Mrs Russell was in her classroom, with the door firmly closed. Every now and then a parent came out and another, at the front of the queue, got up and went inside. Eve had now been sitting on this child-sized chair for so long her left buttock had gone to sleep. It seemed as if this was par for the course at parents’ evenings: last term she’d waited three quarters of an hour for a three-minute appointment. It was pretty pointless making them book in for a specific time, but if nothing else it must entertain the teaching staff. Maybe next term they’d herd all the parents into the main hall, lock the doors and make them fight it out to see who went first.
‘Bit annoying, isn’t it?’ The man sitting next to her, had a baby strapped to his front in a sling. Her head was resting against his chest, face turned towards Eve, eyelashes fluttering as she slept, tiny bubbles appearing between her lips.
‘How old?’ Eve asked.
‘Four months. My wife has to work this evening, so I’m hoping this little one stays asleep until I’m out of here.’
‘Seems like such a long time since my son was that age.’
It really did seem like forever. She had carried Daniel around in a similar sling, with long straps that always seemed to tangle, however well she tied them. She’d tried to get Ben to use it, but he said he felt weird and insisted it was easier for her to wear it. It was one of the many ways in which he’d seemed so distant from his newborn son, almost disinterested in him during those early months.
She’d known he didn’t want a baby, that he wasn’t ready for family life. But she was in her late thirties – five years older than him – and her biological clock had been ticking away so stridently she could think about little else. As she walked down the street, her eyes were drawn to every passing pram and buggy; she’d turn her head to peer inside, sometimes striking up a conversation with the proud parents.
She’d never thought much about children until then, but suddenly it was as if someone had flicked a switch inside her and allowed out-of-control hormones to flood through every muscle and sinew; the desire to get pregnant had been immediate and terrifyingly overwhelming. She tried to discuss it with Ben, but he was dismissive, uninterested.
As the months passed, her desperation for a baby became an obsession, but one which she couldn’t even talk about with him. So, she’d gone ahead anyway. She had stopped taking the pill, conned him into it. She knew it was wrong, but had expected he’d fall in love with a baby and everything would work out.
So stupid; so incredibly arrogant.
To this day, she remembered sitting on the edge of the bath, watching in disbelief as a thin blue line appeared in the window of the testing wand. Her heart racing, pulse thumping, she had put her hand to her belly, unable to believe there was already a tiny life inside there: the size of a peanut – not even that, the size of a grain of rice.
‘But how did it happen?’ Ben had asked, when she told him later. ‘I mean, you’re on the pill. This is crazy!’
She’d shrugged, reaching up to put her arms around his neck. ‘Yes, I know, I guess nothing is one hundred per cent safe. But it’s wonderful as well, isn’t it? Our own baby.’
She’d felt the stiffness of his shoulders, the tension in his back; but had chosen to ignore it.
The baby in the man’s sling beside her was now stirring, and he gently rocked from side to side.
‘What’s her name?’ Eve asked, putting out her finger and running it gently down the baby’s downy cheek. ‘She’s just gorgeous.’
‘Sophie,’ he answered. ‘Yes, she’s rather amazing, isn’t she?’ He lowered his face and kissed the top of his daughter’s head with such tenderness that Eve had to look away. She had longed to see Ben behave like this with Daniel – to show any kind of affection towards him. There was a loving, warm relationship between them now, but it hadn’t come naturally at the start. Had he been different with Keira? She hadn’t been close enough to them to know how those early days went, but she guessed he’d bonded instantly with his beautiful blonde daughter. She’d imagined him picking her up as a mewling newborn and holding her to his chest, carrying her around in a sling, just like this one, gazing down at her proudly while women he’d never met before went gooey over the pair of them.
The classroom door opened and a woman came out, her cheeks flushed. She stopped in front of Eve to button up her coat, then brushed her fringe out of her eyes and took a deep breath.
‘Golly!’ she whispered. ‘She’s a bit scary!’
The man with the baby got up and went into the classroom, and Eve smiled after him. She tried so hard not to feel resentful that Ben had made a new life for himself – but it hurt that he was so happy, when she was the one who’d ended their relationship. There hadn’t been anyone else in her life since then, although she’d been on a couple of dates arranged by friends. The men were nice enough, she’d just never wanted to take things further. It had felt like too much of an effort, when she was already struggling to hold down a job and look after Daniel: she just couldn’t be bothered to factor anyone else into the equation. But despite that, it sometimes felt as if she’d been left behind.
And now here she was, waiting to talk to their son’s teacher, and why wasn’t Ben sitting beside her on one of these ridiculous miniature kids’ chairs? She’d given him plenty of warning about this evening’s appointment, but his text had only come in this morning:
She had angrily swiped to delete the message, convinced he would have been able to rearrange a work commitment, if he’d really wanted to. The school thing! Even if he didn’t care about presenting a united parental front to Mrs Russell, surely he should be interested in hearing first-hand how his son was doing?
By the time she went into the classroom for her appointment, she had cramp in her calves and could hardly get up from the tiny chair.
‘He’s a clever boy,’ said Mrs Russell, looking down at pages of handwritten notes, running her finger along a spreadsheet. ‘Good progress so far in numeracy, slightly slower with his reading, but nothing to worry about.’
‘Oh good!’ Eve said. ‘I’ve always thought he was bright.’ That sounded arrogant, but so what? She was virtually raising Daniel on her own, she had a right to pat herself on the back.
‘He loves PE and there’s a definite artistic streak in him.’
Eve couldn’t stop herself grinning with pride; Daniel loved drawing, and she’d always thought the work he produced was good for his age, but it was reassuring to have that confirmed.
‘However, there are issues with his behaviour,’ continued the teacher. She looked up from the papers in front of her and began to tap her biro against the table. ‘He has been a little aggressive in the playground, and we’ve had incidents where he has been fighting with other children and pushed them over.’
Eve’s mouth fell open. ‘He never behaves like that at home.’
‘This is often something we see at the start of a school year. All the children are coming to terms with a new classroom – and a new teacher – so it’s not surprising they try to assert themselves. But by now most of them have settled down, and I don’t sense that with Daniel. He still seems on edge and sometimes flies off the handle.’
‘Right,’ said Eve. ‘I see.’ This was very strange; it didn’t sound like the boy she knew so well.
‘He’s also very chatty.’ Mrs Russell carried on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘A little too much at times, and doesn’t respond well to being told to quieten down. He takes part in circle-time discussions, but always wants to be the one doing the talking.’
Eve felt her face flushing. ‘Well, surely that’s not bad, if he has things he wants to talk about?’
‘Of course not, but he needs to respect others and learn that they have the right to talk as well.’
‘Yes, I can understand that. I’ll speak to him about it.’
‘He was also quite rude to me earlier this week.’
‘Oh?’
‘He called me a fat, smelly lettuce.’
Before she could stop herself, Eve snorted with laughter. ‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry,’ she said, putting her hand up to her mouth. ‘It’s just… is that really so awful? He’s just a little boy! He could have called you something much worse. I mean, of course you’re not fat and smelly. Or a lettuce, obviously.’
Mrs Russell was frowning, a muscle twitching under her left eye. ‘I don’t accept rudeness in this classroom, Mrs Mackay, and I expect parents to back me up on the matter.’
‘Yes, of course. Although it’s Glover,’ said Eve.
‘Sorry?’
‘My surname is Glover. Daniel is Mackay because that’s his dad’s surname. But we’re not together anymore.’ Eve suddenly felt angry. That information had been on the forms they’d filled in before Daniel started school; surely his teacher should be familiar with the family background of her pupils? Being addressed by the wrong name was actually quite insulting. ‘I can’t believe that’s unusual nowadays,’ she added. ‘You must have other mothers who use their maiden names? Not everyone is happily married.’
Mrs Russell was still glaring at her. It was hard to tell how old she was, possibly only early forties, but she’d always struck Eve as matronly: perfectly suited to helping a class of young children adapt to the demands of school. Now she was seeing a different side to the woman who was spending six hours a day looking after Daniel.
‘Please don’t patronise me, Miss Glover.’ Mrs Russell was smiling, but there was no warmth behind it. ‘Daniel’s family circumstances put him in the majority in this classroom. Less than a third of the children have two parents still happily married – as you put it – or even still together. We have single mums, single dads, gay parents, children who live with grandparents, children who are with temporary foster carers. I spend my time tiptoeing through twenty-first century family relationships and making sure I don’t unintentionally offend anybody. For instance, you won’t get a Mother’s Day card next March – we don’t celebrate anything like that, in case there’s a child for whom it’s not appropriate.’
‘Fine,’ said Eve. ‘I won’t expect one of those then.’
They glared at each other before Mrs Russell dropped her eyes back down to the table, flicking a page in her notebook and reading whatever else was written there.
‘So basically,’ said Eve. ‘Apart from being a bit lively, he’s doing well academically?’
‘There are also problems with his appearance,’ said Mrs Russell, looking back up. ‘His shoes are not regulation schoolwear; we specifically ask parents not to send the children in wearing trainers – even black ones.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ve been meaning to get him some proper shoes,’ said Eve. She really had, but had also completely forgotten about it until this precise second. Although what was wrong with black trainers? From a distance you couldn’t tell the difference between those and normal shoes.
‘…and a couple of days ago he came into the classroom wearing his PE top instead of his school shirt.’
‘I know, that was entirely my fault. You see, I’d had quite a lot going on at work and I’d got behind with the washing…’ Eve knew her cheeks were flushing again, as Mrs Russell’s gaze bored into her. ‘You know how it is, sometimes things just go a bit pear-shaped!’
She laughed, but Mrs Russell didn’t crack a smile.
Oh, come on, thought Eve. Help me out here. Stop making me feel two inches tall.
I’m just about getting by! she wanted to shout. I’ve got too much on at work, I’ve got no money, my mother hates me because I’ve put her into a home, my ex thinks I’m useless. Now you’re telling me my son is a bully and suggesting I’m a bad mother because he hasn’t got enough clean uniform and he’s wearing trainers instead of Clarks shoes, which cost fifty quid a pair and will probably only last him six weeks until his feet grow too big for them.
But the words stayed inside her head.
‘I think we’re done here,’ said the teacher, shuffling her papers into a neat pile. ‘I will obviously be monitoring Daniel’s behaviour over the next few weeks and will contact you if I feel we need to take further measures.’
Further measures? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Eve was trying to think of a witty retort, but her mind was frustratingly blank. She knew she would come up with something smart and sassy as soon as she was marching away down the corridor.
‘He’s a good boy,’ she said in the end. ‘You just don’t know him very well.’
As she got up and went towards the door, her heart was racing and she knew she was on the point of tears. She forced a smile as she went past the parents waiting outside the classroom. That bloody woman – there was no need to be quite so abrasive. All that business about Daniel being difficult in the classroom and not getting on with the other children, that was clearly rubbish. But Eve was also cross with herself: some of the other stuff was her fault: she had known she ought to get Daniel some proper shoes; she had been too exhausted and disorganised to get his washing done on time. Sometimes it felt as if she was running just to stand still.