‘Well—’ Geraldine hesitates, slightly embarrassed.
‘Robert,’ says Fanny more insistently, but there is – and they all hear it – the faintest hint of a plea in her voice. (It’s been a bad morning.) ‘Robert, I really think—’
‘Relax!’ Robert smiles at Fanny, holds up a soft, white, longfingered hand; Fanny looks at the hand, feels a wave of nausea. ‘I’ve set them a little task which should keep them busy.’ He turns his smile to Geraldine. ‘The mummy of all numeracy problems, as a matter of fact. Ollie would enjoy this one: if you took all the players in the football premier division—’
‘Oh, super,’ bursts out Geraldine, clapping her hands with joy. ‘I think it’s so important to make mathematics relevant, don’t you, Fanny? Relate it to things that actually really matter.’
Fanny smiles wanly. ‘How can I help you, Geraldine? What do you want?’
‘Ahh!’ says Geraldine. ‘Yes. Thank you. I know you must be so busy…’
Fanny glances distractedly at Robert, who is staring back at her, a small smile on his wet lips, and a light of jubilation behind the pale eyes. She scowls at him and he quickly looks away.
Gorgeous, he thinks. Gorgeous little thing.
Geraldine says it’s more a case of what she, Geraldine, can do for Fanny, than what Fanny can do for her. ‘I’ve found time in my schedule,’ she says, ‘and it sounds silly, perhaps, but you know I have so much in life: a husband, a wonderful, happy, healthy son…’
‘Lovely,’ coos Robert. ‘So many people forget to appreciate the simple blessings, don’t they?’
‘They do, Robert. And I feel, now, that the time is right for me to give a little back. I want to actively support Our Little Village School, if you will allow me. And by extension, Fanny, if it doesn’t seem too grandiose, the State Education System in general, which incidentally I firmly believe in.’
Geraldine is well aware (she clarifies) that there are several ‘exceptionally fortunate’ children in the school who may not require her help, but that there are others who concern her; one or two, the thought of whose difficult lives can keep her awake at night. ‘It wouldn’t be appropriate to mention any names, but I think we all know who the kids are, and I passionately believe they might benefit from some extra one-on-one care – something which, with all the best will in the world, you two marvellous teachers simply don’t have the time or the resources to provide.’ She grins, very assured. ‘Am I right?’
‘So right,’ says Robert, stroking his soft hands together.
Fanny looks at her desk, manages to mutter something to the same effect.
‘And I would love, Miss Flynn, if you will have me, to put two mornings of my week entirely at your disposal! How does that sound to you?’
Fanny says, ‘Well, thank you. Sounds like a good idea. It’s always welcome when parents lend a helping hand. Shall we say Monday and Friday mornings then, for extra reading? Does that suit you?’
‘Erm – I – yes.’ She is disappointed. After all, to give up two mornings every week for the State Education System in general is quite a thing; it’s quite a sacrifice. Fanny, she thinks, might have shown a bit more appreciation of that fact. ‘Yes, I imagine Mondays and Fridays—But, no. Let me think. I’ll need to confirm that. Fridays can be difficult. The office tends to heat up before the weekends.’
‘OK, just let me know,’ says Fanny, pushing her chair back and standing up, unable to bear being in such a confined space with two such odious people for a single moment longer. ‘Any days would suit me. I can work around you. Give me a call when you’re certain and we’ll get the police check in motion. But you know, it takes so long. Between you and me, you can start next week.’ Fanny smiles as warmly as she can, and holds out her hand.
Geraldine stiffens with annoyance. After all, she isn’t any old bored mum, looking for something to do with her bloody time. Doesn’t Fanny realise that? Doesn’t she realise that Geraldine Adams used to earn a great deal more money than Fanny Flynn ever has or ever will? Doesn’t she realise—
‘That,’ says Robert, ‘is a truly fabulous offer. And thank you, Geraldine. From the bottom of our hearts. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I know how busy you are, and I know what a tremendous sacrifice this must be for you.’
‘Oh, no, really, not at all.’
‘And when people like you can manage to take time out of their busy schedules to support their kiddies’ schools—’
‘No, honestly.’ She glances significantly at Fanny.
‘Thank you,’ Robert says again.
‘Stop! I’m just doing what I can. After all, we’re all on the same side, right?’
‘Oh, yes,’ agrees Robert. ‘Absolutely.’
She puts two thumbs in the air, cocks her head: ‘WE’RE JUST DOIN’ IT FOR THE KIDS!’
‘That’s right,’ Robert nods. ‘Kiddies first! Every time!’
Geraldine keeps the head cocked, offers the two of them a raised eyebrow, a winsome smile.
‘Super,’ says Robert. ‘Well, Geraldine, if that’s all, I know Fanny and I should be getting back to our young students.’ He lifts himself up from the radiator and, with one soft hand on her shoulder, shepherds Geraldine towards the stairs. ‘Thanks ever so much for dropping by. Lovely to see you! And send my regards to Clive, won’t you?’ Geraldine assures him that she will, though she won’t. Of course. Clive wouldn’t have had the faintest idea who she was talking about.
Robert White stands at the top of the stairs, smiling and waving until she is out of view. Afterwards he doesn’t quite dare to return to Fanny’s office. Some sense of personal preservation sends him instead to the toilet to wash his hands, where he finds that he can’t stop grinning. Maybe he rushed her a little there, he thinks, but there’s a chink, and he feels it; a chink of light in the tunnel of love; a teeny-tiny seedling from which something special and beautiful might yet grow.
Robert disposes neatly of his paper towel, checks his fingernails, and heads out to his classroom, where he orders the children to mark their own maths books and then switches a video on.
The video is called Are We Being Served? An Overview of Service Industries in the West Midlands and they have seen it many times before.
Robert White’s previous hostility, his fluey colds, are all forgotten now. He turns up to work every day. He follows Fanny around the school like a puppy. She spoke to him only once, on the afternoon following the incident. She made it clear (she thought) that she never wanted anything similar to happen again. But he’d wandered off with the same serene smile stuck on his lips and it’s been stuck there, now, for a week. No matter what she does. No matter how much she snaps and snarls and ignores him. She can’t shift it.
The little interlude in Fanny’s office has been re-shot in his mind, in softest focus and from all conceivable angles; it’s been given a soundtrack, and a whole lot of dialogue that was never there. He’s taken home the photograph from the Gazette, cut it out and stuck it on to sugar paper stolen from the school stationery cupboard. And this morning he brought pink roses into the staff room.
He made a tremendous drama of arranging them in a broken coffee mug.
‘They’re lovely,’ gushed Linda Tardy; gushed Mrs Haywood. They called in Tracey Guppy from washing the floor next door to have a look.
‘Bet you wish you had a young man giving you roses like that!’ said Linda Tardy.