A Hopeless Romantic. Harriet Evans
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these kids, so you can sleep easy at night in your big banker’s flat. Well, you can’t behave like that and get away with it. I’m not putting up with it any more, really I’m not.’
‘I explained the guidelines to him and all his colleagues, back in October,’ Laura repeated. ‘I’m sure this Marcus bloke’s just got his wires crossed. As I said, you know we’ve never had any problems with Linley Munroe so far, Mrs McGregor.’
She gazed at her in-box and looked flatly round the office. In Rachel’s absence, Shana was on another call, Tim was out on a visit and Nasrin was clearly reading Pick Me Up and not doing any work at all.
‘I don’t care,’ Mrs McGregor said quickly. ‘Laura, I’m afraid who they are isn’t relevant here, not for my kids, anyway. That Marcus – he’s a big thug. I know those kids aren’t perfect, but…’
‘Look,’ Laura cut in, wanting to avoid another ten minutes of Mrs McGregor. ‘I’ll talk to Clare at Linley Munroe, tell her to have a gentle word with Marcus. But I really don’t think he should be banned, Mrs McGregor. He’s obviously enjoying it, and – well, let’s face it – all he did was tell this boy to shut it – it could have been worse, couldn’t it? They call each other the most horrific things in the playground, don’t they?’
Her email beeped and her eyes flicked instantly to the screen. She opened the message and read, her heart pounding.
‘Do they?’ Mrs McGregor said. ‘Not in my experience, Laura. Sure, there are rude words, but…’
Laura wanted to reread and reply to the email. She said shortly, ‘Oh come on, Mrs McGregor. You know what I mean. Fuck, bum, willy, vag—And…’ she paused, realising what she’d just said, ‘er. Well, we used to, anyway. That sort of thing.’
Mrs McGregor was silent. Then she said, ‘Well, I must say. Honestly, Laura.’
‘It’s an illustration,’ said Laura briskly, marshalling all her inner resources and kicking herself ferociously on the ankle, whilst Nasrin and Shana gaped open-mouthed at her and started laughing. Laura flapped her arms at them to shut them up, and said, with what she hoped was an air of finality in her voice, ‘I’m sure if Marcus Sussman used inappropriate language he was doing so to try and communicate with them. But I totally understand what you mean and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
Mrs McGregor droned on in the background, but Laura didn’t listen, only vaguely registering that she had to get rid of her in order to reply to this email.
‘…have to speak to Rachel about this, Laura, yes, I will. Nasty man. Smooth young prat with cufflinks who thinks he can treat these kids like dirt because he went to university and they didn’t. It’s vile. And I’m surprised at you for not seeing it.’
‘They’re ten, Mrs McGregor,’ Laura said, finally losing her patience. ‘Of course they haven’t been to university, don’t be stupid. Fine. Talk to Rachel, but I’m surprised you’re being so blinkered. I always knew you were an inverted snob but I didn’t think you’d let it derail the volunteer programme like this.’
‘Oh!’ Mrs McGregor inhaled sharply. ‘Laura Foster. You’ll regret this, I promise you. Yes you will,’ and she slammed the phone down.
‘Laura!’ said Shana, her eyes sparkling with the unexpected office excitement. ‘Fuck, bum, willy, vag? What the hell…?’
Laura put her head in her hands and moaned softly to herself.
‘It was brilliant,’ said Shana joyfully. ‘Best thing I’ve heard in ages.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Laura, finally looking up at Nasrin, who put the magazine down and gazed at her. ‘St Catherine’s again. Mrs McGregor. Stupid old bitch, I hate her,’ she said defiantly. ‘I’m going to get in trouble, aren’t I?’
‘She always makes a fuss, every year,’ Nasrin said placidly, picking up Pick Me Up again. ‘Rachel knows that, don’t worry. She’s just a sad old rebel without a cause.’
Laura turned back to her email again. Now she was free to read it properly, she didn’t want to. Mrs McGregor had spoilt her afternoon.
A holiday is a great idea. You and me, nothing else. Imagine what we could do all week. Why don’t you start thinking about where to go. July is best for me, by then everything’ll be sorted. We can celebrate properly. I want you.
Dxx
Laura blushed with pleasure. The email, the email she’d been waiting on for over two days since she’d tentatively emailed him on Monday to ask if he thought they should go away. And here it was. He wanted to go away with her, everything would be sorted by then – so when was he going to talk to Amy? And then they’d be together. He was serious about her, she knew he was. Going on holiday, that was a big step, but they were ready for it. They’d spent so much time together they knew each other better than most other couples, and they certainly got on better than most other couples – look at Dan and Amy, she thought, and then realised they weren’t the best couple to compare Dan and herself to. Laura rolled her eyes at her own stupidity, but her heart was singing, and the rest of the day passed more pleasantly than she’d expected.
The next day it was still raining, and Mrs McGregor wrote a letter of complaint to the local education authority about Laura. She faxed it to Laura’s boss Rachel, who gave Laura a formal warning. She had no choice, she said, looking firmly at Laura as she twiddled a pencil between her fingers. Laura watched the pencil, sliding in and out and around, and wondered what all the fuss was about. Mrs McGregor was wrong, she was a horrible woman and she was wrong. Marcus Sussman was a bit hearty but he seemed to be a nice man: all he’d done was to tell a kid who called him ‘a fucking cunt’ to shut the fuck up – well, was that so bad? No, not in her book. Who cares, she thought, mentally shutting down and blocking out the memory of Mrs McGregor’s droning voice.
‘I won’t say I’m not disappointed,’ said Rachel, leaning over her desk towards Laura. ‘I thought that was one of your strengths, people management. You’ve always been so good at it, Laura. They love you at St Catherine’s, too. What happened?’
Laura looked at her and felt tears start in her eyes. She was being stupid, she knew it, behaving so irresponsibly, but she didn’t know how to start to explain. So she just said, ‘Oh, you know. I just – she really was so vile. I just couldn’t take it any more. I’m really sorry, Rachel. You know it won’t happen again. Can I ring Mrs McGregor and apologise?’
Rachel smiled at her, slightly more warmly than before. ‘Of course. Thanks a lot. You know how it is, Laura. We have to follow procedures. You know that. Just don’t let it happen again. And watch that Marcus Sussman. You’re sure he’s OK?’
‘Absolutely,’ Laura said. ‘I promise she’s making it into something from nothing. This is the last time, I won’t let you down.’
‘So, darling,’ said Angela Foster that evening, smoothing the sofa cushion over with her hand. ‘How’s work?’
She glanced around the sitting room, as if she expected a troupe of tiny tap-dancing mice to can-can out from a hole in the skirting board and pirouette off with her handbag.
‘Fine, fine,’ Laura said hastily. ‘Today was…er, fine. Thanks so much for these, they’ll look great.’ She gestured to the pastelspotted blinds her mother had bought her from John Lewis as a belated birthday present. ‘It’s so nice of you to bring them round, Mum, you shouldn’t have.’
‘Not at all, darling,’ said Angela. ‘And I wanted to see my girl. We haven’t seen you for such a long time, you know. You’re so busy these days.’
Laura changed the subject hastily. ‘So, Mum. Have you got time for a cup of tea or do you have to go?’
Angela looked at her. ‘I can see you’re longing for me to stay,’ she said dryly.
‘No,