Finn is seven, Isaac two years younger and they both have places at the primary school where I work. It’s a C of E school attached to a parish church, which wouldn’t have been my choice (we’re not religious) if I hadn’t worked there. But sending them to another local school would’ve made all the taking and collecting so much more complicated. And, to be fair, I like the school: the head-teacher, Grace, puts her life and soul into it. She’s a good manager and most of the staff respect her. I’ve been secretary there since Lori was eight when I gave up child-minding. She was already at a secular school and I didn’t like to move her so we managed the hour before and after the school day when I was still at work with a patchwork of arrangements. I relied on other parents, the after-school club, child-minders, my mum and, when I ran out of all other options, Tom. These days, the pressures on parents seem even greater and our school, like many others, has a breakfast club as well as the after-school club where Finn and Isaac go.
Having Lori so young – I was twenty – put paid to any travel plans back then. While friends of mine were discovering Goa and Machu Picchu, I was by turns bewildered, exhausted and exhilarated in the world of nappies, baby sick and sleep deprivation.
I discovered I was pregnant partway through my second year but I was determined to complete my degree on time. It seemed important to prove to the world that I could do it all. And I did. Just. It was horrendous.
Now the phone is ringing with notices of absence, the mail is arriving and I’ve a tray full of work to get going on and a backlog of emails to deal with. It helps being busy: the demands of routine drive a juggernaut through any inclination to dwell on Lori leaving.
In the staffroom at break people ask me if Lori got off all right – everyone has been sharing in the build-up to her trip. We’re a close team and I know the problems other people are dealing with. Henry’s father has dementia – he’s become restless and agitated and hostile; Zoë had a miscarriage last term; Pam is going through a really acrimonious divorce; and Sunita has just been diagnosed with diabetes. It puts things in perspective.
As we walk back from school Finn holds my hand, swinging his arm to and fro and singing. He loves to sing but he makes an awful racket.
Isaac runs ahead and back, like Benji, a sheepdog driving his charges. He stops to examine anything of interest, a sock in the gutter, conkers, a worm stranded on the paving. He always finds something to bring home for his special box (currently the one that our microwave came in). Today it is a throwaway lighter. I check it doesn’t work and is empty of fuel before letting him keep it.
