Page 91 of Just Watch Me
They sat on the steps in the front, since the kids were playing in the back. Why could they never be alone? It was maddening. He took her hand, threaded his fingers through hers, and said, “It’ll be better when we’re home again, you’re right.” He tried to think of something else to say, but couldn’t come up with anything. Off his game.
She said, “We’ll see, I guess. You have so much going on, and so do I. The match this week in Auckland, for one thing.”
“Which you’ll come to, I hope,” he said. “You and the kids. And maybe we can … Dunno. See each other afterwards.”Get a hotel room,he wanted to say.Tell your granddad to take care of the kids for once so we can actually be together someplace where it’s just us.
“Maybe,” she said, and that was all. Regretting this, obviously. “But it’s still problematic, you realize.”
“I’ll ring you,” he said, trying one more time. “Tomorrow. Make sure you made it home OK.”
“That’d be good,” she said. “And to know how the rest of the team is, too. Your brother and all. It’ll be good for you to see him tonight.”
Zane’s dad poked his head out of the door at that moment and said, “Mum and I are set to go. Better get our skates on. No telling how long it’ll take us to get up there.” And that was that.
He should’ve done something else. Said something else. But what?
34
ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE
It was raining in Auckland on Tuesday morning, and six-fifteen had never come earlier. The plane had landed at three yesterday afternoon, but by the time they’d gone to the supermarket, she’d got everybody unpacked and all their clothes washed and hung out while the kids took showers, and she’d made the easiest dinner possible—and if it was one of those gourmet meat pies, she wasn’t apologizing for that—she’d taken her own blessedly hot shower, got into her PJs with the very last of her energy, and basically face-planted onto the bed.
She’d had the kind of adventure she’d never had in her life—and that she’d prefer never to have again, thank you very much—had actual sex with a man and had not one but two orgasms, first time out of the chute, and had possibly lost her heart. And all she felt was tired.
She should’ve done her workout in the morning to get energized. Instead, she dressed in her easiest outfit—pull-on slim navy trousers, a overshirt, and flats—and got through the rest of the morning routine more or less by rote. She had to have enough energy left, after all, to greet the new pupilswho’d be starting school this term, the ones who’d turned five during the past three months. There were four of them, and every one would be some mixture of anxious and excited. So she did some very last-minute prep, put on her smile and her efficiency like a cloak, made everything seem as normal as possible for her own kids, told herself she’d address any trauma later, felt guilty about that, and went to school and paired the new arrivals off with her kindest current pupils. Georgia was one of them, but that wasn’t favoritism; it was because Georgiawasone of the kindest.
After that? She got on with her day.
Lunch arrived in a flash—first days of term were like that—and she’d just sat down at her usual table with Jess and was opening her lunch—leftover meat pie and salad—when Missy Hawkins, a ten-year-old prefect with tight plaits, an impossibly neat uniform, and the air of a drill sergeant, came to a stop before her, all but clicked her heels, and said, “You’re wanted in the principal’s office, Ms. Fairburn.”
“Thank you,” Skylar said, and put away her lunch with a sigh. Missy nodded once and turned to go. Missy made Scarlett look like a slacker.
“Bother,” Jess said. “And here I am, gagging to hear the whole fascinating story.”
“Yes, well,” Skylar said, “it’ll have to keep.” Whatwouldshe tell Jess? She still had no idea.
Down the corridor and into the main office, where Stacey Thompkins, George’s teacher, was just coming out. Stacey looked startled at seeing Skylar, mumbled a “Morning,” even though it wasn’t, and hurried on her way.
Wait. Was this a teacher thing, or a parent thing? Was itGeorge?How could it be George, who’d been born sweet and stayed that way? She could barely even remember a tantrum! But the earthquakehadbeen terrifying, and who knew whatcould happen to a child under that kind of stress? She needed to talk to him. She needed to talk to all of them. Tonight.
“Come in,” came a voice at her knock. No George inside the principal’s office, to her relief. Instead, it was just the principal, Monica Rumsfeld, a rather starched lady who could have been anything from a somewhat tired forty to a well-preserved sixty. Nobody knew, because Monica was a closed book. She also never seemed to age. Skylar should ask her for her skin-care regimen, except that she’d never actually had anything that reached the level of a “regimen,” and probably wouldn’t start anytime soon.
“Hello,” Skylar said, in as pleasant a tone as she could manage.Couldn’t you have let me eat my lunch before we got into this, whatever it is?she didnotsay. Even if it was another Educator of the Year gong, it would’ve gone down better with that pie in her stomach. It had had to be the leftover pie, deliciously rich crust and all, because she hadn’t had time for food prep yesterday, obviously. She’d get on track again tonight.
Well, probably not. Tomorrow night, maybe.
It wasn’t an Educator of the Year gong.
Monica said, “Hello, Skylar. I’ve called you in because there was some interesting gossip on the playground today, and it involved one of your pupils.”
“Oh, dear. Who is it?” Lonnie Partridge? She’d swear there was something wrong at home there. Lonnie’d missed too much school, he wasn’t always clean, and he had a shrinking way about him she didn’t like at all. She’d tried calling his mum three times in the past few months, but she hadn’t rung back.Should’ve done a surprise home visit,she told herself.Well, we can get him some help now.
“Georgia Mahuta,” Monica said. “She and your son George told numerous other pupils that you and Georgia’s father had holidayed together in Wellington, and described theearthquake inveryvivid terms. A bit outlandishly, in fact, because they seemed to think you’d been some sort of hero.”
“Oh,” Skylar said. “Well, you know. Kids.” Really? She was going to have to talk about this again? She didn’t even want tothinkabout it, at least not now. Not during lunch!
“Yes,” Monica said. “They also explained that the earthquake was why both families missed the start of term yesterday. When you rang and said you’d been unavoidably delayed, and I had to get a reliever in to take your class, I thought, ‘It happens.’ And was concerned about you, obviously. But they seem to think that the two of you are a couple. Engaged in a romantic relationship, that is. In fact, marriage was mentioned.”
“Ah,” Skylar said, keeping her cool with a major effort. “Stacey Thompkins was just in here reporting that, was she? You do realize she doesn’t like me. For some reason, she believes we’re romantic rivals. I’d have moved George from her class, but she doesn’t take her dislike out on him, and she’s a good teacher. But you’re believing what she tells you?”
