Hens Reunited Read online

  Now it was Alice’s turn to stare. Our mum? Did that mean … ? ‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘Did you just say … ?’

  He nodded. ‘Cathy’s my sister,’ he said. ‘You thought I was her traitorous ex, didn’t you?’ He laughed, his eyes twinkling. ‘You thought I was Joe’s dad.’

  ‘Well, he does look like you!’ Alice burst out, her cheeks flaming. Oh help. What had she done? What an idiot! She put her head in her hands. ‘So you’re his uncle … oh God! Sorry. I just thought …’ She shook her head. Why was she so stupid? She could hardly look at him. ‘Well, now I feel a complete pillock. I’m so embarrassed. Aaarrrgh.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be,’ Dom said, grinning. ‘I think it’s funny.’

  She bit her lip. ‘Well, I’m glad we’ve got that straight, anyway,’ she said, blushing furiously. ‘And I’m sorry I got it all wrong.’ She managed to look him in the eye again. ‘Does the offer of being friends still stand, or are you about to make a run for it, now you’ve found out what a nutter I am?’

  He laughed and pretended to consider the question. ‘Let’s drink to friendship,’ he said after a few moments.

  ‘I’ll second that,’ she agreed. She got up to clink glasses with him and he caught her eye as she did so. Not just caught it – held it, his gaze locking hers. Something about the way he was looking at her so meaningfully made her catch her breath. The atmosphere seemed to change; tension thickened between them.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said, feeling flustered.

  ‘Cheers,’ he echoed, smiling. He touched his glass gently to hers and the chinking sound seemed to break the spell.

  She stepped back as if released from an enchantment. Lightning flashed again, and thunder boomed a split second later. Rain was pouring down now and wind swirled in the chimney breast.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere for a while,’ she said, glancing outside to where large marshy puddles were forming in the grass. The words sounded like a bad line from a film and she blushed again.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well … if that’s all right,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for any more gossip in the pub …’

  She wrinkled her nose at his words. A strange tingly sensation had been stirred up inside her and she felt reckless all of a sudden. ‘Who cares about the pub?’ she said. ‘More wine?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Promises

  Still Tuesday, 17 June 2008

  Katie was not having a good day. Alfie Stewart, one of her problem Year 10s, had been lippy and aggressive throughout the entire double lesson that morning. Usually she had him on a very tight rein, not letting him get away with a single word out of line. Usually she was more than a match for his oafish comments and rudeness, and could put him in his place with well-practised ease.

  But today he seemed to sense she was struggling. Today he’d got right under her skin, drawling too-loud comments about her hair, her outfit, even the way her arse jiggled slightly as she was writing up a series of equations on the board. And today, she just didn’t have the wherewithal to stop him in his tracks with the curtness he deserved. She’d snapped at him for his remarks but her face had reddened at the class’s giggles – and from that moment on, she was undone. He had the upper hand and she, for once, was on the losing side. God, she felt like wringing his fat, unwashed neck. The bell for break-time could not peal fast enough and she let out her breath in a gust of relief when it finally did.

  At lunchtime she tried to make notes for the parents’ evening later that day in the staffroom, but her thoughts kept returning to Steve, and the empty house. She hadn’t been able to help a tiny spark of hope when she went back that morning to pick up her school things. She’d opened the door and called his name, only to hear it echo through the stillness. Nobody home.

  For all the bravado she’d felt last night as she and Laura made their way through cocktail after cocktail, now she just felt hollow. She tried Steve’s mobile for the millionth time, but it went straight to voicemail, and she couldn’t bring herself to leave a message. She felt great remorse for the way she’d behaved with Laura too – like a pair of silly schoolgirls, encouraging those blokes who were only in it for a leg-over. What if Steve had seen her? She could imagine the hurt and disappointment shining from his eyes, the disapproval at her giggling and flirting with Gary and Barry, or whatever their names were.

  ‘This is what you call a bad day,’ she muttered to herself as the lunch bell rang, signalling a return to the classrooms. ‘Nine hours to go, then I’ll be in bed, and it’ll all be over.’

  Annie French, one of the PE teachers, overheard and gave her a wink. ‘One of those, eh?’ she said, patting her on the back. ‘Think yourself lucky. I’ve got the Year 8s for athletics all afternoon. Let’s hope one of them manages to impale themselves on a javelin.’

  That afternoon, it was Katie’s final lesson with her Year 11s before they were due to take their Maths GCSE the following week. She wanted to cover the bases one last time, instil in them all the knowledge and problem-solving skills they’d need for the exam, and fire them up with abundant confidence. She was evangelical about education being the one big salvation for all kids, especially those who, like her, hadn’t had parental support. But were they interested? Were they heck. Unfortunately, the summer heat was glaring through the windows over their greasy teenage heads, sending them into a sluggish, somnolent state. As the lesson ended, Katie wished them the best of luck in the exam but couldn’t help a queasiness on their collective behalf. Even her brightest pupils had stalled on some of the revision questions – subjects she’d hoped they would know off pat by now.

  Let’s hope it’s raining on exam day, she said to herself as they jostled out, a few of them remembering to say goodbye Miss and thank her. Otherwise we’ll all be roasted.

  Sometimes she wondered why she bothered. She’d had those kids for five years – had seen them enter the school as nervous Year 7s, wide-eyed and relatively attitude-free, and watched them erupt into hormonal, leggy youths, taller than her, some of them. All those homework books she’d marked, all those lessons she’d planned for them. She’d done her best, but was it enough? ‘Over to you, guys,’ she’d said helplessly at the end of the lesson. ‘Try your hardest in the exam, and make me proud, yeah?’

  She sighed again, as the classroom door swung shut after the last student. ‘Don’t let me down,’ she said into the warm, chalky air.

  Now then. One hour to go before the first parents were due to arrive. She had to do some serious cramming if she was to get through this evening without too many cock-ups.

  Four thirty. Show-time! The school hall looked like a rehearsal for next week’s GCSEs, set out as it was with rows and rows of small tables, a teacher at each one, with two empty parent seats before them. Katie looked to her left where her friend Liz, head of art, sat fiddling with a paper clip, a resigned look on her face. ‘Who’ve you got first, then?’ Katie asked in a stage whisper, conscious that the initial consultations were due any moment.

  Liz pulled a face. ‘Joshua Wakefield’s parents,’ she moaned. ‘Competitive as hell, I seem to remember – even about art. Last time they were here, they kept asking about tests and grades, and whether Joshua was in the top group … in art, for fuck’s sake!’ The paper clip pinged out of her fingers as her voice rose. ‘Let’s hope they’ve chilled out a bit this time. Who’ve you got?’

  Katie glanced down at her list. ‘Kelly Stevens,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember meeting her parents before, though. Can’t wait to break it to them that Kelly is the class fidget and more interested in applying herself to love-texts and graffiti on the desks than to solving equations.’

  Liz grinned. ‘Ahh, if anyone can, it’s you, Katie. Oh – parents at twelve o’clock, I spy. Our evening of fun starts here …’

  Katie drew herself up straighter in her seat, trying to present the right image to the approaching mums and dads: professional, smart and caring, rather than hungover, knackered
and wishing-she-was-at-home. So … now to play Spot Kelly Stevens’ Parents. Kelly was small and skinny, with lots of brown hair, pale freckled skin and a nervous energy that seemed to channel itself through her mouth. She liked to chat, did Kelly.

  Katie scanned the room. Big bald bloke, man-boobs jiggling as he strode in, dragging a dumpy wife behind him … nah. Surely they wouldn’t have produced a live wire like Kelly. She was right – they were heading towards Wendy Grey, the elderly music teacher.

  Next up: an extremely smart-looking couple – him in an elegant suit, her with swishy shampoo-advert hair … nope. Too posh to be Kelly’s. Off they strode to Lucas Walker, one of the chemistry teachers.

  Ahh. Here came a woman with bobbed brown hair, a red short-sleeved top and cropped jeans, walking confidently in Katie’s direction, checking the table numbers. She had the same slim build as Kelly … and there was something vaguely familiar about the way she walked, too. Hmmmm. Katie couldn’t put her finger on it. Had they met before?

  The woman drew nearer, searching the rows of tables, head darting from side to side as she looked. Then she paused, clocking Katie’s number – 28 – and slid into one of the empty seats in front of her. ‘Hi,’ she said breezily, smiling as she held out a hand across the table. ‘I’m—’ She broke off, and stared at Katie. ‘Oh my gosh,’ she said, whitening suddenly. ‘Katie – is it you?’

  Katie stared back at the woman in surprise … and an image flashed into her mind – of them both sitting around a T.G.I. Friday’s table years ago, her with that hen-night tiara slipping in her hair … ‘Oh my God,’ she said, losing every shred of professionalism in one breath. ‘Nicki?’

  Could it really be her, her ex-sister-in-law? Katie hadn’t seen her since that disastrous Watkinson Christmas when Neil had presented her with a Kenwood Chef mixer and she’d just wanted to heave it up from the torn red wrapping paper and brain him with it. Nicki was married by then – yes, to Anthony Stevens! – and had seen fit to scold her brother for the gift. ‘Neil! That’s not very romantic! Honestly, Katie, what is he like?’

  And here she was now, Nicki Stevens, née Watkinson, sitting here in front of her, fourteen or so years later. Kelly Stevens’ mum. Yikes.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s you!’ Nicki said. She was pale, her eyes never leaving Katie’s. ‘I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth. And here you are, Ms Taylor, teaching maths to my Kelly. Wait till I tell Neil!’

  Katie winced at the words. It was madness that after all these years her ex-husband’s name could still send a shaft of guilt piercing her skin. Crazy that her instinct had been to blurt out ‘Don’t tell Neil!’ as if she was worried he’d want to track her down and marry her all over again. Because they both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  She tried not to squirm in her chair, wondering what to say, then checked herself. This ten-minute slot was meant to be about Kelly, not ancient history. All the same, she found she needed to defend herself. ‘I don’t know if you heard what happened with me and Neil, but …’

  Nicki’s eyes were soft. ‘I heard,’ she said. ‘Linda O’Connor, wasn’t it? And the rest of them. What a prat.’

  Katie stared down at the table, pained at that casual ‘the rest of them’. Right. She didn’t know exactly how many times Neil had been unfaithful – didn’t want to know either – but clearly word had got round that there had been several conquests. Katie had even heard a rumour that he’d tried it on with someone – Amy Phillips, was it? – at the actual wedding itself. How lovely. How very tasteful. ‘Maybe we should talk about Kelly now,’ Katie said, steering away from the subject.

  Nicki waved a hand, dismissing her daughter’s mathematical offerings from the conversation. ‘I haven’t seen you for about five hundred years,’ she said. ‘So how are you? How’s it all going?’

  Katie looked at her warily. She hadn’t anticipated a cosy little chat about ‘how it was all going’. And how could she reply to that, anyway? Oh, well, my latest boyfriend just walked out on me because I couldn’t commit, and I might have snogged someone last night but I can’t remember because I was too pissed, and …

  Not bloody likely. She couldn’t let that sort of detail get back to Neil. He’d probably laugh his head off. ‘What a hypocrite,’ he’d say. ‘After all the grief she gave me for putting it around, too!’

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ she said cautiously. ‘You?’

  ‘Oh, you know, married, three kids, working part-time at the big Toys R Us in Brislington …’ Nicki reeled off. ‘We moved to Bristol just after Kelly was born. I still can’t believe I’m sitting here opposite you! It must be … how long? Years, anyway.’

  ‘Fourteen years,’ Katie said, nodding. ‘How … how is he? Neil, I mean?’ There. The question had been hovering unspoken between them ever since Nicki had sat down and gasped in recognition.

  Nicki rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, well, you know Neil,’ she said. ‘Can’t make his mind up, that one. He was with Louise for a while – and they’ve got Harry, who’s twelve. And then they broke up and he started seeing Tracey. Had Grace – she’s ten now. And then he married … what was her name? Carla. Didn’t last two minutes. No kids, luckily. Now he’s with Marianne and she’s up the stick. Poor woman. You’d think she’d have heard about his track record, right?’ She shrugged. ‘You’re lucky you got away when you did, Katie. I don’t want to diss my brother but … well. Fact is, he’s a git. My own brother and I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.’

  Katie gulped. All those women … all those children. Neil certainly hadn’t wasted any time pining over her. ‘Blimey,’ she said faintly.

  ‘I know,’ Nicki said. ‘Bet you’re glad you dumped him when you did, eh? I just hope he didn’t put you off men for life!’

  She was laughing, saying the words lightly, but Katie felt a wrench inside. The truth was … he had put her off, for a long time. Too long.

  ‘Just as well they’re not all like Neil, right?’ Nicki was saying.

  Katie managed a smile in return. ‘Just as well,’ she agreed. And suddenly, she was longing to see Steve again. Steve, who’d never mucked her around. Steve, who’d never done the dirty on her, or bailed out.

  Until now, of course. Until she’d gone and lost him in the blink of an eye.

  Something shifted in the periphery of her vision, and she noticed that another couple were waiting at a polite distance behind Nicki. The next parents on her list of consultations. ‘Oh God, sorry, Nicki,’ Katie said, trying not to sound too thankful. ‘We’re going to have to finish here – and I’ve not even talked to you about how Kelly’s getting on with her maths.’

  Nicki wrinkled her nose. ‘She’s not going to be a mathematician, is she?’ she asked.

  Katie shook her head. ‘She’s not, I’m afraid,’ she replied. ‘But if she could just concentrate a bit harder …’

  Nicki laughed as she got up from the chair. ‘I know my Kelly. Too much concentrating on boys and eyeliner. But I’ll have a word. See what I can do.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Katie said. She swallowed, feeling awkward again. ‘And … it’s nice to see you, Nicki. Say hi to Anthony for me. And … er …’ She stood up and suddenly hugged her, her ex-sister-in-law. ‘All the best,’ she said.

  Nicki squeezed her back. ‘Lovely to see you, Kate,’ she said. ‘Really lovely. I’m glad things have all worked out for you. Wait ’til I tell Neil you’re a maths teacher!’

  It almost sounded mocking, the way she phrased it, as if being a maths teacher was something to poke fun at. But before Katie could protest and throw in a few more post-Neil achievements – ‘Yeah, and tell him I got the highest marks in my year for my teaching degree while you’re at it, won’t you? Tell him I’ve got my own house! Tell him walking out on him was the best decision of my life!’ – Nicki was waving and walking away.

  Maybe it was just as well she hadn’t had the chance to say all of that, Katie thought, watching her go. It might have made her sound rather … well
, desperate, if she was honest. And Nicki wasn’t the sort to mock, it was just her getting on the defensive.

  She glanced down at her list and gave the waiting parents a bright smile. ‘Mr and Mrs Lovell – nice to see you again. Come and sit down. I’m pleased to say Bradley has made excellent progress in maths this year …’

  She could hardly think straight for the rest of the evening. Neil and his harem of women, eh? It made her feel better about her failed marriage, in a funny sort of a way. No one else seemed to stay married to Neil very long either. So perhaps it wasn’t some failing in her, Katie. Perhaps the fault was all down to Mr Lover-Lover himself. It made her all the more relieved she’d taken the pill secretly throughout their brief marriage, when she heard about all those children he’d fathered. Well, that figured, too. He had been gutted when she couldn’t – or rather wouldn’t – produce one for him, had made her feel shit about it, as if she was a failure, a freak of nature. She’d wanted to wait a few years, have some fun first before she thought seriously about motherhood, but then, when she’d found out he’d been playing away, she’d left the marriage feeling hollow. Good, she’d told herself. Who wanted kids anyway? She’d probably only turn out a rotten mum, as useless as her own had been. She didn’t need a man or kids, she could get by on her Jack Jones – for now and for the rest of her life.

  It had been terrifying, sure, rocking up to the station and getting the London train on her own, just that one bag of possessions to show for herself. Her bravado had shrivelled away to nothing by the time the train had hissed into Paddington. Could she really go through with this? Did she really have the bottle? But the thought of her husband gripping Linda O’Connor’s podgy shoulders as he heaved himself into her was enough to propel Katie through the station and onto a bus to find the house Alice and Georgia were renting. And then, thankfully, they’d greeted her with open arms, a box of wine and the start of a new life.