Chapter Fifty-Seven
I call in sick the next day. I speak to Huda and tell her I have food poisoning. My throat is harsh from crying and I pretty much feel like shit. At least I don’t have to try to sound convincing. Niamh stayed with me during the night, slept in my bed, her presence a reassurance I can’t put into words.
‘I’ll call in sick,’ she’d said.
‘I’m fine, really. Just go to work. I have to go in this afternoon, anyway. It’s the parents’ evening tonight. I have to be there.’
‘No fucking way! The night will go by fine without you. Stay at home, take it easy. You’re traumatized. Have you called Kai?’
‘I know they can cope without me. That isn’t the point. If parents make the time to meet me, the least I can do is turn up.’
I don’t have the energy for arguing. I don’t tell her that Arwa has already sent out a memo of a slightly scary nature cautioning staff against non-attendance. Then there was last night’s not so thinly veiled threats; losing my job, sullying my name. A best defence is an offence, so the sports metaphor goes. I’m not going to give the bastard the satisfaction. I’ll meet the parents and show them just who I am. I don’t want to talk to her about Kai.
‘You’ve had a fright.’
‘Yes, I’ve had a fright but I’m not ill, and I’m not an invalid. Just go to work, I’ll sleep in the meantime.’
She goes, but not quietly and not on time. She calls into her school, informing them she’ll be in by mid-morning.
And once she’s gone, I sleep. It’s what I do best in times of stress, my superpower defence mechanism. I sleep, blotting out the thoughts of last night. The thoughts of calling Kai. I’ve no idea what to say.
Hey Kai, I went out with that guy, you know, Matt? The one you don’t trust. Oh, and your cousin mauled me. Made me feel like a total slut.
I need to see him, feel his reassurance, feel his arms around me. This isn’t something I can discuss over the phone.
The school is lit like a beacon as I park. Despite this, my stomach turns uncomfortably. I know I need to move beyond this and I think, once I get inside, I’ll be fine, because a school is a place of warmth, of innocence.I hope I’ll be extended its kindness tonight.
But how am I going to explain all this to Kai? My fingers trace the bite at my neck, which I’ve covered in make-up. It could’ve been worse, I suppose. He might’ve broken the skin.Who knows what I could’ve caught.
Pulling my shirt collar higher up my neck, I begin to think I should’ve stayed home.
The classroom is prepared, each tiny desk displaying a selection of the children’s books, every nook and cranny is decorated with their recent work. One wall is taken up with a themed display of memories. Each girl has written a couple of sentences about their very best memory and drawn an illustration to match. Cut into hexagonal sections, Sadia has glued these together to make the visual entitled,Our Memory Quilt.We’ve been reading a book in class about such a quilt, which the girls have enjoyed. I’m beyond proud of their efforts, glassy tears building in my eyes. I wonder which of my recent memories would fit.
‘Miss Saunders.’ Wiping a finger under my eyes in a furtive attempt to hide the tears, my stomach plummets instantly south. ‘What a delightful piece. You must be commended.’ Kai’s father is in my classroom. My stomach somersaulting now in concern. I’d hoped—prayed that I’d see him only from the stage, or at least only have to speak with him in a crowd. ‘I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,’ he adds smoothly, holding out his hand.
‘No, I know you,’ I answer, adding quickly, ‘we have met,’ to lessen the sting in my words. Linking my hands at my back, I rub them together as though to erase the memory touch.
Without an air of slight, he seamlessly folds the hand to the pocket of his pants. ‘I believe you’ve seen quite a lot of Kais recently.’ It’s not a question, but he pauses for a response. I offer him none. I’ve played this game often enough with my mum. ‘But I’m afraid it can’t go on. He’s not the man for you, my dear.’
‘I think you mean that the other way around.’
He smiles, all teeth, like a shark as his eyes flick over me. ‘Astute. And lovely but, alas, not suitable.’
‘Astute,’ I repeat, eyeing the door. ‘I’ve been called worse.’ He can’t mean to hurt me, not physically, at least, but the memory of last night is still raw. I’m nervous, tense, hummingbird wings flapping at my ribs.
He laughs loudly, startling me. ‘I can see the appeal.’ He shakes his head, expression firming as he adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves. ‘I came here to tell you this will not work. It hasn’t worked for Essam. I’m told you know a little of that. A marriage and a mistress. This cannot be. For Kais.’
‘But he has neither, I’m—’
‘A distraction. That is all. That he’s looking for an apartment for you while negotiating a marriage is a sign of that.’
Pain, swift and treacherous, cuts under my solar plexus. I walk to my desk, affecting the straightening of papers and books.
‘As I thought, he hasn’t told you. I’d asked Essam to apprise you of the situation, given that my son probably would not. You see, Kais has obligations toward a marriage to a member of Saudi Arabia’s ruling class. A Royal Princess, to be more precise. I’m sure you will appreciate a marriage needs time and consideration in order to work. I would like to offer you an incentive to enable that. What is between my son and yourself is, at best, embryonic. I’m offering you a substantial sum to terminate.’ His cold gaze rises, a flash of something unpleasant in the depths. ‘You can return to Australia in some style, and with a good employment reference. It will be entirely in your favour. You’ll be relatively well off.’
‘Married.’ The word is just a puff of air as I lean against the desk.
‘In due course.’
