‘Actually, he’s not attached.’ The bell rang, at which Mel shovelled a last fork-full of noodles into her mouth, somehow managing to eat, sigh and speak all at the same time. ‘Back to the grindstone. This next class is my worst. They’re more like kindergartens than Year 10s.’ Year 10s were the equivalent of fourth-years in Ireland – the different numbering system was something Erin would have to get used to.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’ Erin grinned, very glad that it was Mel who had to face a roomful of immature 16-year-olds, not her. ‘See you later.’
Erin made her way out of the school, taking her time and trying to visualise herself teaching in the neat, well-appointed classrooms she passed along the way. The facilities were undeniably first-class, and the grounds were impeccable. One of the students, a girl on her own, caught Erin’s attention, her head downcast, books clutched to her chest, walking leadenly to her next class. It seemed that no matter what type of school, public or private, religious or secular, or even what country in the world, there was always at least one student like that girl. Erin’s thoughts immediately jumped to Lisha. Was Madame Gallas watching out for her? Were the other students any more friendly? Doubting either possibility, Erin resolved to write to the Nigerian girl. A distant support had to be better than none at all, and now that Erin wasn’t her teacher and bound by all the restrictions that came with that role, she could be a friend.
Some more students passed – girls – and they cast Erin coy yet friendly glances, proving that, for the most part, this was indeed a nice school. But despite that, and despite the lovely modern buildings and grounds, not to mention the rather gorgeous head of department, Erin still couldn’t seem to summon up any excitement or enthusiasm about working in Macquarie Grammar School.
Which left her in somewhat of a dilemma.
* * * * *
Oh God, was that the time already? Six o’clock and the software documentation still wasn’t complete. Johan was on speakerphone talking through a last-minute glitch with Wolfgang, the freelancer – a highly technical conversation in German that Laura couldn’t hope to follow. However, her presence was still required because at some point they would need her opinion – it had been like that all day – and then they would temporarily revert to English. She estimated that they were still two hours from sending the finished file, which meant she wouldn’t be home until at least eight-thirty. She hadn’t mentioned anything about Olivia’s dinner to Kasia – she’d assumed she would be home by then. Neither had she gone through Olivia’s bedtime routine. Oh God. She’d better call Kasia. Apologise again for dumping her in it on her first day, and give her some instructions on what to do.
Laura motioned to Wolfgang that she needed to step out for a minute. Clicking her office door softly behind her, she sat down at one of the empty workstations directly outside and dialled home. It rang, once, twice, three times. Had Kasia gone out? Surely she wouldn’t have decided to take Olivia for a walk at this time of day, when it was cold and dark and busy with rush-hour traffic?
‘Hello?’
Thank God, thank God she was at home. ‘Hi, Kasia. It’s Laura.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m still at the office. At this stage I don’t expect to be home until half eight, which is after Olivia’s bedtime, but maybe you could keep her up this once so I can see her when I get in?’
‘Okay.’
‘And would you mind making her something to eat?’
‘Okay,’ Kasia repeated in the same unimpressed tone.
Laura felt a stab of irritation. Kasia had sounded just as detached and cold at lunchtime, when she’d called to see how things were going. Couldn’t she make the effort to inject the slightest bit of warmth into her voice? Wasn’t it obvious to her that Laura needed reassurance? Then again, maybe she was pissed off at being abandoned on her first day, and annoyed that she was expected to work overtime without any notice. And Laura could hardly blame her for that.
‘Thanks, Kasia. I’ll get home as soon as I can.’
Laura put down the phone and for the first time that day she sat completely still, doing absolutely nothing, gazing into space as a strange lethargy paralysed her limbs. At that moment she was simply too tired to get up and return to the conference call. If someone had told her that the software problem had been solved and she was in fact free to go home, she would have been too tired for that too.
‘Laura?’
Jadedly, she turned her head to the voice that had called her name. It was Savita, and she was carrying a plastic bag and her usual gentle smile.
‘I made this Tandoori chicken last night,’ she said, holding out the bag, a container visible through the thin plastic, ‘and as usual I have too many leftovers.’
Savita encapsulated everything that Laura loved about her job. Her exotic clothes, jangling jewellery and musical voice coexisted with her ingrained kindness, motherliness and wisdom. She was like a bright star, illuminating the dreariest day, yet it was steady, sustainable light that emanated from her. Her traditional Indian dishes took hours and hours to concoct and she derived great pleasure in divvying them out to her colleagues, just as those on the receiving end derived great pleasure from both her cooking and generosity. Everyone adored Savita. She was like a walking advertisement for all the wonderful aspects of diversity.
‘Thank you.’ Laura smiled humbly. ‘You can’t begin to know how much I appreciate having a ready-made dinner tonight.’
Savita’s lips lifted in a return smile. ‘I think I have some idea. Goodnight, Laura. See you tomorrow.’
‘Goodnight, Savita. Thanks again.’
Laura dragged herself to her feet. Suddenly hungry, she reheated the chicken in the kitchenette’s microwave and shared it with Wolfgang. The unexpected sustenance seemed to clear the freelancer’s brain and soon afterwards he found a solution to the problem that had been causing the delay.
Laura got home at eight, earlier than what she had forecast to Kasia but still appallingly late. As she closed the door behind her, Olivia rushed out to the hallway.
‘Mum!’
Was Laura imagining it, or was Olivia’s hug extra tight? ‘Hello, Floss.’ She leant down to kiss her flyaway hair. ‘Sorry I’m so late.’ Laura looked up to see Kasia standing silently at the kitchen door. ‘Thanks for today. I’d better put Floss here straight to bed. I’ll be back soon.’
Laura and Olivia, clutching hands, climbed the stairs slowly. They were as tired as each other.
‘How was it, Floss?’ Laura asked when Olivia was tucked safely in bed. ‘Did you like Kasia? Did you get along okay?’
‘Yes, Mum.’ Olivia’s response was uncharacteristically brief. Then again, she was very tired.
‘What did you do together?’
‘We played and watched some telly and went for a walk.’
‘Where did you walk to? The park?’
‘No.’ Olivia yawned and snuggled deeper into bed. ‘Just along the streets to see the houses.’
Of course, Kasia would want to have a look around the immediate area. Tomorrow Laura would tell her how to get to the local shops and the park.
‘Was Kasia nice to you?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
Was that a slight hesitation that Laura detected in her daughter’s voice?
Laura tucked Olivia’s blankets a little bit tighter around her and planted a kiss on both cheeks. ‘Night night, Floss.’ Turning out the light, she paused on her way out. ‘What did you have for dinner?’
‘Bread and jam,’ Olivia replied sleepily.
Bread