Had anyone ever had a smile so infuriating?
‘To conclude this workload conversation,’ Petrovski went on, ‘next semester, in addition to the two first-year units, you will also co-teach the two new second-year units: the one on modernism that Dr Henshaw has prepared and the one on Shakespeare that you’ve prepared, Jonah.’
Twenty-sixmorelectures, on top of the twenty-six he’d already assigned us. Again.
‘Why?’ I said. ‘Jonah’s the expert on early modern drama, not me. There’s no reason for me to co-teach that unit.’
‘And if Dr Henshaw prepared the modernism unit, surely Dr Henshaw should be teaching it,’ Jonah said. ‘Neither of us have any expertise in that period.’
‘Dr Henshaw’s workload is at capacity.’ Petrovski was getting annoyed now. ‘And sometimes we have to teach units we don’t particularly want to teach. We all have to do our part.’
He levelled a look at Jonah. ‘As the son of such an experienced and celebrated scholar, I would expect you to understand this.’
Jonah stiffened.
‘Christian Fisher hasn’t seen the inside of a classroom in at least a decade,’ I said tersely. ‘Even if he had, he would never deign to team-teach.’
Petrovski stood, a clear sign that he wanted us to leave. ‘If you have any hope of passing your probationary period, Sadie,’ he said, ‘I’d suggest you watch your tone.’
‘Don’t speak to her like that.’
‘Jonah,’ Petrovski said, ‘while—’
‘Don’t even think about finishing that sentence with something likeit does you credit to defend your wife.’ Jonah stood too, glaringat Petrovski. ‘This isn’t about the fact that I’m married to her. This is about your total disrespect for her as a scholar.’
‘As I was saying,’ Petrovski said, meeting Jonah’s eyes, ‘while I understand you’re upset, I’d also suggest watching your tone. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’re on probation too.’
We rode the bus home in silence. There didn’t seem to be much to say.
Jonah got off two stops early. ‘I’m going to the shop,’ he said, gesturing at our little local supermarket out the window. ‘To grab some stuff for dinner tonight.’
‘Do you need anything from the garden?’
‘No.’ His jaw was set. ‘I’ve got it.’
When I got home, the apartment – which just that morning had been a whirlwind of activity, with Jonah and I trying to juggle getting ready for work with getting the kids ready for school – was deathly quiet. I was completely alone.
I dropped my handbag in my room and went to the kitchen, pouring myself a tall glass of water and drinking it slowly. I had to stop. Think. Not panic. Be sensible.
I sent a quick text to Julia about what had happened in the meeting and the fact that Vargas had apparently been forced out of the university. I updated the document I was keeping on my phone of all the ways Petrovski was unfairly targeting me. I emailed Lin and Veronica to see if they’d be interested in taking some more seminars for us next semester. I sent another quick email to Henshaw to see if we could set a meeting time to talk through their modernism unit. If I got very,verylucky, maybe they’d have created some preliminary lecture notes that Jonah and I could use as a starting point.
Fuck. Jonah.
Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’re on probation too.I’d led with my fists with Petrovski, and Jonah had come to my defence because he was a good fucking person, and now he was in the shit right beside me.
I poured myself another glass of water and turned around, leaning back against the kitchen bench, trying to take deep breaths and slow my heart rate. The disparate ways that Petrovski treated Jonah and I had never been fair, but still, if he lost this job because of me…
I closed my eyes. Me catastrophising wasn’t going to help either of us.
When I opened them again, I caught sight of a package sitting on top of the fridge. Jonah had mentioned it that morning, but I’d completely forgotten about it.
I went up on tiptoe to get it down. The weight of it in my hands was familiar. Books.
I found a kitchen knife (one of mine, not one of Jonah’s – one of the few spats we’d had since moving in here had been about his precious knives) and slit it open. I pulled the books out and blinked in surprise. I’d been expecting a couple of second-hand research monographs I’d found online for cheap. These were romance novels – a Talia Hibbert, an Alisha Rai, a battered old Jennifer Crusie.
And then I found the note.
Dear Sadie,
