Page 17 of If We Were Young

This time Mr Jewson wouldn’t let us escape with a warning and an afternoon of sulking in a dark room.

“This can’t carry on,” he told me.

No bloody shit.

Hannah had got it easy and sat on a seat outside the office. I could see her through the glass, her bum slipped down on her chair, her ankles crossed, a serious attitude of ‘couldn’t give a shit’ painted across her face. I glared at her before turning back to Mr Jewson. My age, or maybe a year or two older, he had the ‘Cool Adult’ vibe nailed.

I wished I knew how to get that vibe. The only one I had down was ‘Desperate Parent’.

“I know it can’t carry on,” I said, my fingers fidgeting in my lap. “I don’t know what to do with her.”

Jewson leant against his desk in the superiority pose all teachers perfected. “How long has it been since her father died?” He lowered his voice like he didn’t want her to overhear. Like he didn’t want to break the bad news to her through the thin partition of his office wall.

She already knew, buddy. It was me who’d broken that particular bit of bad news. I didn’t think she’d ever forgiven me.

“Five years,” I muttered.

He paused and steepled his fingers together, one polished brown shoe tapping against another. “I don’t want to pry, but is she finding her home life unsettling? I’m wondering if you have a new boyfriend, perhaps?”

I blinked at him while I slotted his words into a formation that made sense.

Wait a minute…

“What?” I exploded out of my chair like a rocket. “What are you implying?” He adjusted the rectangular framed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and waited for me to breathe. Which I didn’t. Instead I just about snorted flames out of my nostrils.

“I’m just saying that you’re allowed to have a life of your own, you are young, but it may be confusing for her.”

“I’m young? You pompous prick. You’re only a couple of years older than me.”

He looked at me. “I don’t know what my age has got to do with anything, and Mrs Childs, I would appreciate you not using offensive language.”

His age didn’t have anything to do with anything. I didn’t want to admit that though. Plus, I’d just called him a prick. There wasn’t any coming back from that—he was the headteacher for goodness’ sake. I grabbed my bag and Hannah’s backpack off the floor. When I was at the door, yanking it so hard it quivered on its hinges, I turned back to him. “Just so you know, and not because I have to tell you. Hannah lives at home with my mother and I, and that’s all she’s ever known.”

I wanted to punch him.

“We’ve got a parent/teacher socialiser event next week. Why don’t you come? Maybe it would be good to socialise more with other parents. We’d like to see you here.”

A parent what?

My face burned hot as I reached for Hannah’s hand and pulled her after me.

“Have I been excluded again?” she asked as I yanked her down the hallway.

“Nope.” I didn’t bother turning around. “You are having a sick afternoon.”

Parenting fail 101. I knew I should have made her stay and learn her lesson. You can’t punch a guy in the nuts and get away with it. You have to deal with things as a grown up…

But no.

Later I sat on the sofa by myself. I’d forgone a glass of wine for a cup of tea and I was comforting myself with typing Matthew Carling into Facebook’s search bar and then watching it come up with one thousand and five Matthew Carling’s that weren’t him.

I pretended I couldn’t see Hannah when she crept into the lounge and sat on the furthest edge of the sofa away from me. From the corner of my eye I could see her fluffy pyjamas.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a few minutes had passed.

“I’m sorry too.”

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