‘The Mackenzie bus can only come on Wednesdays,’ said Colin, his brow furrowing. ‘Derek, who is our driver, is busy every other day and he worksfrom dawn ’til duskhe says. And also, he does Latin American dance classes on Tuesday and Thursday.’
‘We’ll have to offer reduced hours rather than redundancy,’ David said, more to himself than me or Colin. ‘We can’t afford the payout. Uhm…’ He tapped his finger against his lower lip.
‘Well. You wouldn’t have to pay me any redundancy,’ I said, knowing I was shooting myself in the foot. ‘Because I’m still in my probationary six months.’
There was a pause while he weighed this up.
‘We don’t want to get rid of you, Hattie,’ he said eventually. ‘You’re as much a part of our team as anyone else.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’
We all looked up as the front door thudded open. ‘Hello Mrs Bartlett!’ David gave a cheerful wave as one of our customers approached the desk pulling her tartan shopping trolley behind her.
‘Look,’ I said under my breath as Mrs Bartlett shuffled past on her way to the crime and horror section. ‘Let’s not think about it now. We’ll get on with work and when it’s a bit quieter late afternoon we’ll get our thinking caps on. Form a strategy.’
‘I will have to go home on the Mackenzie bus,’ said Colin, worried. ‘But I can put my thinking cap on and form strategy too. Just at home.’
‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘We’ll get the dream team on it. How can we possibly fail?’
David smiled weakly but I knew that look of despair. It was going to take a lot more than thinking caps and impromptu meetings to sort this out. It was going to need cold hard cash. And that was something none of us had.
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘I’ve never seen him so worried,’ I said to Layla later that evening as I got the lasagne out of the oven. ‘David’s just always such a calm presence. Never gets into a flap about anything. But today, this has really rattled him.’
Layla looked up from her phone, her expression listless. ‘Yeah,’ she said, the affirmative response to a question I hadn’t posed.
‘Anyway.’ I crossed to the table bearing the lasagne like a prize marrow at the village fete. ‘Ta-dah!’
She raised a smile and began to dish out a portion onto her plate. ‘Yum. Thanks Mum.’
‘It’s only a once-a-term thing, this,’ I said, gesturing to the cheese encrusted earthenware with my oven gloves. ‘So don’t be getting ideas about how if you stay at home you’ll be feasting on elaborate pasta dishes on a daily basis.’
There was a moment of tension as she realised I was about to open upthatconversation. We’d both been skirting around it for the past ten days in an extremely cowardly fashion. I sat down and took a fortifying sip of wine.
‘So, have you decided what youaregoing to do?’ I said meaningfully. ‘This term? This academic year?’
There was silence as she moved a forkful of pasta around her plate.
‘Because you do need a plan. A comprehensive, fully considered plan that you can present to your father and I as an alternative to the degree course you’ve already embarked upon.’ (I was aware that I sounded like an insurance company commercial as I said this.)
‘I know.’
‘And I’m not trying to be mean. We’ve given you a few weeks to have a think. We’re trying not to rush you. But on the other hand, you can’t just drift. Because if you really, really don’t want to go to university, or at least, back tothatuniversity, you’re going to have to have a more concrete idea of what you do want.’
‘That’s the trouble,’ she said miserably. ‘I just don’t know what I want.’
‘Okay,’ I said, feeling like at last we were getting somewhere approaching dialogue. ‘So, is not wanting to carry on with your course more about the course itself, or the university, or just being away from home?’ I loaded up my fork and took a mouthful, more to stop myself from interrupting Layla than anything else. There was a real danger that we could end up in a few hours with me feeling like we’d had a productive chat, where in reality it had just been me delivering a sermon (#InsightfulParenting).
‘I just didn’t feel very happy,’ she said eventually. ‘Last term. I just didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would, as much as my friends were.’
‘Is this about friends on Instagram? Because you know that everyone edits their highlights.’
‘Maybe a bit,’ she conceded.
‘Because university isn’t wall-to-wall lols and japes,’ I said, immediately regretting using the words lols, and regretting japes a little too. ‘It’s often boring and annoying and mundane. You’re skint, you’re getting all your nutrients from crisps and lager, you’re learning to live with other people, spending time with total strangers, many of whom will be irritating and some frankly horrible. But you’re going to have to do that wherever you go, student or not.’
She looked down at her plate and nodded imperceptibly.
‘Look, Layla.’ I reached across the table and held her hand. ‘I don’t know what the right decision is here. You say you weren’t happy last term, but you don’t seem very happy right now.’
