The meeting rumbles along, the parents take notes and ask questions, then finally they get to ‘AOB’. Harriet turns to him, smiling so widely Seb can see the silver fillings at the back of her mouth before she says, ‘I just wanted to feed back some of the responses we’ve been getting from parents about your first few weeks in the post and they are, of course, unanimously glowing. We know you’re still finding your feet in your new role but your commitment and enthusiasm for the school and, most importantly, the students is palpable and, really, that is all the parents’ – Harriet points to the room before indicating herself – ‘and us governors can ask.’
The parents look to one another, unsure whether they should clap, so Seb saves them all by saying, ‘Thanks for making me blush, Harriet! No, that’s good to hear, and thank you, everyone, for coming along,’ before starting to pack up his laptop. Seb makes sure his smile doesn’t slip once as everyone files out of the room. He asks Abi if she has a moment to chat privately, his face aching.
He ensures the door is closed behind Harriet, the last to leave. He’s stronger than when they spoke at the restaurant; she’s clearly fucking with him, and he needs to be absolutely crystal clear with her this time. He stands solid and firm. ‘What are you doing?’
Abi runs her fingers through her short hair, standing opposite him. ‘I was invited. That’s why I’m here. I have the same rights as everyone else, even if it makes you uncomfortable.’
He forces himself to sound calm. ‘We said we’d stay out of each other’s way, Abi.’
Abi’s forehead wrinkles; she shakes her head. ‘We agreed we’d stay out of each other’s private lives.’
Seb lifts his face to the ceiling, shakes his head and whispers, ‘Fuck’s sake.’ He opens his arms, indicating the classroom, the entire school. ‘This is my life. This is my work. Don’t ambush me at work.’
She stares at him, and he has to resist the urge to look away. She’s everything he despises about himself.
‘Then why are you and your wife and friends coming to the opening night of the restaurant? If you’re allowed to show up at my work, then why can’t I show up at yours? Unlike you, I’ve done nothing wrong. I haven’t betrayed anyone.’
His stomach twists with revulsion for her, for himself, as the meanest, cruellest part of him snaps, ‘Tell your kids that.’
She comes so close he can feel the heat off her. ‘Don’t think for a moment I don’t know what I’m doing, Seb. I’ve known men like you my whole life. And you should know, I’ve got my own tussle going on’ – she knocks her knuckles gently against her chest – ‘because let me tell you, there’s a part of me that would love to tear your privileged bullshit life apart. Would love to tell the world what a fucked-up little liar you really are. You’re the one who came looking for me. Remember that.’
She gathers up her bag and jacket, ignoring Seb’s hurried, quiet apologies as she walks quickly away.
Later that evening, steam billows from the oven as he opens the door and pulls out the celebratory moussaka he made earlier for Eva’s birthday. Seb always makes moussaka when there is something to celebrate. The tradition started when Rosie went into labour with Sylvie; Rosie had gone to sleep but he needed something to do. Twenty-four hours later, in bed, they’d eaten it, with Sylvie sleeping in the crook of Rosie’s arm. He makes it for special occasions and the kids, incredibly, have yet to tire of it.
The kids are upstairs playing while Seb and Rosie are getting things ready for Eva. Rosie’s hanging their trusty silver ‘Happy Birthday’ banner over the table while Seb makes a salad dressing. Once he’s done, he glances at his phone; there’s another message from Eddy waiting, unread. Seb puts it back on the table, screen down. Eddy will just be whining about Seb missing their game again. Eddy, for once, can wait.
Seb loosens his jaw; he needs to talk to Rosie now. This could be his only chance.
‘Hey, Ro,’ he says, turning towards her as she sticks candles into the shop-bought cake he picked up on his way back from school. ‘I’ve been thinking about tomorrow night.’
She tilts her head to show she’s listening but keeps counting candles. ‘Do you think she’ll mind having thirty-seven candles? Half of her real age?’
‘No, she won’t mind at all.’
‘I mean, I could chop them all in half, I suppose – we never use the whole candle anyway – might look a bit odd …’
‘Ro, please, it doesn’t matter about the candles,’ he retorts sharply, taking her hand. She turns in surprise, taken aback by his tone.
‘Sorry. It’s just, I want to talk about tomorrow night before Mum gets here.’
‘OK,’ Rosie says, still frowning at him. ‘What’s up?’
‘Well, it’s … I’m … I just don’t think we should go.’
‘Why not? It’s been in the diary for ages! Eva’s coming over to do bedtime, Lotte and Richard are expecting us and so are Eddy and Anna. They’d all be pissed off if we cancelled so last-minute!’