The Good Part(54)
‘Hi, I just wanted to drop off some football kit for Felix Rutherford,’ I tell the woman at the reception desk, eyeing the clock on the wall, as I try to catch my breath. She gives me a pitying look, and it’s only then that I realise what I must look like. I have baby purée in my hair, huge sweat patches on my shirt and God knows what else because I didn’t even look in the mirror before I left the house. Amy looks like a frazzled flamingo.
‘What class is he in?’ she asks.
‘Um. I’m not sure. He’s seven.’
‘You don’t know what class he’s in?’ she asks, narrowing her eyes at me. An older woman with brown curly hair walks through from one of the offices behind and now I feel doubly judged.
‘Three C,’ says the older woman. ‘Felix Rutherford is in Three C. While you’re here, Mrs Rutherford, I wonder if you have time for a quick chat?’
The receptionist reaches for the football kit and, on feeling it’s still slightly damp, gives me a pointed ‘Tut’.
‘Maybe you could put it on a radiator for a minute?’ I ask in a low voice, before following the older woman into her office. The sign on the door reads – ‘Mrs H. Barclay, Head Teacher’.
‘Take a seat,’ she says, picking up a book and handing it to Amy. It’s a hardbacked flap book about rabbits, and Amy paws it gleefully. ‘One of my favourites.’
‘Excellent,’ I say, simply for something to say.
‘Were you aware that Felix brought nuts onto school property this morning?’
‘Nuts?’
‘Nuts are not allowed, Mrs Rutherford. Allergies.’
‘Oh no, I’m so sorry, that was my fault. Is everyone okay?’
‘They were confiscated and disposed of.’ She pauses. ‘Felix didn’t have the right books this morning either, and he missed roll call.’
‘Yes sorry, we were late, we um . . .’ I try to think how I can word my excuses. Sam won’t be impressed if I’m left in charge for a day and both the children are taken away by social services.
‘I just wanted to check everything was okay at home?’ she asks, leaning across the desk towards me. ‘Felix told his teacher you’d disappeared.’ She pauses, knitting her hands and lowering her eyes. ‘If there are problems at home, it’s always best to let the school know – then we’re best able to help your children with any difficult transitions.’
‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ I attempt an overly cheerful smile. ‘Just some, um, health issues.’ I pause. ‘I’d rather not discuss the specifics, but they might account for Felix’s recent behaviour.’
‘I see.’ She nods slowly, then frowns as though she doesn’t see at all and would like me to elaborate. ‘He asked his teacher if he could build a space rocket in project time—’
‘How ambitious of him.’
‘– so that he could send his pretend mother back to her alien planet.’
A short, sharp laugh escapes my lips, which is met with a frown. ‘Children have such vivid imaginations, don’t they?’ I say.
‘I don’t want to pry,’ she says, though clearly, she does. ‘As long as you have everything under control, and you don’t send nuts into school again.’
‘I do, thank you, Mrs Barclay. Everything is under control. Got it, no nuts.’
At which point Amy throws up a soupy sludge of undigested nuts, all over the head teacher’s desk.
Chapter 21
‘Sounds like a pretty normal day in mothering land to me,’ says Faye, when I’ve finished telling her about my disastrous day. I’ve managed to sneak away from the children for a few minutes to call her and it’s such a relief to hear her friendly non-judgemental voice. ‘How’s Amy now? Has she been sick again?’
‘No, she seems fine. I probably shouldn’t have let her have an energy bar for lunch.’
‘And what’s happening with the washing machine? Is it still beeping? Do you want me to come over?’
‘No, don’t worry, I’ve wedged all the dirty laundry around the machine and it’s muffling the sound.’ I sniff my top. Even though I’ve changed, I still smell of vomit. ‘I feel sticky and sweaty and disgusting. I’ve failed at everything today.’
‘Are your children alive?’ Faye asks.
‘Yes.’
‘Has the house burnt down?’
‘No.’
‘Then you haven’t failed.’
‘Do you think I’m finding this parenting stuff hard because I don’t remember how to do it?’
‘No, it’s just hard sometimes. I imagine doubly hard if you don’t remember anything,’ says Faye. ‘They can send a man to Mars, but no one’s solved the problem of how to get a child dressed, fed and out of the house without someone losing their shit.’
‘They sent a man to Mars?’ I ask, astounded.
‘They did, and a woman, and a gerbil called Spacey McCheeks.’
‘I haven’t even had time to make myself a coffee. I’ve failed to do any of the washing. I can’t even remember if I’ve been to the loo today. I don’t think I have – I don’t think I’ve done a wee in eight hours.’