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“Then what? What is it?”
She had no fucking idea.
I took the envelope back and slipped it in my pocket. She looked so relieved. “I booked you in early last time as a favour,” I lied. “We’ve usually got a backlog. It might take some time.”
She nodded. “I see.”
No. No, you don’t fucking see.
“A couple of weeks,” I said. “That’ll be the absolute earliest. Diary’s pretty rammed.”
She smiled but it was awkward. She wouldn’t look at me. “I guess you can thank Mandy Taylor for that.”
I wouldn’t be thanking Mandy Taylor for fucking anything. “I’ll have to let you know when.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I get you’re busy. I don’t expect to jump the queue.”
The thought turned my fucking stomach. I lit up a cigarette. “Righto.”
She nodded. “Good.”
Was it hell.
“I’d best be going,” I said. “Shit to do.”
She laughed a weak laugh. “Guess you’ve got to get that backlog down.”
“I’ll be seeing you,” I said.
I called goodbye to the girls and Nanna and got the hell out of there.
Ladies who lunch was off for me this week. Instead I was sitting outside Mrs Webber’s office, waiting for an audience about Mia’s Tyler Dean problem.
It had taken a real effort to get to the bottom of what the hell was going on. Mia had been determined to play it down, right to the bitter end. She’d cried when it finally came out, the whole sorry story of him and his dickhead friends taunting her all the way through the bus journey. It had broken my heart.
Please don’t tell the school, Mum! Please don’t! It’ll only make it worse!
I’d assured her it wouldn’t. Assured her that Mrs Webber would get this crap sorted out in a heartbeat. That’s what head teachers are for, I’d said.
Eventually she’d listened, but she’d gone to sleep hugging Mr Fluff, her tatty old teddy, and I hadn’t seen her do that in years.
“Miss Symmonds?” Mrs Webber appeared from the staffroom, she shook my hand before opening her office door for me. I took a seat on the chair in front of her desk, took a breath.
She sat herself down opposite, smile polite and professional. “I understand you have concerns about bullying?”
“On the bus,” I said. “Tyler Dean and some of his friends.”
“Go on…” she encouraged, and I did go on. I told her everything, every taunt, every sneer, every horrible name those assholes had called my daughter when she was supposed to be in a safe environment.
Mrs Webber nodded, jotted down notes. “We take this kind of accusation very seriously,” she said. “We have a zero tolerance bullying policy here.” She pointed to a poster on the wall, a big smiley face with Say no to bullies in bold font.
“What happens now?” I asked. “Mia’s very worried, she doesn’t want any repercussions from this.”
“I’ll call him in,” she said. “And then I’ll be calling his mother, I’ve already looked her details up from his file.”
I smiled. “Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” she said, and got to her feet. I shook her hand. “I’ll keep you informed.”
She’d better do.
I pulled out my phone to text Darren, thinking it probably best to give him the lowdown on what was going on. I typed out a message, just the essentials, but my stomach churned at the thought of the angry questions, the very idea of him charging on in like a bull in a china shop and causing a right bloody hoo-hah.
I deleted the message before I sent it.
I’d handle it myself first, then give him the details later. It’s not like I couldn’t deal with this, and things with Darren were already… complicated.
My heart pounded.
Darren.
The way he’d felt inside me. The way his body felt against mine. The way I’d wanted him so much I couldn’t even bear it.
The thought that he was probably humping some skanky posh bitch at that very minute sobered up my desires enough to put that phone back in my handbag and get with the plot.
I picked up Nanna’s pills from the chemist and tried my best not to give him another bloody thought.
I could hardly bear to fucking look at them. Not any of them.
I holed myself up in the office with the radio on, kept myself focused on invoicing and nothing else. I didn’t even greet customers, just kept my head down and hoped this nasty shit feeling in my gut would clear the fuck off.
I handled the calls when they came in, some car related, some not. They all got the same gruff treatment; I didn’t give two shits who they were today.
I opened up the black book and scribbled out anything Bang Gang related in the coming few weeks. There wasn’t all that much to scrub, I’d already been holding back most of it. Mid-November earliest, I told the callers. That’s when we’re looking at.
