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Chapter two

After the summer

Rod woke up to the sound of the alarm clock. It was a Tuesday morning in September. The first day back at school after the long summer break.

He rolled over and looked at his beautiful wife.

He admired her as she lay, still half asleep, on the white sheets beside him. It would be nice to stay in bed and spend the morning with her.

But he had to be at school in time to prepare the day, before the children arrived at nine o’clock.

He rolled out of bed unwillingly and showered. Then, after pulling on the clothes he had put out the night before, he went down to the kitchen to make coffee.

He would take Leah some coffee before he left, envying her being able to stay in bed in the mornings.

She worked as a freelance interior designer and, unless she had an appointment somewhere, did not have to travel to work. She had a studio in the garage and operated her business from there.

Rod, on the other hand, had a forty-five-minute drive to the school in Cambridge where he worked. It was often a slow journey. The traffic seemed to get worse every day. But he and Leah loved their home in the country and, since he liked his job so much, the only option was to commute.

‘I’ll see you this evening,’ he said, kissing his wife.

She opened her eyes and smiled warmly.

‘OK, have a good day,’ she said, as she turned over and went quickly back to sleep.

An hour later, Rod was in his classroom and the children were arriving. You couldn’t sit around for an hour in this job, catching up on phone calls, as you could in an office, Rod supposed.

Children needed you then and there, and if you weren’t prepared, the day could quickly turn into chaos.

‘Morning, Rod.’

‘Hi, Teresa. Hello, Timothy.’

Rod was Timothy’s teacher, and Teresa was pleased. Rod was a good teacher and Timothy loved him. Rod was glad to have the little boy in his class and he liked Teresa;

she was always friendly, and only ever had praise for the work he did.

Other parents were much more difficult. There was one mother who complained every morning about how her ‘perfect little son’, was being criticised by teachers and children alike.

She could never see that her son might be to blame for anything. She even seemed to encourage him to start fights!

Rod could see this mother coming now, and tried to avoid her by capturing Teresa’s attention. ‘There’s something you might be able to help me with,’ he said to her. ‘

I want to invite someone in to talk about writing or illustrating children’s books, or publishing them maybe. I thought it would be interesting for the children. I remember you used to work in publishing.’

‘Ah,’ said Teresa. ‘I know just the person.’

‘Good,’ said Rod. ‘Tell me more.’

‘It’s a friend of mine,’ Teresa said. ‘She’s an editor for children’s books and has a lot of contact with authors and illustrators. But, more importantly, she knows about the whole publishing process.

and she loves children. I’m sure she’d be delighted to come in and give a talk.’

‘Do you want to ask her first?’ said Rod. ‘If she’s keen, she could telephone me at school.’

‘OK. That sounds like a good idea,’ said Teresa, kissing Timothy goodbye. ‘She might be too busy of course, but I’ll certainly ask her.’

‘Thanks,’ said Rod, smiling at her. ‘Right,’ he said turning to the class. ‘Time to start the lesson.’

But the mother he had been trying to avoid was waiting for him. ‘I want to talk to you about my Dan,’ she said, ignoring the fact that Rod was trying to calm down thirty children. ‘Dan told me that last term a boy called Timothy kicked him.’

‘Last term?’ Rod echoed. ‘I really think that anything that happened over six weeks ago can be forgotten. We all want to make a new start at the beginning of the term, don’t we?’

‘There you go again. You teachers always have your favourites, while children like my Dan get blamed for everything,’ the mother said.

‘I’m not blaming Dan for anything,’ said Rod sighing, and wishing the woman would go.

‘I just want to start the new term off on a positive note. I’ll keep a careful eye on the two boys today, and let you know if there’s any trouble.’

Rod doubted that Timothy, who was such a quiet child, would have kicked Dan, who looked like a prizewinning boxer.

‘You teachers. You just can’t be bothered to do your jobs properly,’ said the woman insultingly. ‘I’ll be asking my Dan at the end of the day what happened, so you’d better keep your word.’ She turned and left then, and Rod breathed a sigh of relief.

Rod enjoyed his job, and in contrast to the woman’s accusations, he tried very hard to treat all the children fairly.

But his job was made much more difficult when parents did not support him, and it always felt good when they did.

By lunchtime, he was already exhausted. One child had been sick, and had been sent home. Dan had got into trouble in the break for stealing another child’s apple, then throwing it over the school fence. Rod had had to send Dan to the headteacher.

Rod was sure Dan’s mother would hear about the incident and would soon be back to complain.

‘I need another holiday after this morning,’ he joked to the other teachers in the staffroom. Several of them looked at him pityingly. Rod was the only male teacher and some of the women clearly didn’t think he was able to teach six-year-olds as well as they could.

One or two of them also thought that because he had no children of his own, he was even less qualified for the job.

‘It’s men, you see,’ joked one of them now. ‘You’re just not up to it.’

Rod ignored her and went back to his classroom to prepare for the afternoon.

By three o’clock, as he read the class their afternoon story, they seemed much more settled. Looking at their small interested faces, he remembered what it was about the job he loved.

However difficult they sometimes appeared, however awful their parents were, there was always some little ray of light in every child.

Rod smiled to himself when he noticed that tough little Dan had his thumb in his mouth, as he listened to the story. Even Dan could be soft and sweet when he was tired and caught up in a good story, thought Rod.

Rod drove home, feeling the weight of the day lift from him as he left the city and set off across open country.

His and Leah’s home had been two cottages which they had made into one. With its views over open countryside and its stone floors and open fireplaces, it looked like something from a magazine.

Leah had painted the walls white, stripped the paint off the wood and made her own curtains. Her antiques were carefully placed around the house, and everyone who came there admired it.

Rod liked the house too, but sometimes he couldn’t help feeling it was maybe too elegant, too unlived in. He would be quite happy with a little more mess about the place.

Leah placed high value on how things looked and for her the home was more important than anything.

It was one of the reasons she didn’t want children. She thought they would just mess it up and break her precious antiques.

But it certainly was a peaceful place after a long noisy day in the classroom. Rod pulled his shoes off and placed them carefully by the door.

He walked across the stone floor in the kitchen to the drinks cupboard and poured himself a beer.

‘Good day?’ Leah appeared in the doorway, her blonde hair slightly untidy from bending over the drawings on her desk.

‘Really busy,’ said Rod. ‘How was yours?’

‘Great,’ said Leah. ‘I’ve been asked to redecorate the Simpsons’ farmhouse up the hill. It’s a big job and they’ll pay well.’

She smiled. She loved her work and was beginning to get a name for herself in the world of interior design.

Rod admired her, and thought how different her days were to his. His day had involved dealing with a fight, a sick child, an anxious parent and a stressed headteacher, as well as trying to teach a group of children with hugely varying abilities.

Meanwhile, his wife had done some drawings, visited a smart farmhouse and sat at her desk in the peace and quiet, looking beautiful. If he didn’t love his job so much, he might envy her.

‘I’ve made supper,’ said Leah, opening the oven door and letting a delicious smell float into the air.

Still, thought Rod, as he sat back on the sofa, there was nothing nicer than coming home to a wife who enjoyed her job, and managed to cook a nice meal at the same time.

‘It smells delicious,’ he said, pulling Leah down onto the sofa next to him. ‘Mmm, and so do you. What perfume are you wearing?’

‘It’s Chanel,’ said Leah. ‘A little treat for myself for getting that contract.’

‘You deserve it,’ said Rod, wondering when she’d had time to go into town and buy herself perfume. He was also feeling annoyed with himself - he wished he’d thought of buying it for her.