Trials of Love, page 18
I didn’t know what to say, and blustered, “I’m sure that he must have known how much you, you…”
“Liked him?”
I tried to reassure her, but the words sounded false even as I spoke them. Finally, Rachel said, “Thanks, Matt, I really needed to speak to someone who knows me, to try and stop me feeling like such a cold and heartless bitch.”
“Of course you’re not. Look, shall I come and see you? Would that help?”
“No, Matt, I mustn’t be selfish. You need to spend time with Emily and sort your own problems out.”
Emily. Yes, Emily – I must go and see her.
Chapter 53
Emily
I just had to get out of Anita’s flat when Matt’s phone rang for the second time that morning and he answered with, “Hi, Rachel.” I didn’t care where I went; I just needed distance. A space where Matt wasn’t.
I found a coffee shop and ordered a latte, which I lingered over for some time. When the assistant started to give me funny looks before coming over and asking, “Is there anything else, madam?” I knew it was time to leave. I returned to the flat and to my relief found that Matt had left. I settled into a chair and mused.
Rachel was back on the scene; that was clear. OK, it had been many years now since she stood aside and left Matt and me to sort out our feelings for one another. Which we had. Life had been wonderful with Matt by my side, whether I was a ten-year-old with a brace or a thirty-four-year-old desperate to get pregnant.
In time the pain of not having children might heal, but the disappointment would always remain. Together we would have got through it. If only we hadn’t bumped into his former secretary, Daphne. Or, more to the point, if we hadn’t bumped into Josie, Daphne’s young baby. Matt’s face had been a picture of rapture and delight as he picked the baby up out of her pram and cuddled her. I had suddenly realised, like a blow to the heart, that I had been so selfish. I had only thought of how my miscarriages had devastated me, and failed to appreciate how Matt, who came from a large family, must be feeling – both hurt and let down. I had failed him. Now it was my turn to think of Matt and move away. I had tried to make things easy for him by making up that story about moving in with Graham; a story that had so nearly had horrendous consequences until Matt saved me yet again. Now the whole seedy tale had been exposed as a lie.
I took my mobile phone out of my pocket, looked in my contacts, and dialled a number. It rang and rang before the patient voice of Molly Palmer answered.
“Emily, is that really you? How good to hear from you. It’s been far too long. There must be some special reason for you to take time out to honour me with a telephone call. Is there some exciting news?”
It was clear from the barely concealed glee in her voice what the ‘something special’ was that she was referring to. It took a great effort of will not to hang up.
“No, Molly, I’m not pregnant. I was wondering if you had any vacancies at your school?”
There was a pause. “Emily, there will always be a vacancy for a teacher of your calibre. When I bump into the kids you taught, they still eulogise about you. When were you and Matt thinking about moving down here?”
“It won’t be Matt, Molly. It will just be me.”
I heard the sharp intake of breath down the line and waited.
“What’s going on, Emily?”
I hesitated.
“Emily, we need to talk. When can you get down here?”
“Later today, if that’s OK?”
“That’s fine. You can stay with Duncan and me as long as you like until you sort something out.”
I mumbled a thank-you as I tried to keep the tears at bay.
I packed and drove down to Bridgwater, thinking of my time at St Michael’s. There, my great friend and mentor had been the headmistress, Molly Palmer. It had been my first job after leaving teacher training college, when anything and everything had seemed possible and Matt was simply a ‘special friend’ from primary school whose photo was always in my purse.
*
Molly came out to greet me as I pulled up outside her house. She seemed to have changed little in the eleven years since I last saw her. There was slightly more grey in the hair at her temples, but she still had that same warm, gentle gaze which could be misleading. Her eyes had an ability to see right into one’s mind and soul. As we sat down opposite each other with a cup of coffee, those piercing eyes looked straight into mine.
“Right, Emily, enough of this small talk. Duncan is out walking the dog. Tell me what’s going on.” The tone was gentle but firm.
“Well, I enjoyed working at St Michael’s. What is it, over ten years ago now? As you know, circumstances at that time meant that I had to leave rather suddenly. I’ve tried nursery work, but I feel that this is where I belong. I’d really like to come back.” It was lame, I knew that and so did Molly. She didn’t even bother to answer; she just looked at me, waiting for the truth.
I turned away from her, unable to face those penetrating eyes. Eventually she said gently, “If you want me to help you, you have to tell me the truth.”
I couldn’t stop the tears from falling as I told her about how I had lied to Matt about my alleged affair with Graham and my moving in with him.
She looked bewildered. “But why, Emily, why? I know you love each other. I’ve never met two people who were more suited.”
I told her about the miscarriages and how Matt deserved a real family with babies and nappies and the wailing cries of children.
Molly pulled me into her ample bosom. “I knew about the first miscarriage but not the second. It must have been awful. Does that mean… I mean, can you not…?”
I nodded, unable to risk speaking.
“What about adoption?”
Before I could answer, she added, “Why does this mean that you have to leave Matt? I don’t understand.”
I was finding this all too painful. “Molly, please,” I implored, but she just continued staring at me.
“Emily, I know this is between you and Matt. It’s your business, not mine. When you first came here you were a novice teacher, but you had certain qualities that the children loved. You had real enthusiasm for literature, a love of children and a zest for life. They responded to that. So much so that after you left, poor Jessie Roberts who took over from you didn’t stand a chance. The children all compared her with you. She left after six months. Then we had Jane Birch, she was good, but left after four years and since then no one has really settled. I’ve been taking over the class for the last two terms, which isn’t ideal.” She took my hand. “I love you like a daughter, Emily. But my first concern is the children and unless you can put your personal life aside and rediscover your love of teaching, I fear you won’t be here long.”
I looked her straight in the eye. “If I can’t give you what you have every right to expect from me, then I will know, and I will make things easy for you.”
She nodded. “Right. Let me show you to your room so that you can make yourself comfortable.”
The following morning, I walked to the newsagent to get the local newspaper. I was keen to sort out a flat as soon as possible rather than inflict myself on Molly. It was while I was waiting to pay that I felt someone staring at me from outside. I turned to look, but caught just a glimpse of a grey-haired man moving quickly away from the window and hurrying down the road. I shrugged my shoulders and handed my money over.
It was not until sometime later that I discovered the grey-haired man was in fact Michael Davies, my ex-fiancé’s father.
Chapter 54
Matt
When I went around to Anita’s flat she was on her own. No sign of Emily. Anita looked awkward and embarrassed as she explained that Emily had taken all of her things and left for good. Although I was devastated, I wasn’t shocked or even surprised.
“Where’s she gone?”
Anita shook her head sadly. “I can’t tell you, Matt, I promised.”
“Please, Anita, I need to know, damn it.”
She bowed her head so that she wouldn’t look at me. “I promised her, Matt. I’m sorry.”
I took out my phone and called Emily’s mobile. Ring, ring, ring, ring.
No answer. I knew that my number would be displayed on her phone and she would know who was calling. She was simply choosing not to answer. I texted her with the news of Charles’ suicide and said that I would let her know when the funeral was. I also told her that I loved her and begged her to come back. I waited and waited but never received a reply.
*
Charles’ funeral was two weeks later and I travelled to Doncaster, feeling incredibly sad for Rachel and her young family, but also full of anticipation at the prospect of seeing Emily again. Oh, I wasn’t going to make a scene, or ruin Rachel’s day of grieving. No, I just wanted to look at Emily and know that she was alright. I just needed that reassurance.
I was met at the crematorium by Rachel, who was ashen-faced but composed. As she kissed me on the cheek she whispered, “I had a lovely letter from Emily sending her condolences. She won’t be coming, Matt.” My heart sank and I had no difficulty in maintaining a melancholy expression during the service.
Charles’ parents lived in Australia and they had travelled over to say goodbye to their only child. It was heartbreaking to see the pain on their faces as they struggled to keep an air of dignified grief.
I looked around the sea of black in search of any familiar faces but found I knew very few of them. There was Jean Rodgers, Emily’s nursery partner whom we’d met at Beverley’s christening, a couple of girls from the Malvern nursery, and that was about it.
I had never met Rachel’s folks during our time together, although I had seen photos of them. I remembered that Rachel had arrived late in their lives, and now they looked old and careworn. At the wake I made small talk with them but felt that I was slightly out of place. I waited until Rachel was free and caught her eye. I said a sad farewell as she hugged me close and we promised to keep in touch before departing.
It was when I got into my car that it hit me with a jolt. It was obvious, and I suppose I’d always known it. It was the sight of all those mournful faces. It brought home just how important it was to get the most out of life, and people were the only thing that mattered. I had to get Emily back – for both our sakes.
I tried Emily’s mobile number again and this time got that infuriating message: “The number you have dialled has not been recognised, please hang up and try again.” I did, and got the same message. I felt like throwing my phone out of the car window in frustration. She had changed her phone number, and was lost to me. I felt like rejoining the mourners and weeping.
Chapter 55
Emily
I was shocked when I got Matt’s message about Charles’ suicide. It must have been awful for Rachel and the poor children. They were so very young, and they would grow up never knowing their father. Never knowing what made him laugh, what made him angry or sad. They would miss out on such a massive part of their lives.
However, despite this I couldn’t bring myself to go to the funeral and meet Matt. I had to start a new life and let Matt go. As much as he kept texting me to say how much he loved me, he deserved better. He needed a family.
I was as nervous as hell when I walked into the classroom for the first time in eleven years. What a strange, eventful eleven years. I put that to the back of my mind as I addressed the class.
I wrote on the whiteboard, ‘My name is Ms Bishop’, and then turned to study the class of apprehensive students, all looking up at me. I felt their eyes on my every movement. But then, as soon as I started talking, my initial nervousness disappeared into a deep hole and I felt at ease, eager to instil a love of literature in as many of them as possible.
Soon, I could tell from their faces that a lot of the students’ anxieties and concerns about an unknown teacher had disappeared, and they seemed at ease with me. I gave myself a silent cheer as the day unfolded. I’d come home.
Although the day was fine, when I got back to my flat, I could not think of it as home and the evening was long and worrisome. No matter how hard I tried, the image of Matt kept appearing. I kept thinking, Where is he, what’s he doing, who is he with? In the weeks that followed I found I couldn’t do anything to stop these thoughts. I joined a running club and then a writing group. But enjoyable as both groups were, I couldn’t stop my thoughts returning to Matt. They were always there, lying in wait.
Molly Palmer was pleased, though. Well, at least with my teaching performance. Outside of that, I always sensed when she looked at me that there was a certain air of disappointment which she was struggling to come to terms with. Though she tried to hide it, I knew that she felt I had really messed up my personal life. She and Duncan had a well-balanced and rewarding marriage – that much was obvious, having dined at their house on many occasions. They both clearly felt that I should have stayed with Matt and sorted things out. If only I could believe that this was the right thing to do.
One day I overheard one of the students say to a friend, “That Ms Bishop is sick.”
I was horrified, particularly when the friend said, “Really sick.”
Sick? There was me thinking that they liked me, when in fact they thought there was something wrong with me. That comment sat at the back of my mind for the rest of the day. I was preparing to go home when Molly asked if I was alright.
“You look distracted, Emily. Has something gone wrong today?”
I told her what I had overheard and to my amazement she simply laughed at me.
“Emily, dear, you really need to get with it. You’re just so out of touch. You need to learn the lingo. ‘Sick’ means cool. They were saying that you’re really cool.”
I laughed with her and breathed a sigh of relief.
*
Nick Williams, who was one of my brightest and most enthusiastic students, arrived twenty minutes late for class one day. I ignored him and made a mental note to speak to him later and find out what the problem was. He slammed the door shut and glowered at me as he took his seat, making as much noise as possible. Once more I ignored it. Then, when my back was turned writing something on the board, I heard him shout across the room to one of his mates. When I turned around I caught him throwing a pen, which bounced off Sally Gresham’s head. I glowered at him.
“Nick Williams, stay behind at the end of class. I think you and I need a word, young man.”
After the bell rang for the end of the class I looked around for Nick, but he had disappeared. The following week he arrived late again, and his entrance was just as noisy and disruptive. He talked loudly throughout the lesson and seemed to try and engage anyone he could in conversation. This time I caught him before he could disappear.
“What’s going on with you, Nick? Why are you trying to disrupt the class?”
He couldn’t look at me, and studied his shoes instead. It was clear I was going to get nothing from him.
I shared my concerns with Molly, who was amazed.
“He was always one of my best pupils. There must be something going on with him.” She kindly offered to sit at the back of the class and spectate, and sure enough, Nick turned up late and noisy.
“I suppose I’ll have to sit through this boring rubbish,” he said, slamming his books down on the desk and yawning loudly. He didn’t notice Mrs Palmer, who was sitting quietly at the back of the classroom, and continued to be disruptive. Finally, she’d seen enough and moved quietly out of the room.
I caught up with her later.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“He’s not the same boy. I can’t explain it. I think we need to get his parents in and find out what’s going on.”
I nodded.
At home that evening I drafted a concise letter to Nick’s parents, asking them to call in the following Monday to discuss the reasons for their son’s changing attitude. Once we knew why things had changed, we stood a chance of putting it right.
I found Nick and gave him the envelope that was addressed to Mr and Mrs Williams. “What’s in it?” he asked in alarm.
“It’s just asking them to pop in for a chat, that’s all.”
“It’s because I’ve been misbehaving, isn’t it, miss? I know it is.” He peered down at the letter in his hand in panic. “Please, miss, I promise I’ll behave from now on, please. Don’t make me give this to my dad.”
I looked at the young, agitated face and felt confused. What should I do? I needed to appear confident and in control. “Give it me back and I’ll hold on to it for a week. It’s up to you how we go from here.”
“You won’t regret it, miss.” The relief was palpable.
The next day was a different class, one year younger; they were bright, keen, a joy to teach. Only this day was different. Roger Colvin did a Nick Williams and turned up late. Not only that, he too slammed the door shut, and was noisy, rude and disruptive. I spoke to him at the end of class, but got nothing from him.
I sat at home at the end of the evening and fretted. Where was I going wrong? I desperately, desperately needed to speak to Matt. Ever since we became friends at primary school he had always been there for me. Even when we were parted for fifteen years when I was taken to live in Gulval with my grandmother, he was a source of comfort. When things got tough, as they frequently did, I would take out his photo and look at the words he’d written on the back, even though I knew them by heart. To Emily, my special, special friend, the only girl for me Signed, Matt Bishop. That photo and those words meant everything to me. I moved across to the phone and picked it up. No, I mustn’t be weak! He needed his freedom. Leave him be.
