Yesterday was the last day of the Easter holidays, and today is the first day of the summer term, so a wet sea squall has blown in and is having a tantrum all over town. I pull my waterproof tight over my chest and thrust my hands deep into my pockets and wait for the school bus at the bus shelter by the model village.
A moment later, Tilly, my younger sister, arrives by my side, and we stand in mutual silence by the road, getting soaked.
‘Morning, chaps. Bracing, isn’t it?’
Dad?
‘What are you doing here?’ says Tilly.
‘Guess,’ says Dad, rubbing his hands together.
Tilly looks disgusted. ‘Dunno, I can’t imagine.’
Dad smiles smugly and says nothing else.
The bus arrives and we all three climb on. Dad sits at the front with the driver, Tilly joins her friend Milly, and I roll to the back to sit next to Eric.
Eric puts down his copy of 150 Alternative Ways to Spend the Summer Holidays and looks up. ‘Morning, Tom. Why’s your dad on the bus?’
I shake my head. I feel about 9% good about the answer to that question.
Eric raises his eyebrows, which means that some pale hairs that are barely visible on his freckly face move closer to some slightly red hairs boinging all over his forehead like broken springs. ‘Really?’ he says.
I look around. All the usual suspects are there, mostly staring at the lashing rain outside, but some are staring at Dad because no dad ever, ever, ever has, in the history of school buses, caught the school bus. Surely?
Why would my dad be the first?
‘Hey, Model Village,’ says Jacob from the back seat. ‘Daddy coming to school with you today? Is he coming to hold your hand?’
I try to ignore him. ‘Did you have a good holiday, Eric?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ says Eric, looking at me strangely. ‘You know I did.’
‘Good,’ I say. I stare out of the window and I feel a blush start at the bottom of my back and spread up over my face until I’m sure that I’m completely beetroot.
Something appalling has occurred to me. A vision. Something that’s been part of our lives all holiday. In my mind’s eye I can see the kitchen table, with the Bywater-by-Sea Gazette open on page 17 and one advert ringed in red. I’ve even read it and I know that between the adverts for LOST – ONE TORTOISE and FOUND – ONE TORTOISE is one that says: JOB OFFERED. BYWATER-BY-SEA SCHOOL – REQUIRED: TEACHING ASSISTANT. IMMEDIATE START.
‘OH! No!’ I mutter.
‘What is it?’ says Eric.
‘It’s Dad, he’s going to be working at school – every day, all the time.’
‘Oh dear,’ says Eric. ‘Oh dear, Tom. You have my deepest sympathies.’