She remembered the first time she’d ever tasted a snail. Just the thought of that slimy little creature entering her mouth, let alone swallowing it, had made her want to throw up, but they’d been in a lovely new French restaurant, celebrating their anniversary – was it their fifth or their sixth? She couldn’t remember – and Mark had waved the fork in front of her and promised it would be all right. And somehow she had let him do it, let him pop the snail between her lips, because she’d trusted him. More than little Hannah trusted her, obviously! But it had been okay. Not as she’d expected at all. To be honest, she’d tasted the garlic and the cream more than anything else, and the kiss they’d shared straight afterwards had soon taken her mind off it anyway. Not that she’d ever eaten a snail again since, of course. Once was quite enough!
It was surprising just how often she still thought about Mark. He had moved out weeks ago, and she’d hardly seen him since, but he was still there, all the time, nudging his way into her head every time she opened a cupboard or a drawer at home and found one of his discarded paperbacks or a mug he’d liked to drink from, or a CD he’d accidentally left buried amongst her own. No matter how many times the bedding had been through the wash, she was sure she could still detect a whiff of his aftershave on the pillows. Of course it might just be wishful thinking, but if she couldn’t wish for Mark, then what else was there?
‘Snack time!’ Rusty was leading the children back inside for their usual mid-afternoon fruit, and they were all giggling as they kicked off their boots in a muddy pile at the door and padded across the room in their socks.
‘Snacks?’ Nicci laughed. ‘Haven’t you all got full-up tummies from eating so much porridge?’
‘No!’ fourteen little high-pitched voices chorused as they pulled their mini-sized plastic chairs up to the table. Only Hannah hadn’t answered, her eyes already trained on the banana Rusty was chopping into chunks. She knew what she liked, that girl! And what she wanted. Perhaps there was something Nicci could learn from her after all.
Soon after six o’clock the last couple of parents had finally arrived, mumbling apologies and excuses about traffic and trains, and bustled out again, and all the children had gone. Everything had been cleaned and tidied during the last hour when a lot of the children had already left for home and those who remained had settled down in the book corner for a final story. Now all was quiet and Nicci was about to grab her coat from the hook in the staffroom when Rusty stopped her.
‘So, what’s it all about, girl?’ Rusty had slipped her shoes off and was rubbing a rather large corn on the side of her big toe. ‘God, my feet will be the death of me!’
‘About?’
‘Come on, my love. There’s something playing on your mind lately, that’s for sure. Tell your Auntie Rusty, or I’ll just have to tickle it out of you.’
‘You’ve been around kids too long!’ Nicci smiled. ‘I do not succumb to tickles!’
Unless they come from Mark, she thought, an image of a play fight they’d had on their honeymoon popping into her head, where he’d tickled her so much she’d wet herself. Not the most romantic way to present herself to her new husband, but he’d just laughed and tickled her some more. Hurriedly, she pushed the memory away.
They said their goodbyes to the other girls and took a last check around, making sure all the windows were closed and the sockets switched off. Rusty rescued the last of the porridge from the fridge, now looking decidedly lumped together and unappetising in a blue plastic tub, and stowed it in her enormous bag. ‘That’ll save me making any breakfast for my lot tomorrow,’ she quipped, licking her lips. ‘Okay. Seriously, though, Nic. Porridge aside…’ Rusty wasn’t about to give up.
‘Yes, I would love to put the porridge aside. I’m sick of the sight of the stuff. How could you even contemplate eating another morsel?’
‘Stop changing the subject, you. I’ve seen definite tears in your eyes more than once this week, and the porridge wasn’t hot enough to make your eyes water, that’s for sure. Come on, it’s never a good idea to bottle things up. Is it Mark? Has he said something? Done something?’
‘Oh, Rusty, I only wish he had. He’s kept himself so distant, it’s as if we’re strangers.’
‘Then you must say something or do something. It’s no good waiting about hoping for things to change. Sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns and give it a good seeing-to… Ooh, that sounds a bit rude!’
Nicci laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I know what you mean. And I do want to do something. I really do. In fact, last night…’
‘Go on, love.’
‘Well, I went through the calendar and worked out how long my marriage has got left if I don’t.’
Rusty took hold of her arm, just as it was about to disappear down a coat sleeve, and guided her towards a chair.
‘Right! This sounds serious. I’m putting the kettle on, and then you are going to explain. And we are not locking up and leaving here until you do. Okay?’
‘But don’t you need to get back to your own kids?’
‘My Carl is there. He’s making us one of his curries. And Thursdays are Maths homework night so, believe me, I am in no hurry to get home! So, here’s your tea, here’s your chair, and here’s my ear. All yours. Now, talk to me, girl. Once in a lifetime offer!’
Nicci gave in. It wasn’t as if she had any plans to be elsewhere and she knew Rusty was a good listener.
‘I did a stupid thing. I know that. You know that. Everyone I know knows that. And I hate myself for it, and I know that I will never ever do anything like it again, but it was unforgiveable, wasn’t it? And that’s the trouble. Mark’ll never forgive me. I can understand his anger; of course I can, but he’s completely closed me out. He won’t see me, or let me even try to explain…but I really want him back, Rusty. I’ve only got twenty-nine days left now – less than a month – before that decree nisi can be made absolute, but Mark sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to try to stop that happening, is he?’
Rusty patted her shoulder and reached over to pull a chunk of kitchen paper off the roll beside the sink. ‘Here!’ she said. ‘Have a cry if you need to, but this is going to be the last time. Sitting around feeling sorry for yourself, and sobbing about what’s happened in the past and can’t be undone, never got anyone anywhere, did it? Twenty-nine days, is it? You can move mountains in that time, girl, you’d be surprised. I’ve seen whole houses built quicker, from the first brick right up to the roof. And a hamster can grow a whole litter of babies and pop them out in less time than that. I know. My kids’ pair produced enough of the little critters, before I moved them into separate cages. So, let’s see what can be done in your twenty-nine days, shall we?’
‘But, Rusty, I don’t even know where to start. My friend Jilly is constantly trying to steer me away from him, talking about new starts and finding ways to forget. I thought she knew me so well, but she’s got this all so wrong.’
‘You’d better find a way to put her off and get talking to him then, hadn’t you? Nothing is ever going to get itself sorted while you’re living apart and not even seeing each other. And you never know, he may have calmed down a bit by now, be ready to talk, and to listen. He might even be missing you as much as you’re clearly missing him.’
‘You think so?’
‘I have no idea, my love. But there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?’
‘So I should get him round to the house?’
‘Well, unless you want to turn up unannounced on his doorstep and risk having the door closed in your face, yes. Home territory, somewhere you’ve shared good times, has to be your best bet, surely? You’ll probably have to get him round on some made-up excuse though. The central heating’s not working, or there are tiles off the roof, or some other disaster only a man can put right. He still owns half the