Mum was meant to be here twenty minutes ago. She’s never late for anything. I’ve called her three times but there’s been no answer.
Beside me, Kayla sits in her bouncer; she looks far too small for it and it seems as though her head is hunched forward. I try to straighten her up, to make her more comfortable, but she lets out a moan and starts crying.
I try Mum’s phone again and leave a message. ‘Mum, it’s me again. Is everything okay? Are you on your way? I’ve got my appointment in half an hour and it will take me at least that long to get there. I hope you’re okay? I’m really worried about you.’
What if something’s happened to her and it’s all because I’ve lied to her, called her over here under false pretences? She thinks I’ve got a hospital appointment, when the truth is that I’ve got an interview with a recruitment agency. Neither she nor Aiden know that I’m planning on leaving the school – I can’t deal with the questions my revelation will raise. They will think I’ve lost my mind.
The rational side of me – if there is still one left – tries to remain calm. There are a hundred reasons why Mum could be late. Traffic might be awful or she’s had some sort of emergency she’s had to deal with. I shouldn’t assume the worst. But it’s hard to ignore the anxiety I’m riddled with.
‘You won’t sleep, will you?’ I say to Kayla, keeping my voice gentle even though I feel like screaming. I read that even though babies this age can’t understand the words you’re saying, they understand tone of voice.
Gathering Kayla’s things together and shoving them in her changing bag, I check her nappy and transfer her to the car seat. I’m sick with nerves about leaving the house with Kayla, but I need to check that Mum is okay.
She answers the door immediately. ‘Eve! This is a nice surprise. What are you doing here?’
For a moment I wonder whether I’ve made a mistake. Perhaps I never asked Mum to babysit after all. It’s not as though I can think straight lately. Then I remember speaking to Aiden about it, giving him the same excuse I’d given Mum about a hospital appointment. Just a routine postnatal check-up, I’d said, knowing he wouldn’t probe any further. I’d only mentioned it to cover myself, just in case Mum happened to say anything to him. That’s the trouble with lies; even the small ones pile on top of each other, ensnaring everyone around you until it all comes crashing down.
‘I came to check you’re okay,’ I tell Mum. ‘You were meant to be coming over to babysit at ten?’
She clamps her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, yes, oh dear. I’m so sorry. What was it you had to do?’
‘A hospital appointment. I’ve missed it now.’
‘I’m so sorry. Can you call them and explain you’re running late? I can watch Kayla here for you.’ She peers past me to the car, where I have left Kayla dozing in her car seat.
My instinct tells me that I shouldn’t agree to this. With her forgetfulness, Mum is probably not safe to watch Kayla, and it’s not as if I actually have a hospital appointment. But it’s still an emergency. I cannot go back to the past and having my interview is an important first step.
‘Okay. I won’t be too long. Everything’s in her bag. I’ll just get her.’
‘Oh, it will be lovely having her here.’
Driving away, my mind plays over all the dreadful things that could happen to Kayla if Mum isn’t up to watching her. But still I keep my foot on the accelerator, bursting each scenario in my head as if I’m popping a balloon. I need to do this; I have no choice. And then I will feel better. Then, maybe, I will be able to feel love.
The recruitment agency woman I spoke to on the phone – Leonie – is nothing like I imagined. She sounded young on the phone, yet she must be in her fifties at least.
‘Sorry I’m so late,’ I say, holding out my hand. ‘Awful traffic.’ I don’t mention Kayla, or that I’m still on maternity leave.
Leonie flashes a smile. ‘Don’t I know it. I’ve been late to work every day this week and that never usually happens. I don’t know what’s going on. Now let’s see…’ From a file, she pulls out the CV I emailed her yesterday. ‘As I said on the phone, this is very interesting. We don’t normally get many teachers looking for admin work. That’s quite a change.’ In other words, she thinks I’m out of my mind. Teaching is supposed to be a career for life, not something you change your mind about after a few years.
‘I feel it’s time for something else,’ I explain. ‘And I do have admin experience. Before I was a teacher I worked in an office for a couple of years.’
She nods and shifts her glasses further down her nose. ‘That’s great but the problem is it might be quite hard to place you somewhere. You’ve been teaching for a few years, so employers might find it hard to accept you do actually have a broad skill set. I’ll be the first to say that teaching is definitely a profession with transferable skills, but it might not be easy for me to convince people of that.’
I try not to show my frustration. ‘I know I can do admin work. I can take on any challenge. I’m a hard worker – I just need someone to give me a chance.’
‘Well, leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do.’ She pushes up her glasses and scans my CV again. ‘I have to be honest with you, though. It’s a bit unfair for me to place you in an admin role when you’ve got your teacher training and qualifications. You see, there are people out there who only have experience in admin work, so it’s almost like taking a job from them, isn’t it?’
I stare at this woman in disbelief. Despite her enthusiasm on the phone, she has no intention of helping to find me a job. She’s wasted my time, and Mum’s time.
‘Thank you,’ I say, standing up. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you then.’
‘Yes, I’ll be in touch.’
It’s not sadness I feel as I make my way back to my car – it’s anger. Strong and intense, I’m a volcano about to erupt.
And then, when my phone rings, a number I can recall from memory appearing, I throw my phone to the ground and watch as the screen shatters.