Bertie turned the radio up and stared out of the window. The way his fists sat clenched in his lap told me he placed his misery firmly at my door. The closer we got to the school gates, the more agitated he became, his legs jiggling, his fingers tugging at the tie around his neck.
‘It will be OK,’ I said as we drove into the car park. Bertie didn’t reply. I turned off the engine, and he jumped out, striding up to the entrance without waiting for me. I ran after him, but became caught in a mass of parental drop-offs and by the time I reached the front door to the school Bertie had long since disappeared.
‘Olivia, darling.’
I turned to find Cressida Jamison tottering towards me on leopard print heels. ‘Hello, Cressida.’
‘Long time no see. You should hear the dreadful rumours that have been circulating about your disappearance. We must go for coffee so you can tell me all about it.’ She linked her arm in mine, but I pulled away, making the excuse of a busy day andmaybe another time. Cressida Jamison wanted to be my friend as much as I wanted to be hers. Not at all. She was just looking for some juicy nuggets of gossip she could pass on to her minions.
Somehow, when Beryl gossiped away in the shop, it felt harmless. As much as she loved to discuss other people’s business, it was never with any malice. Cressida Jamison was a different story. I’d heard how she tore other people’s lives to shreds with her acid tongue. She could gossip about me all she liked, but I wouldn’t willingly give her any ammunition.
‘Mrs Simmons?’
Mr Kieling was pushing through the gathered parents. ‘I wonder if we could have a word in my office?’
‘Of course,’ I said, trudging behind him as the heavily made-up eyes of other mothers followed me.
I found myself back in the office I’d hoped never to visit again. It was the opposite of Mel’s: tidy, grand and uncomfortable. I wondered if Mr Kieling kept a box of tissues to hand for weeping parents, but thought it unlikely.
‘I wanted to check in with you, given Bertie has had so much time out of school.’
‘Oh, I assumed my mother-in-law would have told you when she enrolled Bertie. He hasn’t been missing school. In fact, he’s only missed a few days of schooling since he left.’
Mr Kieling cleared his throat. ‘She did appraise me of your situation. It doesn’t sound like Alberto’s education has been up to the same standard we expect from teachers here.’
‘Really? That surprises me, given my mother-in-law didn’t step foot inside Bertie’s school. She must have a wonderful imagination to have come to that conclusion.’
‘Yes, well, you’ll quite understand, I’m sure, that we can’t let Alberto fall behind his classmates.’
‘I assure you, Mr Kieling, Bertie has not fallen behind.’
‘Yes, well, in consultation with Mrs Simmons Senior, we’ve agreed that it would be best if Alberto receives some additional tutoring.’
‘You have, have you? And what givesMrs Simmons Seniorauthority to make that call?’
A sheen of sweat had appeared on Mr Kieling's top lip, and he fussed with the papers on his desk. ‘I believe your in-laws are paying for Alberto’s school fees.’
‘Yes.’
‘Very generous of them. Although, understandably, they’d like you and your husband to fund the extra tuition Alberto will require.’
‘Right.’ Anger and resentment fought against a deep feeling of despair. I couldn’t fault Marion’s intelligence, she must have realised Rob and I would try to work our way out of her influence, and I felt certain an additional tutor would be the first of many extra expenses designed to keep us financially insecure and therefore dependent. ‘And if I refuse this extra tuition?’
‘It could jeopardise Alberto’s place at the school. Mrs Simmons Senior assured me you would come round to her way of thinking.’
Without replying, I stood and walked away from Mr Kieling before I could say anything I’d regret.
‘My secretary will email you a tuition timetable and an invoice,’ said Mr Kieling to my departing back.
I ignored the group of women loitering by the school entrance and walked as quickly as I could to the car. My priority wasfinding a job, preferably one I could keep hidden from Marion and Hugo. If they knew I was working, it was only a matter of time before they found other ways to siphon off my income.
The job centre was less depressing than I’d feared. Having never stepped foot in one before, I was expecting something stark and utilitarian, like I’d seen in films. Instead, the building was newly furnished, purple armchairs huddled around coffee tables, discreet booths for appointments, and exhibition boards advertising the latest opportunities.
A cheery young woman dressed in jeans and a floral shirt assisted me. She ran through my qualifications, previous experience, and potential for references. Harry was the only person I could think to name as a referee. I hoped she’d be generous with her reference, despite the fact I’d upped and left the job she’d given me with next-to-no notice.
‘Hmm, there really isn’t a lot about at the moment,’ said the young girl, scrolling down her computer screen. ‘We have some great training opportunities and apprenticeships.’
‘I really need to be earning now,’ I said. ‘Preferably something I can fit around school hours.’
