‘But how else can I prove my love for you?’
‘Gee, I dunno. In a court of law perhaps?’ I suggested, showing him the door.
The next day he rang ten times asking if he could take the kids and me out for Christmas dinner. A guilt-edged invitation. But we were celebrating Christmas with my parents, who had reconciled and were about to use the fire insurance money for the shed and its contents to take a Mediterranean cruise. I texted Rory back. Very sorry. Can’t come. Lie follows by email.
Was it a mean thing to do? I don’t know. All I do know is that being abandoned by your husband for your therapist tends to recalibrate one’s view of what constitutes good manners.
In a letter to the North Primrose Primary School parents which arrived around New Year’s Day, the Chairman of Governors wrote: It is with regret that I am writing to inform you of the resignation, with immediate effect, of Claude Scroopefrom the Headship of North Primrose Primary for personal reasons. We would like to thank him for his outstanding service . . .
Oh, if only they knew just how out and standing his service had actually been.
It went on to say how well the school had performed in the national league tables last year.
That wasn’t the only area in which he’d performed well, I thought, mischievously.
It concluded with The Acting Head, and a position we hope to make permanent in the near future, is now Ms Cassandra 0’Carroll.
Was getting the Head position by blackmail an underhand thing to do? Probably. But life had taught me a lesson on maths, not covered in teacher’s training college: when the odds are against you, get even.
PART FIVE