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‘Better,’ said Benni. ‘Darling, you know I find it immensely unnerving when you get all Motivated Teacher. Or is this Jack’s magical influence? Has marriage finally uncovered your work ethic?’
‘If my work ethic involves eating wedding cake from unlikely places – not like that, Miks – then you might just be right. If you mean am I likely to be willing to stay until 9 p.m. to attend a four-hour school performance of Annie for you, then no, I’m afraid my marriage certificate has not yet altered the fact that I still prefer home to school. Just. Much as you’re the best boss in the world, Benni.’
Benni, head of Science, smiled at me, then gave me a hug. ‘Don’t tell the Head about the prosecco. Anyway, I’ve given them a blow-by-blow of the actual wedding, so everyone can pretend they were actually there. I told them about the ceremony, your outfit, how drunk the priest got, how you punched a barman, how that fire spread so fast—’
‘I’m sorry you guys couldn’t all be there,’ I laughed.
‘You didn’t invite us!’ called Miks.
‘But that’s it now. We eat this cake, we open these gifts – thank you, by the way – and then all of life is as before. Ok?’
A look passed between Benni, Miks and the dozen other Science teachers and technicians.
‘What? What’s happened?’
‘Nothing’s happened,’ soothed Benni. ‘But, darling, we’d all just like to take a moment to remind you what a great sport you are.’
‘Oh god.’
She led me back around to my space in the Science office, where the computer screen, keyboard, back and top of my desk were papered with ‘Mrs Bestwick’ signs, in a hundred different fonts and colours. I wanted to cry and set the desk alight immediately, but I threw my hands up and shrieked, laughing and shaking my fist at them. I left most of it there for the rest of the day.
I managed to escape comment throughout the day, but in my Year 11 class after lunch, my most promising and least delivering student put her hand up and said, ‘Miss Lewis! Miss Lewis! I heard you got married, Miss.’ At least my students didn’t think it was funny to call me by Jack’s surname, even if he did.
There was a buzz around the classroom: teachers aren’t supposed to have lives, eat meals and go shopping, let alone get married, which is so inextricably linked with sex. The thought of your teacher doing it with someone is enough to start a riot.
‘I did, Michaela.’
‘Why, Miss?’
Of all the questions, this was the last one I was expecting. I’d expected a barrage of Did I take a helicopter? Did I go in a carriage? Did I have a bridezilla meltdown? Was there a fight? But this …
‘That’s enough, Michaela. This is a Physics lesson, not a Facebook status update.’ The class hissed its approval.
‘Ooh, you got burnt by Miss …’
And that was the only mention I got all day. I felt like I had somehow got away with something.
By six o’clock, everyone had gone except me and Benni. She came over and perched at the edge of my desk, fingering the tattered‘Mrs Bestwick’print-outs.
‘You did well.’
‘Did I leave them up too long?’ I asked, indicating the celebratory remnants strewed around my desk. ‘Should I have taken them off sooner?’
‘No, that would have been too obvious. If I had medals to give, you’d be next in line, darling. After my mother, obviously, and possibly after my poor sons, but you’d certainly be on the shortlist.’
‘If I open my mouth can you tell me if I’ve any teeth left at all, or just stumps?’
‘It’s fine. People just like to make assumptions, particularly after something as black and white as a wedding. Give it another week and they’ll all be expecting the patter of tiny feet.’
‘And “oh my god, your babies would be beautiful” …’
‘I know, I know, we had the same. But with added, “And which one of you would be the mum?”’ She took my hand. ‘And yes, I know you haven’t changed your name. It was just Miks’s little joke. Ok?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Now, are you coming for a Monday night cocktail or do you need to ask your hubby for permission?’
‘You might have been my “mentor” – your words, not mine, I might add – since I started teaching, but—’
‘If you don’t know I’m joking then I’m going to have to put you up for a very long and boring disciplinary procedure.’
‘Drinks are on you then.’
‘Drinks are on me, darling.’
It was half ten before Benni and I had finished at the bar – departmental stuff had come up that required intense discussions over many glasses of melon daiquiri – and my entry into the flat was noisier than I’d intended. Smash! The front door. Crash! A low bookcase falling over. Crunch! The pile of recycling I was going to lie on for juuust a second.
‘Shhh,’ I recommended.
‘Zo, is that you?’ Jack called from the sofa.
If I stay quiet, he won’t know it’s me, I thought.
‘Zo, if that’s not you, it’s a woefully clumsy burglar and I’ll need to actually get up and do something about it.’
Shhh, I thought again.
Suddenly, Jack was standing over me.
‘Come on, you, let’s get you to bed.’
‘Bossy,’ I muttered, as he pulled me up and half walked, half carried me to bed. He removed my clothes, but as he tried to tuck me in I wrapped my arms around him, suddenly amorous.
‘Stay with me,’ I groaned.
‘I’ll get you a pint of water, then I’m coming to bed, ok?’
‘I don’t want a pint of water, I want you.’
‘You’ll want a pint of water when you wake up in three hours’ time, Zo.’
‘Yes, but I want you now,’ I said, closing my eyes to give them a rest.
When I woke up again at 2 a.m., my mouth tasted like the sole of my shoe, and Jack was snoring next to me. There was a time, even a month ago, when he would have been with me tonight. He’d have been out, I’d have been out, we’d have eventually met up on our routes and we’d only just be getting in now. There might even have been dancing, Monday night be damned.
I wanted to wake him up and ask him why that hadn’t happened tonight, but when I rolled over into a sitting position I realised I wanted to die instead, and any heart to hearts would just have to wait until I was able to sit up without vomiting, or had actually died, whichever came first. In my Magic 8-Ball brain, I thought about work tomorrow and came up with ‘OUTLOOK NOT SO GOOD’. I’d email Benni and see if she’d mind telling the Head I’d passed on.
At 7 a.m., Jack was shaking me, shouting and shining a torch into my eyes like a friendly interrogator. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head, but he kept on. Eventually his words translated, and I heard, ‘Zo, wake up, you’re going to be late. I’ve made you a coffee and toast. Do you want me to turn the shower on?’
‘What the ever-loving fuck is this?’ I groaned again, trying to turn away without having to move my body. ‘What are you doing?’
Jack lifted the pillow off. ‘Zo, time to get up. You’ve only been back a day. You can’t call in sick.’
‘I was out with Benni, she’ll be the same.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Come on, once you’re up you’ll feel much better.’
I pulled the pillow over my head again. Jack pulled it off again, and tried to lift me up.
‘Jack, just piss off, alright?’
There was a shocked moment of silence, then Jack lowered me down and put both his hands up. ‘Fine. Fine. I’m off to work, you do what you want.’ I caterpillared under the duvet and heard him pack up and slam the front door. I’d made one discovery already that morning: if there was ever a hangover tip to make you feel even worse, it was being a total bastard to your boyfriend. Husband.
I knew he was right though, and after a minute or two of checking my limbs were still attached, I crawled on all fours to the bathroom, threw up for a while, then got into the shower. I found a coffee and banana under the mirror when I got out again, once the water was running completely cold.
In the kitchen, Jack’s toast for me was also cold in the toaster. I mashed the banana on top with a little cinnamon, and sat chewing thoughtfully until the shakes had subsided. This was a bad one. I’d already sent a text to Benni to warn her of the state I was in (I’d just got a Ugh. Me too in response), but I needed something more than just a text for Jack. Looking at the scattered remains of my breakfast, I realised that this was why I loved him – his thoughtfulness, his commitment, his kindness. But this morning I had a killer hangover and I just wanted to lie in bed and suffer. Why couldn’t he just leave me be, if only for five more minutes?
I’d overreacted, but I couldn’t bear being treated like a wayward child by someone insisting on what was best for me.
Staggering through the school gates as the bell rang, I was sure we could fix it.
TWO (#u4a3ed56c-2eab-5410-a0e3-169bfb7698d5)
Seven years earlier
Zoe sat at the bar and picked at her nail polish, something both Ava and her mum told her not to do whenever they caught her. She flaked off big chunks of deep blue onto the napkin on the copper-topped bar, then folded the napkin over to keep them from scattering. She took another swig of her salt-rimmed margarita and checked the clock on the wall. He wasn’t coming.
She’d had to be convinced about this date in the first place, by the Chemistry course-mate who had set her up with this guy at a recent party – yes, he was good-looking, but she hadn’t got a good vibe from him. Not at all. When they’d been introduced, he’d given her the kind of smile that made her feel like a mirror, that he was just looking at her to get a tab on how great he looked that day. And when he’d nodded a casual Yeah, sure to her course-mate’s suggestion that he and Zoe should get a drink some time, she’d wanted to back away from the whole thing, hitting undo.
She might only be twenty-two, but she knew enough to listen to her gut on things like this. Glancing round the empty bar, she realised she’d just learned that the hard way. But she hadn’t been on a date in ages, and if nothing else, she was reasonably sure he’d have put out at the end of the night. She sighed, and drained the final dregs from the glass.
The barman took the glass and the folded paper napkin, and wiped down the counter. ‘Another?’
Zoe realised she felt slightly giddy from her margarita.
‘What do you recommend?’ She folded her chipped fingernails inside her fists and rested them on the bar.
‘Maybe a better date, from the look of things? Otherwise, I make a mean Bloody Mary.’
She speared three olives in the little dish by the napkins, and ate them, one by one.
‘I feel pretty bloody. Go on then. Please.’
He didn’t talk while he was making her drink, but once he’d served it he stayed at her end of the bar and chatted to her, in between serving other people. It was a quiet Tuesday in October, and there weren’t that many people to serve, so they were mostly talking. He was a student too, doing a design degree. He was into shoes, he said, planning to make a break from behind this bar at some point to actually start his own shoe shop, shoes that he’d designed and created himself. She asked him if he’d make his escape tonight. He said he was now considering hanging around for a better offer. She said she was considering making one.
The next morning, Zoe woke up to a strange and empty bed. Fair enough. She’d only had one more drink after the Bloody Mary and could remember everything well enough to know she’d be disappointed that this was only a one-night thing, but it was a pity he hadn’t even hung around long enough for a little small talk, perhaps a brief replay of last night. She stretched, got up, dressed – debated leaving a note, but thought there was little point. She found her handbag and shoes – one under the bed, one balanced on the dripping tap in the corner sink – attempted to shape her hair into something presentable, and headed out, pulling the door until it locked, heading down the corridor that looked just like every college hall corridor in the country, and out into the street. Her bus arrived almost immediately and she headed back to her student house to take a long bath and have a good long think about what she’d done. In fact, what they’d both done.
Five minutes later, there was a soft knock-knocking at the bedroom she’d so recently vacated. A key in the door, and the barman opened it from outside, juggling two coffees and two bags of pastries.
‘I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got one of—’
He stopped, saw the empty bed, the vanished shoes and bag.
‘Bugger.’
Two weeks later, Zoe stood waiting outside a workshop at the design college with a tote bag over one arm. After a quarter of an hour, the doors opened and the students streamed out.
‘Hey!’ she called. Half the class looked around. ‘Barman!’
He joined the half of the class who were looking, and smiled. ‘It’s Jack, actually,’ he called back.
She nodded. ‘Jack. Ok. Bit out there, but I can work with it.’
He walked over, stood in front of her. ‘Zoe.’
‘You remembered.’
‘I did.’ He smiled a little more. ‘I remembered where you were at uni, too, and your course, and I was actually going to come and find you there, but I thought how would I actually find you—’
‘There are literally three black students on my whole course.’
‘And I didn’t know if it would be a bit weird, me just pitching up at your lectures—’
‘In front of my whole class? Like this?’
‘Yeah – oh, no, I mean – this is different. It’s charming when you do it. But it’s a bit weird if this barman you just had a one-night stand with turns up, even if he’s brought flowers—’
‘You were going to buy me flowers?’
‘Yeah, of course. I mean, I had such a great time with you. And then you’d bolted, and I didn’t really know how to find you.’
‘Again. Literally three black students on my whole course.’
‘But here you are!’
‘Ruining our romantic reunion.’
Jack laughed. ‘A little bit. And I don’t even have your flowers.’
Zoe opened her tote bag. ‘But I have shoes. Can you fix them, please?’
He took the bag and offered his arm. ‘But first. A drink?’
That second date was as good as their first, if that bar conversation could be counted as their first. For their second date, they made an effort: Jack wore a new jacket, Zoe wore the heels Jack had fixed for her, and the pair of them left their film early. They never made it to their restaurant booking, but later found one of the few obliging pizza delivery places still willing to deliver to university halls.
The third date was with Jack’s parents.
On the morning after their pizza-in-bed date, Jack had waved Zoe off at the bus stop and headed back to his room to get ready for his day. Zoe, rummaging in her bag on the top deck of the bus, found that she’d picked up his student ID by mistake. She looked at her watch. Dammit, she didn’t have time to return it now, but she’d swing by and drop it off later.
