I walk across the car park far too quickly, the ice beneath my feet threatening to topple me onto my back. My hand rests on my stomach but still I don’t slow my pace.
Usually I enjoy the drive home, pleased to have that gap between work and domestic life, but right now I curse myself for wanting to settle in a different part of London than the school I teach in, just because I was worried about bumping into students at weekends. It will be at least forty-five minutes until I get back, and with every passing second I bleed more heavily.
Somehow, though, I still have that morsel of hope in me, and I pray that it will suddenly stop, that this time it’s just one of those inexplicable bleeds which can happen sometimes. That this time my baby is still alive.
‘Miss Conway?’
I don’t turn around, even though I immediately recognise the voice. Justin Foley’s father. The annoying parent who feels the need to try to meet me on an almost weekly basis, despite the fact that his son’s doing well in school and is never in any kind of trouble. In fact, Justin is likely to achieve top grades in all his GCSEs.
If I keep walking, maybe the man will let this one go. After all, he hasn’t made an appointment, so he could just be picking up Justin and it’s just a huge coincidence that he’s right behind me in the staff car park.
‘Miss Conway?’ Louder this time. Closer. I want to yell at him and point out yet again that my title is Mrs, not Miss, as he always insists on calling me. The school should be able to do something about nuisance parents. The scream is right there in my throat, waiting to erupt. I should shout the words at him, let out all my pain, make sure he knows that right now I’m losing another baby and he needs to leave me alone. For a second I almost do; the words are at the edge of my tongue, ready to fire out, but I quickly reconsider. There is no way I will share my personal business with this annoying man.
I ignore him once more and speed up. I’m nearly at my car and I fumble in my bag for my keys, longing to get home to Aiden and let out all the grief I’ve been bottling up today.
But then he’s caught up with me and there is no way to pretend I haven’t heard him.
‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘I was calling but it’s noisy out here, isn’t it?’ He gestures to the air.
I’ve never been grateful for the heavy roar of traffic until now. ‘Mr Foley. How can I help you?’ It’s the most professional voice I can muster and it takes everything I’ve got to produce it. All day I’ve had to plaster a smile on my face, carry on as if my whole body, and my world, isn’t crumbling.
‘I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to speak to Justin’s maths teacher yet. About him attending those extra evening sessions.’
This isn’t the first time I’ve wondered why I wanted the head of year role. It’s teaching I love: being in the classroom and witnessing those light-bulb moments when a student suddenly grasps what you’ve been trying to teach them. Not this. Especially not now.
It was only yesterday he was in my office requesting that I put his son’s name forward. Yesterday. When I still had my baby inside me.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Foley—’
‘Alex, please.’
‘Um, I’m sorry but as I explained yesterday, those classes have been set up specifically for students who are behind and need extra help. Justin clearly doesn’t—’
‘Right, okay. I understand. But I’d really like him to have some tuition. It’s a crucial time, isn’t it? We can’t gamble with his future.’
I refrain from pointing out how overdramatic he’s being. ‘Then you have the right to organise that outside of school, Mr Foley, but it’s not something we can provide for students who aren’t—’
‘I’ve got it!’ He throws his hands up and smiles. ‘Could you perhaps organise sessions for those students who are… more capable?’
This is the first time I’ve heard him admit that his son is actually very bright. While I want to wipe the smug smile off his face, he does have a good point. ‘I’ll look into that,’ I offer, ‘but I can’t promise anything. It will all come down to funding.’ Please leave me alone now. I just need to get home.
‘I’ve sent you an email,’ he continues, ignoring the fact that I’m turning around, oblivious to my silent pain.
‘Oh, have you?’ I feign ignorance though I noticed it this afternoon, and it remains unread in my inbox; it won’t be important.
‘Yes, just wanted an update really. I seem to spend so much time asking you about his other subjects and I forget that you’re actually his English teacher as well as his head of year.’ His eyes flicker to my stomach, which, once again, hasn’t even had a chance to protrude. Feeling like I’m wearing a sign across me, advertising it to the world, I wrap my jacket tighter around me.
Get rid of him. Say anything you can to make this stupid man leave you alone.
‘He’s doing extremely well in English, as he is in all his other subjects. You must be very proud of him, Mr Foley.’
He smiles. That’s worked. Perhaps he’s one of those parents who just wants to constantly hear how amazing their kid is.
‘Thank you. That’s great. Well, I’ll let you get on.’ He starts to turn away but spins around to face me again. ‘Um, are you okay? Forgive me for saying this but you look a bit pale.’
Hearing his concern makes it harder to keep my tears at bay. They are right there, ready to flood out, and I can’t let that happen in front of a parent. Or anyone at school, other than Sophie.
‘I’m fine, it’s just been a very long day.’
‘Okay. Keep me posted, won’t you?’
‘Posted?’ I can’t even remember what I’ve agreed to.
‘On the extra classes for Justin? His mum and I are a bit worried he’s not as focused as he could be. I’m sure you understand.’
What is wrong with this man? His son is one of the most conscientious students I’m teaching this year. Is there no communication in their house?
‘Will you be taking the English classes?’ he continues, even though I haven’t answered.
There are no extra classes. Probably never will be. Just leave me alone.
‘Because I know Justin thinks you’re a great teacher, and you’ve already got a rapport. It might set him back a bit if he had a different teacher.’
This man really is something else. I have no more of a rapport with Justin than I do any of my students.
‘Well, that’s nice of you to say, but—’
‘Anyway, you seem like you’re in a rush. How about I make an appointment instead? For next week? It would have to be after school, of course, as it’s impossible to leave work too early.’
No! I want to scream, but I don’t want to give him any excuse to complain about me. He’s just the type of parent who would do that, who would never see how aggravating he is and that he’s brought it on himself. ‘Yes, of course. Anyway, I’d better get going.’
I feel his eyes on me as I walk away and make a mental note to give Justin even more praise than usual when I next see him, just for having to put up with this man as his father.
Aiden’s in the kitchen when I get home, rooting through the fridge, pulling vegetables out and sniffing them before throwing them back in.
How can I tell him? This will be the fourth time I’ve had to break the news that there won’t be a baby after all. It might not be his body it’s happening to but each time we lose a pregnancy, part of him rips wide open, too.
‘You’re home early,’ I say, pulling off my coat and draping it over the back of a chair. I don’t have the energy to put it in the cupboard under the stairs. I don’t care where it goes.
‘I wanted to give you a break and cook dinner for a change. You need to rest and take it easy.’ He smiles and resumes his rummaging. ‘Not sure what on earth I can make, though. Might be looking at a trip to Sainsbury’s.’
‘I don’t need to rest or take it easy,’ I say. ‘Not any more.’ And the flood of tears bursts out, splattering across my cheeks, dripping down my sleeve as I try to wipe them away. It feels as though they will never stop.
‘Oh no!’ Aiden rushes over to me. His arms wrap around me, pull me in as tightly as they can. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. When? Why didn’t you tell me?’
Pulling back slightly, somehow I find the strength to explain. ‘This afternoon when I was in the middle of a lesson. I felt the gush but couldn’t check until the lesson ended. I kept hoping… I was wrong.’
‘And you carried on teaching? You should have come home.’
‘I couldn’t let my Year 11s down. We were doing exam practice.’
‘Oh, God, Eve.’ He pulls me in again.
My body starts to heave and guttural noises that barely sound human escape from between my lips.
Aiden holds me like that, not saying a word, just offering me his unspoken support. He strokes my hair until finally I’m ready to breathe again.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, because this isn’t just happening to me.
‘Gutted.’ He shakes his head. ‘I really thought it would be okay this time. You were a lot further along. I was so sure.’
I warned him not to think like that, not to ever be sure until we were holding a baby in our arms. ‘I need a shower,’ I say, turning away because seeing him in pain is worse than feeling my own.
‘Let’s get more tests done, Eve. It’s happened too many times now. There must be a reason and they just haven’t found it yet. We need to know, don’t we?’
‘Okay,’ I say, already knowing we’ve had every test imaginable. Sometimes things are just unexplained, the answers hiding, mocking us. But I will keep that flicker of hope alive, for both our sakes.