits up the filing cabinet and it takes half an hour to clean up the mess.

The rest of the day drags. I stare out of the window.

A gust of wind whips up a crisp packet and carries it across the playground.

I used to love watching Liv playing out there when she was little.

I took this job so I could spend the school holidays with her, but seeing her from my desk, knowing she was safe, was the best part.

Christ knows why I’m still here, Liv left for secondary school four years ago.

I’ve been doodling teardrop shapes all over the page of my notebook.

Large ones, small ones, some with scalloped edges, others filled with ever-decreasing duplicates.

A nagging feeling tugs at my attention, then I remember.

Cold dread washes over me. My limbs are heavy, weighing me down, and I fight to suppress the sob rising in my throat.

I know what to do. This used to happen all the time.

Breathe, just breathe . I drag myself up and somehow make it to the ladies’ loo.

Locking myself in a cubicle, I sit and cover my face with my hands, but in the darkness his face emerges, and it’s excruciating.

I count my breaths like they taught us in yoga class.

When I reach a hundred, the panic fades, but I count to a hundred again to be sure.

As I open the door, I glimpse the woman in the mirror and wonder if she has the strength to do this again.

Thursday is parents’ evening – my least favourite day of the year. I sound like a broken record saying Hello, what class are you here for? every five minutes. My voice was chirpy earlier this afternoon, but it’s becoming more of a squawk as the evening wears on.

Figures gather at the glass door. Florence Harding’s dad is among them with his ex. He holds the door open for a group of parents while his ex comes over to check in. She doesn’t make eye contact the whole time we speak and strides off to greet a friend without saying ‘thank you’.

Mr Harding hangs back until everyone is signed in, then clears his throat and steps forward. ‘Hi.’

‘Hello. You’re a bit early. Miss White has got one more before you.’

He nods but stays put. ‘Your eye’s healing nicely. You can hardly see it now,’ he says. ‘I’m still mortified by what I said the other day.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. That was nothing compared to what the children said.’

‘Can I buy you a coffee sometime? To say sorry.’

Heat flashes to my cheeks. ‘Oh, I––’

‘Miss Lawrence!’ barks Mrs Taylor, suddenly at my side. ‘Sorry to interrupt but I need your help with something.’

‘Now?’

‘No, no. Pop to my office when everyone’s gone.’

‘At seven-thirty?’

‘Shouldn’t take long. You’re such a whiz at PowerPoint.’ She turns and heads back to her office.

Mr Harding arches an eyebrow. Either he’s surprised at my PowerPoint genius or he’s waiting for me to answer his question. ‘Mizz Lawrence,’ he says, imitating Mrs T. ‘I can see now isn’t a good time. Have a think about it. I’ll pop back and see you after this.’ He smiles. He has nice teeth.

There are more parents coming in behind him. ‘Hello, what class are you here for?’

I deal with a flurry of arrivals and before I know it, the bell rings and the parents from Mr Harding’s time slot are filing out of the hall. I haven’t worked out what I’m going to say yet. Florence’s mum sashays towards the exit. She stops in front of me and waits for him to catch up.

‘So, you’re picking her up at six tomorrow. Don’t be late,’ she says and strides off.

Out of the corner of his mouth he tells me, ‘I’m never late.’

I laugh.

‘So, coffee?’ he asks.

‘Well…’ I begin, ‘sorry, I don’t even know your name…’

‘Harding, Will Harding,’ he says in a James Bond voice. ‘And your name’s Emily, right?’

His name is Will.

I lose my train of thought. He’s waiting for me to confirm my name, which makes me look crazy. ‘Yes, Emily. How did you––’

‘Your colleague in the office told me.’

I squirm in my seat. ‘Right.’

‘And it’s at the bottom of the emails you send out.’

‘Of course…’

‘So, coffee Emily?’

I was almost going to say yes. What was I thinking? ‘Thanks for the offer,’ I say. ‘But I’m with someone actually…’

His eyebrows slide towards each other. He’s confused or annoyed. ‘Oh? Your colleague told me you were single.’

‘I am, well I was. It’s just… it wouldn’t be a good idea. You know, not very… professional.’

‘O-kaaay.’ He’s annoyed, definitely annoyed.

‘I’m flattered,’ I say. ‘It’s just difficult at the moment—’

‘You don’t need to explain.’ He smiles, but this time it’s gone in an instant. ‘See you around.’

The house is dark and silent when I arrive home.

‘Li-iv!’ I sing.

I take off my jacket and hang it on a peg by the door.

‘Liv?’

No answer.

I check my phone. No messages, no missed calls.

I dial her number; it goes to voicemail.

I send her a text: Where are you? Call me .

I open the fridge. The food I left for her is still there. I open the cupboard. The packet of caramel wafers is still unopened – a sure sign she hasn’t been home. My heart rate accelerates.

I call Chloe but she hasn’t seen her.

I call Scott, but he’s not heard from our daughter either. ‘Don’t panic,’ he says. ‘She’s probably at a friend’s and lost track of time.’

My phone pings. ‘Wait, I’ve got a text…’

I put him on speaker and read the message aloud, ‘“At a friend’s – leaving now”. Scott, I’ll call you back.’

I cut him off and dial Liv. It goes to voicemail again.

‘Call me now!’ I shout at the phone.

Liv: Reception is terrible. I’m in Surbiton, around the corner from the dentist. I’ll get the bus, there’s one every 11 minutes. See you soon x .

Me: DO NOT get the bus! Send me the address. I’ll come and get you .

By the time she replies, I’m already driving towards the dentist in the company car Scott lent me after the crash. I pull over to read it.

Liv: 27 Windsor Ave

Windsor Avenue is a smart row of Victorian houses lined with beech trees. Number 27 has little lollipop-shaped bay trees on either side of the front door. I text to tell Liv I’m outside.

The door opens. Liv comes out and waves. She turns and says something to her friend, a boy so tall he fills the entire doorway. What the hell? He looks about twenty. He raises his hand in farewell and shuts the door as Liv skips down the stairs and over to the car.

She gets in, shoving her rucksack into the footwell. ‘I thought you were going for a drink with Kay after parents’ evening?’

‘Who was that?’

‘Oh, that’s Nathan. We were working on a biology project.’

That old chestnut. ‘How old is he?’

‘Same age as me. He’s in my science class.’

‘What’s going on, Olivia? You can’t go off without telling me.’

She shrugs. ‘It was a last-minute decision. You were working late and then out with Kay, so I knew you wouldn’t worry.’

‘It’s not about me worrying, it’s about you being safe. I don’t want you getting the bus at this hour on your own.’ My neck smarts as I check over my shoulder before driving off.

‘It’s not that dark yet. It’s no different to me getting the bus after school.’

‘There are fewer people around. And don’t argue with me,’ I say, heat creeping into my voice. ‘The rules are: you tell me where you’re going, and you answer the phone when I ring.’

‘I told you the reception was––’

‘For God’s sake, Liv! Stop answering back!’ I’m exhausted and hungry.

Liv stares out of the window, giving me the silent treatment the whole way home.