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“…Good. Call me if you need anything.”
Petra hung up, then lowered her head until it rested on the table. She banged it, just once, then looked up at me, a haunted look in her eyes.
“I’ve never heard her like that before,” she murmured. “Victoria. She was in a car accident late last night, and she’s had to have emergency spinal surgery. She’s in a high dependency unit off her face on painkillers and all she can think about is what’s going to become of the school…”
“Jesus,” I murmured. “Spinal surgery? That’s big.”
“She’ll be out of action for a while until she recovers. So… we had a contingency plan, and we’ve activated it.”
“You’re now Acting Head,” I said numbly.
“Yeah.” She scrubbed at her eyes. “Well. I need to activate the procedures. Dear God, there’s so much to do. So much to organise.” Her voice dropped to a shellshocked murmur. “Fucking hell.”
“It’s okay,” I murmured, and tried to pull her in for a hug. But she struggled against it, and I immediately let her go.
“No. I’m going to have to go in. Can you make me a sandwich? I’m probably going to be in there for the rest of the day.”
“Of course,” I said, and she raced up the stairs. A sandwich seemed a Herculean task to me at that moment, but I knew it paled into insignificance compared to the task Petra had ahead of her.
Acting Head. This was an entirely new ball-game. She was now playing the role of Victoria Berry – the ice-queen who ruled her pupils and staff with a fist of iron. Who would play her role? I had no idea. I had no idea about any of it. All I knew, as I haphazardly threw some pulled pork from last night’s dinner in between two pieces of buttered brown bread, was that this was a mammoth task. We had discussed it briefly when she first became deputy head, and she had explicitly asked my agreement, but it had seemed like a far-flung concept that would never actually happen. Now it was our reality. And approaching the busiest half-term of the year?
I doubted I’d be seeing a whole lot of my wife over the next couple of months.
Chapter Ten
Having left the house just after two o’clock, Petra didn’t get back through the door until eleven that evening.
Fighting my own tiredness, I had forced myself to stay up and dressed. The house had never looked cleaner, as I’d found myself desperate for something to do, and eventually I’d found myself messaging Gemma again. Her words a few days previously, once I’d gotten over the initial weird anti-gendered-term reflex, had unleashed a bolt of dopamine in me. It was addictive, and I’d fought the urge all week, but this evening I’d sent her a bright and breezy message thanking her once again for her kind words and asking her how she was.
Missing Rebecca something fierce, she replied, but glad all the same that it’s over. Our marriage was dead in the water, a severe case of Lesbian Bed Death, we were really just vibing together without actually being present if that makes sense? Then when it came about that she’d been cheating on me, I knew it was over.
Oh, that’s awful, I’m so sorry, I replied.
It’s karma. I cheated on Jen with Rebecca, so I really had it coming. And I can’t blame her. The thrill of an affair is like nothing else, even if it does come with the awful crushing guilt. The excitement, when I realised I was still desirable, physically and emotionally, was like crack to me back then. Honestly, until recently I’d have recommended it to anyone in a dying marriage, until I realised what it was like to be on the receiving end. Now I wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole.
What if you found The One and they were married? I typed back, more for curiosity’s sake than anything else.
Then it would be on them, she said. I wouldn’t make any moves unless they made them first. No matter how much I longed for them.
Then a pause, until she sent another message, and it felt almost wistful.
It is refreshing though.
Just as I was about to reply – with what, I didn’t know yet – there came a knock at the door. I slammed the laptop shut and abandoned poor Gemma mid-conversation to let Petra in.
“I couldn’t be bothered to fish for my keys,” Petra said as she stepped through the door. “I was hoping you’d still be up.”
“I’d never go to bed without you,” I said, and made to give her a peck on the cheek, but she carried on moving through the house as if she hadn’t noticed.
“I’m going straight back in tomorrow,” she said, turning to me in the middle of the living room and wringing her hands. “There’s still so much to do. All the staff know now, and I’ve composed a letter to parents, which will be emailed out first thing on Monday morning. We’re having an emergency governor’s meeting after school on Monday too. I texted Victoria to see if there was any more information on her state but I’ve had no reply; she’s probably asleep judging by the amount of-”
“Sit down, before you collapse,” I said, and she dropped onto the sofa where we’d been interrupted some nine hours before. While she continued to list all the things she’d done, I made her a cup of tea and let her talk. This was how she coped when things got busy: by ranting, and doing a verbal inventory of tasks she’d completed, remembering things she’d forgotten to do in the process. I handed her a pad and pen without her even asking, so she could write these forgotten ones down. By the time I emerged from the kitchen with a mug of tea and two chocolate biscuits for her, she’d finally run out of steam and her head had flopped back on the back of the sofa, eyes closed. Without a word, I pushed the mug into her hands, and she took it, half-opening her eyes to look up at me.
“Do you want anything else more substantial?” I asked softly, and she shook her head, bringing one hand up to cup her jaw. “Hurting?”
She nodded. “It is now. Tension, I think.”
“I’ll get you some biscuits.”
