I wandered in a daze back to the staffroom and stood staring at the noticeboard with its Union flyers, yellowed with age, and collection of mildly humorous faux pas from children e.g. Philistines are the inhabitants of the Philippines. Three strikes and I was out. My reality cheque had just bounced. What would I do without teaching? I couldn’t expect a reference. Roadsweeper and toilet cleaner were two of those excellent options that my careers adviser never mentioned. Teaching was my vocation. I reread a card given to me by a pupil that day — You re a cool teacher. You learned me real good—dnid gave into my tears. Did a gypsy put a curse on me at birth, I wondered.
After school, I sought solace with Jazz, hut she was also going through a Life in the Toilet stage.
‘My husband is emotionally blackmailing me.’ She spoke in a weary singsong as we struggled through the supermarket aisles, pushing trollies with club-wheels to do the weekly food shop. ‘My son has gone all secretive and withdrawn, and I’m so broke I may have to break into my face-lift fund. I mean, look at this.’ She held up her pale blue handbag. ‘Things have got so bad I had to buy imitation Prada. And . . . I’ve broken up with Billy Boston.’ She maintained their romantic demise was because he refused to have the tattoo Sharyn removed from his arm. ‘Lie wanted me to change my name to Sharyn by deed poll, as it would hurt less than laser removal of the tattoo. Can you believe that?’ She laughed with lunatic fervour.
Studz had vandalized whatever hope was left in the woman. Beaten and defeated, she sniffled into a tissue for a moment, then made a physical effort to shake off her maudlin anxieties. ‘What we need is some fun,’ she declared by the frozen food. ‘I mean, at least one of us has found some happiness. And if she won’t share it with us, we’re just going to have to live vicariously.’
The person Jazz had in mind to spy on was Hannah. She had been so secretive about her lover that our curiosity was piqued. As ice-cream melted in the boot of my car, we sat outside Hannah’s house, swigging from a bottle of cooking wine as we giggled like deranged schoolgirls.
There! I see them!’ Jazz squealed with excitement, when the lights in Hannah’s bedroom came on. ‘I’m so pleased she finally took my advice.’
We were laughing so much it took me a moment to realize that Jazz had started squeaking like a lost kitten.
‘Jazz?’
I glanced over at her, bewildered. Her smile had become unhinged. The sort of smile that goes with braiding your hair and sitting in a corner humming.
‘ What is it.-^’ I persisted.
She tried to answer but her mouth just fell open.
I looked in the direction of Hannah’s bedroom but all I could see was the moon, pocked like a giant golf ball, looming over the house. Jazz flumped back into the passenger’s seat in a fugue of shock, her eyes bare and round as light bulbs. She made a noise like a tyre going flat, but through the hiss I thought I heard the word ‘Josh’.
‘What?’ My face burned in confusion.
‘It’s my son!’
I felt as if I’d wandered into a Greek Tragedy during the second act. ‘Josh?’
And then I heard no more because the air was cleaved by my best friend’s wailing.