* * *
Next morning Cassie drove into school, switched off the engine of her car and took a deep breath. What more could Marisha do to her? Nothing. She couldn’t touch her anymore. Cassie felt liberated. In fact, she felt a lightness she hadn’t for weeks. Helen, the secretary, was met with a Colgate smile and a cheery hello.
The classroom was empty. Relax, she told herself, just make the most of the next two days and then drop into Roger Newcombe on Friday afternoon and tell him you’re leaving. She felt a bit guilty about that, because she did love the kids and he was pretty desperate but .?.?. Sorry, not her problem.
Just then, Marisha shuffled in, looking strikingly different from her usual glamorous self.
‘Cassie, love, would you mind going out and picking up the kids? That’d be great,’ she said in a tone normally reserved for people she liked, which was odd.
The children followed Cassie back in, chirping and chatting, buzzing with the bliss of summer holidays just over the horizon. She couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret at the thought of leaving.
Marisha was sitting at the desk, looking washed-out, and suggested that everyone open their books for some quiet reading. ‘We’ll come back to the show this afternoon,’ she promised in a lacklustre voice.
At lunchtime Marisha, who normally snapped her books shut and hurried out the door, remained slumped at her big desk with the excuse that she’d some marking to do and would stay in the empty classroom for lunch. Cassie was tempted to engage her in conversation but thought better of it.
The odd atmosphere continued throughout afternoon rehearsals when Martin, the giant, shifted awkwardly on his too-big feet and tried to parrot the lines Marisha was feeding him. It was obvious to Cassie that the poor child was struggling to remember each line he was being fed, let alone remember them all at once for the performance. He wasn’t the only one who was struggling: Marisha seemed to be dragging herself through the rehearsal and at 2.25 p.m. she seemed to stagger slightly. Cassie jumped forward to catch her, and a couple of the girls squeaked with alarm.
‘Get a chair for Miss Upton, quick, Rowley.’
‘I’m fine, honestly, don’t make a fuss, there’s no need,’ she breathed, though she looked quite grey. Cassie was pouring her a glass of water when, mercifully, the bell for the end of school blasted outside the door and the children scrambled for their bags. Five minutes later the classroom was empty, apart from a couple of floating bits of paper.
‘Marisha, would you like me to call somebody to come and collect you?’
Even as she said it, Cassie’s heart lurched. What if she named Finn as her person? She could, easily – it was the most obvious thing in the world.
‘No, no, thank you, Cassie, I’ll be fine.’
‘I’m not trying to be rude, but you look bloody awful.’
Surprisingly, Marisha smiled. ‘That sounds about how I feel.’
There was something off about her demeanour; it was only then that Cassie realised she was straining to stop herself from crying.
‘Marisha, are you OK? Sorry, stupid question. What’s going on? Is there any way I can help?’
‘You’re very kind, even though I’ve been such a bitch to you.’
Wow, she hadn’t expected that. One thing Cassie had learned about Marisha was that nothing she ever said was without purpose. She leaned back and breathed deeply. ‘That’s a bit better. I thought for a moment back there I was going to be sick.’
‘Nightmare. You sip your water and I’ll open another window.’
Marisha smiled weakly.
‘You’ve probably picked up a gastric bug from the kids. I don’t know how I’ve escaped so far.’
‘That’s not it.’ There was an edge to her tone.
For a moment Cassie was alarmed. Could she be hinting at a serious illness?
‘Cassie, can I trust you?’
Cassie nodded.
‘You see, sometimes I think that when a person’s made a bit of a mess of their life – and you won’t be offended if I say that to you – it makes it easier to confide in them because they mightn’t judge you so harshly.’
Cassie nodded mutely. There was simply no answer to that.
‘I’m pregnant.’
