This is met by a wave of tutting and breath being sucked in through teeth.
‘Sweetie,’ Rebecca says. ‘You’ll never get a decent tutor now. They were all booked up months ago.’
‘But surely—’
She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. ‘You’ll have to… I don’t know, tutor her yourself?’
I don’t have the time or the skills to do that. ‘What’s so great about the Grammar anyway? What about Broad Heath Girl’s School? Or Ethelstone Academy? They’re decent schools, aren’t they?’
The muted response tells me everything I need to know.
‘Here they come!’ Clarissa says.
I glance over to the school building to see the Year 2s coming out of their classroom. Catching sight of Katie’s blonde head fills me with momentary happiness, before I remember my dilemma. Where am I going to find a tutor for Eva? And even if I do manage to find one, will I have left it too late for Eva to study for the entrance exams? When did life get so complicated?
Ten
Dressed in a plain grey hoodie and sweatpants, I’ve left the hotel room for a brief evening run. I’m in some Midlands town with a name I can’t remember. The houses are terraced and the shops are bland: hairdressers and off licenses, cafes and charity shops. It’s all so uninspiring. Eventually, I check my watch and decide to head back to my hotel room. On the one hand, I wish I never had to return to its depressingly mint-green walls. But on the other hand, I’m anxious to check my messages. I still haven’t replaced my discarded phone, so the laptop is my only means of communication at the moment.
Rounding the corner, the flaking rendered facade of the hotel comes into view, like a giant lump of mouldy clotted cream. There’s a conference being held here at the moment. A black sign outside with those stick-on letters proclaiming the name of some company or other. People in cheap suits trying to sound important. Loud conversations. Power games. Name badges. Drinking. Flirting. I wish I didn’t have to witness any of it. I push away the thought that this is simply jealousy talking. These are people who have normal lives. Careers. Families.
Head down, I slow to a walk and slip through the sliding doors into the foyer, avoiding eye contact with the guy on reception and heading straight up the stairs to room 16B. My room. Hopefully not for much longer.
Desperate to check my messages, I opt to prolong the agony by first having a shower.
Finally clean and dressed in my pyjamas, my hair still damp, hanging straight down my back, I open up my laptop and my heart gives a little leap. There are three unopened emails. I tell myself not to get my hopes up, but I can’t help the flicker of excitement in my belly that one of these three messages could be the one to turn my fortune around.
I open the first message and delete it immediately, blocking the sender. The next one looks okay, but they want me part of the time in England and the rest of the time in France. I don’t have a passport. I suppose I could procure one, but it would be risky. And the last thing I need is more risk.
Taking a deep breath, I open the final message. My heart begins to pound. This could be just what I need to put my previous nightmare behind me. I have a good feeling about this. This could be it. And I’ve always fancied living by the seaside…
Eleven
I pull into Diane’s gravel driveway with Katie chattering non-stop in the back seat, telling me about her day at school. I’m only listening with one ear, as the rest of me is tied up thinking about Eva’s entrance exam and about my presentation tomorrow. But Katie isn’t pausing for breath, so I don’t think she’s too worried.
Diane lives in an enormous sprawling Edwardian villa opposite the golf course. It’s the same family house where Robert and James grew up. An idyllic place with a half-acre garden that boasts fruit trees and a swimming pool. Diane always says it’s far too big for her, but she couldn’t countenance living anywhere else. She says they’ll have to carry her out of the place in a coffin. That’s her subtle-as-a-brick way of telling us that she will never downsize or be shifted into a granny annex, let alone any kind of nursing home. I admire her in a way. Diane Ballantine is a formidable woman.
Ideally, picking up Eva won’t be a drawn-out exercise. Robert dropped her off this morning, so I haven’t heard Diane’s reaction to the event yet. This should be interesting…
‘Are we having tea at Grandma’s?’ Katie asks, undoing her seatbelt.
‘Not today.’
‘Pleeease. Grandma does angel cake with the three colours. And she lets us use the posh plates.’
‘I said, not today.’
‘That’s not fair. Eva’s been here longer than me. I only get to come for one minute.’
‘Come on, out you go, if you want to see Grandma.’
Before we make it to the front step, Eva throws open the wooden front door, her face alight. In her hands she’s brandishing several carrier bags.
‘Hi, Eva, how was your day?’ I ask. ‘What are those?’
‘You’ll never guess what!’
‘What won’t I guess?’ I ask with a smile. ‘You’ve been to the moon? You’ve grown a third leg? You’ve suddenly started liking broccoli?’
