“Don’t put yourself down,” Liz admonished, wagging a finger. “There are enough people in life who will do that for you.”
Yes,Lucy thought,there certainly are.And Liz was right; she had been putting herself down. Always jokey, always with a smile on her face, but she’d been self-deprecating about herself for so long, she’d forgotten how to be anything else. Silly, scatterbrained Lucy, who leaped before looking, who was a walking disaster, who had a BA and was only a barista. Talentless Lucy, who painted wildflowers, barely a step above posters of kittens stuck in wineglasses.
“You’re right, Liz,” she said. “And the truth is, I enjoyed teaching that lesson, once I got over my nerves.”
“I think the children enjoyed it too. They were all talking about their lines as they left.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly and so Lucy explained, a bit self-consciously just in case it really was a stupid idea.
“I had them all draw one line on their papers. Then they had to exchange papers and use someone else’s line as the beginning of a drawing.”
“Very clever,” Liz said with a nod of approval. “Next we’ll have the Year Fives begging for lessons.”
“I don’t know about that—”
“Children like you,” Liz said frankly. “Can’t you feel it? Even the stroppy ones. And I’ve seen the little ones in the school yard. If anyone has a scraped knee, they ask for Miss Bagshaw.”
“Well . . .”
“It’s a talent, you know,” Liz said. “Not everyone has it, an ease with children. Not even every teacher, unfortunately.”
“You do,” Lucy answered with a smile. “I’ve seen you with the children, and with some of the younger teachers too.” She thought of Tara, whom she’d seen earnestly talking with Liz after school on more than one occasion, her daughter, Emma, on her lap. “You’re like a mum to them.”
Liz smiled a bit sadly. “I never did have any of my own,” she said. “It just never happened for my husband and I. But I ought to go sort my lot out. They’re ready for maths.”
After Liz had left, Lucy tidied up the classroom, humming under her breath. Maybe Liz was right, and children did like her. She’d bought into everyone’s criticism for so long, but for the first time Lucy considered that a man’s two sons disliking his new girlfriend was not proof that she was terrible with children. Nor did her mother’s opinion of her art mean she was a talentless hack.
She felt a sense of freedom, a burden she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying slipping from her shoulders. She didn’t have to be defined by a few people’s opinions of her.
Even your own mother’s?
“So, Liz tells me it went well.”
Lucy turned to see Alex standing in the doorway, that endearingly crooked smile curving his mouth.
“Yes, I think so. Actually,” she amended, emboldened now, “I know so. It was fun, and I think the kids had fun too. Amazingly.”
“Why amazingly?”
She shrugged, not wanting to go into it. “Anyway, it turned out all right today. Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”
“Thank you for taking it.”
They smiled at each other, awkwardly now because there was nothing left to say and yet Alex was still standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers, rocking a bit on his heels, and now that Lucy looked, the tips of his ears had gone red.
“So . . . ,” she said, the only opener she could think of. Thankfully Alex took it.
“So I was wondering if you were free this weekend, to go to the Crab Fair with me and Poppy and Bella.”
He’d spoken in such a rush it took Lucy a moment to comprehend that he was asking her out. Sort of. “Oh,” she said, stupidly, because her mind was spinning.
The tips of his ears went redder and he continued tersely, “Poppy wanted me to ask you. She’s taken a shine to you, and frankly I’d do just about anything to make my daughter happy.”
Okay, so he wasn’t asking her out. Not willingly, anyway. The smile she’d felt dawning across her face slid right off. “Including suffering through a Saturday with me?” she said, lightly enough, but Alex must have heard the edge of hurt in her voice because he answered, “There would be no suffering involved. I didn’t mean . . .” He trailed off, and Lucy waited, bemused, wondering if he’d dig himself out of the hole they’d both created. “I’d like you to come with us,” he finally said. “If you want to.”
Lucy didn’t answer for a moment. She wanted to—of course she did—but she still felt wary. She still couldn’t tell if Alex wanted her to come for his sake or just his daughters’.
“Of course, if you’re busy,” Alex said, “I understand. It’s no problem. . . .”
“What’s a Crab Fair?”
