The other women flutter manicured fingers up to their pantomime faces, as if it’s the worst disaster imaginable, and I smile to myself as I walk on.
As I walk past the office, the receptionist who welcomed us on Rowan’s first morning calls from the entrance doors.
‘Mrs Markham? I’ve been looking out for you.’ She waves an envelope in the air. ‘Can I give you this to take with you? It’ll save us a stamp.’
I walk over and she hands me the letter. ‘It’s an invitation to come in for an interview.’ She drops her voice confidentially. ‘For the teaching assistant post.’
‘Oh, thank you!’ I look at the letter, my heart rate picking up. ‘That was quick.’
‘They need someone as soon as possible. Bear that in mind when they ask when you can start.’ She gives me a wink and a grin and disappears back inside.
My mood instantly soars. An interview! What a great start to the day.
A couple of minutes later, when I reach the road, I come across the frustrated traffic warden standing with her hands on her hips, watching as the Range Rover zooms away in the distance at breakneck speed.
‘Thirty seconds more and I would’ve had her,’ she hisses between bared teeth as she plunges the device back into her pocket in disgust.
Obviously the blonde woman managed to get back to her car before the warden had the chance to finish taking photographs and printing the legally binding fine. And all thanks to my tip-off.
I walk home at a pleasantly leisurely pace, smiling as I think about Rowan loving the drama of our rush to beat the bell. I think he’d be pleased if I worked at the school; I hope so, anyway. I know I have to tell Isaac about my work plans, although I’m reluctant because I’ve seen him quash Rowan’s excitement with his lack of attention. I really don’t need to be brushed off right now, and I know his thoughts on me taking time to get my head properly together after Mum’s death and everything associated with that.
I cross the busy road and turn onto Buckingham Crescent. As I walk past the first few houses on the right-hand side, I can’t help but marvel at the size of them. When we saw our house up for such a good price, we felt as if we’d zoomed up the social ladder living here. But now I take a closer look, I can see that ours is positively small and ordinary compared to most of these properties. Exactly as Rowan pointed out at the weekend.
The house next to Polly’s is particularly grand. A white stucco palace with enormous Greek-style pillars framing the outsize front door. It’s too big for its plot; some might even say a little vulgar.
I’m shaken out of my thoughts by a purring presence on the roadside. I stop walking in case a vehicle needs to turn and see it’s the blonde woman from school in the white Range Rover.
The car pulls to a halt and the passenger-side window rolls smoothly down.
My eyes are drawn to the pristine cream leather of the gleaming interior. A fresh smell of lemony polish emanates from within. I think about my own tatty Ford Fiesta, due its MOT in a couple of months. The back seat is currently littered with coats and Rowan’s old school football kit. If I were to give anyone a lift, my passenger would have to kick rubbish out from under their feet to make room in the footwell. My cheeks flush with heat at the shame of the comparison.
‘I’m Tanya,’ the blonde woman says in her plummy accent, leaning across from the driver’s seat. ‘Thanks for the tip-off. My husband would’ve probably divorced me if I’d suffered yet another ticket, so your thoughtfulness was gold dust.’
‘That’s OK.’ I smile. ‘Glad you got back to the car in time.’
‘Thanks to you, I did.’ She sits back in her seat again.
‘I’m Janey, by the way. We’ve just moved into the crescent.’
‘Oh yes, in one of the smaller houses in the middle, aren’t you? Have a nice day… and thanks again!’ The window rolls back up before I can respond and the car turns into the driveway of the big white mansion next to Polly’s house.
Polly isn’t in her front garden so I step inside the gate and stand looking at the mess. She’s tied the broken canes into a bundle and gathered the butchered plants into a droopy, pastel-coloured mound.
She appears from the side of the house carrying a black bin bag. A car door opens and closes next door.
‘Polly, what happened?’ I ask her.
I thought she might be upset but her expression is steely as she crouches down to stuff the flowers into the bin bag.
‘Wilful vandalism. That’s what’s happened yet again.’
‘Someone’s done this before?’ I’m shocked in an area like this. But then I think about the phantom caller on our moving in day. ‘Do you think it’s bored kids?’
‘No, definitely not,’ Polly says shortly. She stands up and juts her chin forward, raising her voice. ‘I know exactly who’s responsible for this and they won’t get away with it. Mark my words.’
She stares pointedly at the tall hedge that acts as a border between her house and Tanya’s.
‘Did you want me to help you tidy it up?’ I say, feeling a bit awkward after a couple of seconds of Polly’s staring silence.
‘No, thank you, Janey, I’ve nearly finished now.’ She bends to pick up the bundle of garden canes. ‘All I’ll say is be careful who you upset around here. Choose your company wisely, that’s my advice.’
I nod and continue on my way, eager to escape Polly’s strange comments and behaviour.
Tanya’s thoughtless remarks about our small house have really got to me. I don’t know why. In my heart of hearts I know we have as much right to live here as anyone else regardless of their bank balance. It’s incredible how, when I first saw the property on Rightmove, it seemed so big and spacious. Now that I’ve seen the palaces that surround us, and with comments like the one Tanya just made flying around, I almost feel like the poor relations around here.
Still, I have an interview for the school job, and that could be a way back into the career I had to walk away from. The move here would be worth that if nothing else.
Fifteen
I tear open the letter excitedly and read it. It’s an invitation for an interview on Monday morning at 9.30, which works quite well for me. I’ll drive to school that day, drop Rowan off and then wait in the car until the interview time. It will stop me getting too hot and bothered walking there in the navy trouser suit and heels I plan on wearing.
I confirm my attendance via the email address provided, then grab my handbag and, with a spring in my step, walk into town to get a few things we need. Staples like milk and fruit, until I get round to sorting out our online grocery delivery.
My first stop, when I reach Central Avenue, is to call into Ergon for more of the delicious sourdough bread we polished off so quickly on Sunday.
I step inside the small shop and inhale the aromas of fresh coffee and spices. Within seconds, I sense a slight drop in the volume of customer chatter, and when I turn towards the tables near the window, it becomes apparent why. The familiar cluster of Lady Bridge mothers are looking my way.
Something pinches hard at my throat and I fight the urge to walk back out again. Running away has always been my standard response to feeling uncomfortable. But I remind myself that I can be whoever I want to be here. There’s nothing to be afraid of, and I’m as good as any one of them.