She alternated between furious and sad.
Heart sad.
She had thought he wasn’t like other people, had been convinced that what they had between them was special, the stuff of romantic dreams, the we’re-in-this-together-forever feel. She had thought that they could pause things until they no longer shared a classroom and then work on building a life together, or try to. She had put aside all her fears about her future and tried to do as others had suggested and take the leap. But no, it turned out that once he had got into her pants he was no longer interested, and everything she had wanted to avoid had come true.
She had tried every way she could think of to fix it, but he always had an excuse at the ready these days, a reason for not spending time together after school. And what was worse, no one else seemed to notice the fractured nature of their friendship. If they had, they weren’t discussing it with Pippa, who had taken to ranting at Lottie every evening, the only other person who knew the truth of what had happened.
Today, however, had been a great day. She and Rosy had been helping the children put the finishing touches to the fish and boats and mermaids sculpted out of wire and paper, that they had made for the torchlight carnival that took place on the Thursday night of Feast Week. Laughter had been boinging around the class all day, finishing with Ellie insisting that the cat she had made, complete with whiskers and a boat shaped hat was in fact a sea lion and that no one in Penmenna knew what they were talking about.
But that was part of the problem: now she enjoyed her days far more when Rosy was teaching than when Kam was in charge. She dreaded the days he was in, when it seemed her poor judgement was rubbed in her face as the air no longer crackled with the excitement of unresolved sexual tension but was spattered with misunderstanding, hurt feelings and incomprehension. Or at least on her part – she had no idea what was going on in Kam’s head. That was a swamp she couldn’t wade through. The only explanation that made any sense was that he was a bit of a twat, and that in itself didn’t – couldn’t – ring true.
She put her key in the front door, relieved to be home and planning to slide early into her pyjamas and shut out the world for a bit. Half way up the stairs to the flat she stopped as she heard a scuffling noise.
What on earth could that be? Lottie was still working in the shop downstairs. She really hoped it wasn’t the dormice on the mantlepiece coming back to life and tap dancing across the living room floor.
She crept up the rest of the stairs, half wishing it wasn’t summer so she would at least have an umbrella to hand. Instead she’d have to rely on her natural survival skills. If it was a burglar she’d scream, go for the balls followed by the eyes and then peg it back down the stairs to the shop.
As she hit the top step she heard a woman’s voice ring out. It was her mother. How had she not guessed? Of course it was. Now she knew who was upstairs, her heartbeat slowed and she relaxed, her shoulders slumping back into their natural position. She was about to push open the door to the flat when she caught specific words.
‘…it’s not just your boy; somethinghaschanged. She’s so despondent these days. I haven’t known her like this since she was a teenager. It did cross my mind it was regret over James…’ Her mother paused and was clearly receiving short shrift for such an idea from whoever was on the other end of the phone. Pippa couldn’t identify it – she was behind the door after all – but even with such a barrier she could still make out some kind of squawking. Hopefully it was a squawker with more common sense than her mum, who was currently declaring that ‘We’re going to have to do something…’
Pippa had heard enough. The last thing she needed was her mother getting involved again, and roping others in. It was time to stop this right now.
‘Hello, Mum! What are you’re doing here?’ Pippa burst into the kitchen in the same way she used to stealth-attack Pete when they were kids. It would seem that the pleasure in kapowing the door open and watching someone’s mouth drop open in surprise didn’t dim with age. It being her mother’s mouth brought an extra special joy as, apart from anything else, it temporarily stopped her from speaking.
But only temporarily.
‘Ah, Ge… I’m going to have to go. Pippa’s home. Let’s talk tomorrow.’
‘So?’ Pippa arched her eyebrow at her mother and for fun put her hand on her hip. Her mum sat at her kitchen table with phone in hand and shock all over her face, an expression that soon turned to mild martyrdom as if she had been misjudged yet again and was doing nothing wrong.
‘Hello, love.’ She got to her feet, gave Pippa a peck on the cheek and sat down again. ‘Did you know you have a dead squirrel in your fridge? I don’t really know where to begin. I thought I had taugh—’
‘Yes, it’s Lottie you need to subject to your talk on hygiene, disease and germs riddling your system. At the end of the day, it is her home. But nice try. Now, what are you doing here? As much as I love you, I’ve talked to you about this before. You can’t just let yourself in. What if I had someone, you know, here.’ Pippa waggled her eyebrows to make her meaning clear without being inappropriately explicit.
‘Well, if you had, I wouldn’t have needed to make these, would I?’ Jan pushed forward the inevitable plastic container, full of Raspberry Bakewell biscuits, the raspberries forming the shape of happy faces. They were her favourite biscuits, and her mother’s good intent, and the fact that she had picked up on Pippa’s recent downturn in mood, made her heart squidge. Her mum might be irritating, constantly bloody present and way too involved but all was born from love. Pippa knew she was so lucky to have that. Not everyone did. Poor Sylvie had lost her mum just over a year ago, and Alice’s was an absolute nightmare, although thankfully lived on the other side of the world.
‘Come on then, you’ve clearly popped the kettle on. I guess I should join you and make some inroads with those biscuits.’
Pippa drew a chair out and sat down to talk to her mum.
Jan waited until Pippa had her mouth full of biscuits before she asked the question she had clearly been dying to ask.
‘So, how’s work? You and Kam still getting on very well?’
Pippa may have had a mouthful of crumbs but managed to fix her mother with a look that spoke volumes.
‘I’m not interfering, love. It’s just a question. You seem low, and have done for a while now. Plus, your dad said when you were at the Feast Week planning meeting the two of you took great efforts not to sit together. Now, I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but I’m not completely daft, Here, have another biscuit and then tell me what is going on with you.’
‘Nothing. We’re not joined at the hip you know? I don’t know what Dad was talking about. These are good though, Mum, maybe one more.’
‘Good, take that one. It’s been sprinkled with truth serum and then you can answer my question again. I know you think I’m just interfering, but that’s my job.’
‘Mmm, maybe when I was six…’ mumbled Pippa through a mouthful of almonds and raspberries.
‘And now too. So, come on, what’s going on?’
‘Oh my goodness, Mum, nothing!Nothingis happening between Kam and me.’ Pippa declared stoutly. And that was the truth. Absolutely nothing. They worked together, and now the magic was lost. Every now and again, the two of them would get caught up in the moment in the classroom, and a flicker of their old friendship would return and then it kind of fizzled out with awkwardness, feeble excuses and moving apart.
