Seb nudges his office door shut. He is right, isn’t he? Everyone’s entitled to a private life. Even teachers, even head teachers. What if Mr Clegg secretly loves dressing up in leather and being spanked with a paddle? That’s none of anyone else’s business. Would that make him unsafe to do his job? No, no, of course it wouldn’t. Anna is wrong. He can be both: a reliable professional and a fallible man who messed up big-time. Anna is always so ready to explode, so full of rage. Eddy will help calm her down, just like Seb calmed her down when she found out about Eddy’s affair. All Seb has to do is call Eddy and ask. He just needs to get through the next few days. Just needs to help Rosie understand that he did what he did because he felt so stuck, so scared, so lonely. If he can find the softness in himself to share all that with her then maybe, just maybe, they can heal together.
He picks up his notepad and a pen, and takes a sip of water from the glass that has sat stale on his desk all weekend.
When he enters the hall, he feels every one of the six hundred pairs of eyes on him.
He lets his gaze blur as he turns towards them.
‘Morning, everyone,’ Seb says, his mouth twitching. ‘I hope you all had a good weekend …’
He swallows, the saliva bitter in his throat.
‘We’re starting today with an assembly from the Year Nines with a “celebration of autumn”, which sounds wonderful. So, over to you, Year Nine.’
Before he leaves the stage, he looks up briefly at the blur of young people in front of him, and one face lifts into focus. Lily. She’s sitting next to Blake, at the back, looking at him like everyone else, but she’s serene, composed, smiling faintly, and Seb knows he not only holds his own fragile family’s future in his shaking hands, but also that of this talented young woman. His body fills like a sack of wet cement; he can’t sit where he’s supposed to but rushes out of the side door, the sniggers and whispers from the students like falling arrows at his back.
Chapter 11
Abi spent the whole of Sunday at home with her girls. They are good at spending a day together, just the three of them, with no need for anyone or anything else. They built a den, watched a movie, did a bit of yoga, cooked. It was slow and it was simple, the perfect antidote to the intensity of the restaurant opening. Every now and then Abi could feel herself drifting back to the previous night, remembering what one of the teenage waitresses had told her, about the middle-aged couples who left abruptly, their dessert menus abandoned on the table, who went outside to scream at each other while Abi was in the wine cellar searching for a bottle. Abi had smiled even as she felt cold stones drop into the well of her stomach; they could have been arguing about anything, she told herself strictly, but she didn’t believe it. Then Margot would stick her head up in the den to complain, ‘Mum! You’re not listening!’ And she’d be brought back to the present. Saved by her girls again.
On Monday morning she keeps herself busy and heads into the restaurant. It was, Richard gloats, rocking in his leather boat shoes, a resoundingly successful evening but there is so much, of course, to improve.
Lotte pops into the restaurant briefly to refresh the flowers, fussing with the display on the reception table while Abi is on hold with an IT team.
‘You heard, did you, Abs, about the row outside?’ Lotte’s eyes gleam. Abi hates being called ‘Abs’; it makes her feel like a member of a nineties boy band.
With the phone to her ear, Abi nods. ‘Any idea what it was about?’
Lotte scrunches up her face. ‘Nope. You?’
Abi shakes her head and Lotte turns, a little disappointed, back to her flowers, plucks a couple of wilting roses from the vase before adding, ‘I’m guessing it’ll be something about Eddy – it usually is. He had an affair a couple of years ago that ricocheted around the town. So much more embarrassing with it being so public.’ Lotte shudders, then keeps talking. ‘I bet he’s been up to no good again and that’s why Anna’s not returning my calls. I never understood why she forgave him in the first place, to be honest. But anyway, I’ll keep trying and, trust me, the truth will come out. It always does. Especially in Waverly.’
Abi walks to pick up Margot from school. It’s a beautiful afternoon, gold pouring from the sky, the air fresh, the earth partying with a few more bursts of light before the long rest. A few parents glance at Abi, smiling easily when she makes eye contact, which is a good sign. There’s no problem here, she chants to herself, the row wasn’t about her. There’s no problem here.