‘Mademoiselle, what will I do without you?’
Of course Lisha would not say this out loud, but her eyes would say it, her dark, expressive eyes flashing with panic, abandonment and betrayal. Lisha had the most to lose. Of all of them, she was the most vulnerable. She needed a figure of authority on her side, to keep the cruelty of the other girls in check, to involve her in the class and help make her less of a sitting target. She needed a friendly face, someone who smiled rather than sneered at her. Erin decided that she would speak to Madame Gallas at least about Lisha, if not about any of the others.
‘Hey, Miss, we should have a going-away party for you!’
She could imagine Tristan’s input, too: a party, the perfect excuse to slack off in class. Erin was in fact planning a class party, involving chocolate croissants and pains au chocolat, and some word games and music, all with a French theme, of course. She was having an adult going-away party, too – next weekend – a gathering of family, friends and a few work colleagues to send her off. She hadn’t wanted a big fuss and would have preferred to slip away unnoticed, but Laura had insisted.
‘This is a big move for you, Erin – and it should be marked and celebrated in a big way.’
Laura had been amazing. On a practical level, she’d organised a roster of family members to care for Moira – Erin’s mother, Laura’s aunt – and on a psychological level, she’d countered all the reasons why Erin couldn’t go with reasons why she could, and must.
‘Your own health is at risk here, Erin. Your body has given you a warning.’
‘Don’t worry about your mum. She won’t be alone. There’s a big family of us here to help.’
‘It’s only for a year. Remember that. You owe yourself this. A change of scene.’
‘You’re not being selfish, silly. This time out is life-saving and non-negotiable. Got it?’
Though Laura was her first cousin, they hadn’t always been close. As children, the three-year age difference had seemed vast. Erin was at playschool by the time Laura was born, and well established in primary school when her cousin, an extraordinarily self-possessed little girl, started in Junior Infants. The same had applied to secondary school and university, Erin always a stage ahead in her life and consequently out of reach. The birth of Olivia, Laura’s daughter, had changed things, for once putting Laura a step ahead. Olivia’s dimpled face, cherubic arms and legs and surprisingly hearty laugh drew Erin to cuddle and play with her at family gatherings. Spending time with the baby meant spending time with Laura, and it was often the two of them taking turns at rocking the pram in a quiet room of the house while the party raged on next door. Laura had accepted Erin’s help so gratefully and humbly that Erin soon extended an offer to babysit anytime she was needed. And so, through Olivia, they’d transitioned from a rather distant relationship to something much closer, providing support and advice to each other, becoming friends and allies amidst the boisterous, male-dominated family of which they were part.
Erin glanced at the clock. One minute to go until the bell. She released her hold on the class and allowed them to talk amongst themselves, or in the case of Tristan and Darragh, fling-shot each other with balls of scrunched-up paper. She allowed herself the same leniency, letting her thoughts drift to Australia, imagining herself teaching French at Macquarie Grammar School (where Melissa worked), her students cooperative and inspiring, with eye-pleasing tans and sun-streaked hair, an unrelenting blue sky visible through the windows, warm air waiting to caress her face and skin when she went outside.
The bell rang, its sound harsh and intrusive against the soft tones of her daydream. Her students jumped to their feet, suddenly in an extraordinary rush.
‘Push your chairs in after you, please.’
‘One at a time through the door.’
‘Tristan, please keep your hands – and legs – to yourself.’
As Erin continued to talk, her words falling on deaf ears, she was struck with a terrible thought. What if the Australian students were just a better-looking version of the students here? Had she kidded herself by believing they would be different, easier to handle, less draining by the end of the day? Did doing the exact same job, coaching, chastising and coaxing another set of teenagers, qualify as a ‘live-saving’ change? When the initial glow of being in another country faded, and the day-to-day realities of her job reasserted themselves, would she feel trapped and panicky and frightened all over again?
‘Tristan! I am blue in the face from telling you to behave!’
And what if there was another Tristan waiting for her in Macquarie Grammar School? Or a kid worse than Tristan, without any interest in French at all – not even the swear words – and without that ‘loveable rogue’ smile that made it so hard to stay cross with Tristan?
A tanned, more evil version of Tristan Keary. Now that was a truly scary thought!
Chapter 2
Laura consulted her list of questions, not to remind herself what she wanted to ask but to centre her thoughts and her sense of being. She liked lists – rather a lot, really – and at any one time she had a number of them on the go: work lists, home lists, shopping lists; lists for Esteban and Olivia; short-term lists that could be satisfyingly scrunched into a ball once each task was ticked; longer-term ones which attempted to pin down and overlay some goals on the slippery future. The lists gave her a sense of structure, an illusion of control, and she hung onto them for dear life.
Finally, Laura raised her head to assess the young woman sitting on the other side of her desk. According to her CV, Kasia Kaminski came from a small village outside Legnica, in south-west Poland. She didn’t look particularly Polish, Laura thought. Her skin was pallid, almost unhealthily so, and her hair had a long fringe cut at an angle to her face, making it difficult to see her eyes. She wore a black skirt and jacket, the fabric shiny under the spotlights in the ceiling. An off-white shirt, faux-pearl earrings and pink lipstick, too bright for her skin tone, completed the image.
‘How long have you been in Ireland, Kasia?’
‘Five months.’
‘And have you been working during that time?’
‘I babysit for my cousin, who I stay with.’
‘Any other work?’
‘No. It has not been easy to get a job with the economy as it is.’
Each of the five candidates Laura had interviewed so far had mentioned the economy, implying that they would not be interviewing for this role had the job market been stronger and other work opportunities available.
‘What kind of work would you seek if you had the choice?’ Laura asked in a casual tone, hoping to draw out an honest answer.
‘I would like to work in an office – like this one.’ Kasia lifted one hand from her lap to motion to the hub of workstations visible through the floor-to-ceiling window. Her gesture