Something was niggling at me. Was it the embarrassment of misreading how much Hannah needed me, then forgetting my lines? Or was it the growing unease I had about Amy? Had I neglected my sister and allowed a gulf to grow between us, or had she been keeping secrets from everyone? I poured a second glass of wine and drank it in half the time it had taken me to finish the first.
I heard the yard gate and seconds later the doorbell rang. I quickly downed the rest of my wine and put the dirty glass back in the cupboard out of sight.
Richard was dressed in casual clothes – a zipped up chunky knit cardigan and jeans. He was wearing too much aftershave and holding a small bunch of flowers.
‘An official house-warming,’ he grinned, brandishing a bottle of wine in the other hand.
I was grateful, but wine and flowers were a strange way to start a parent-teacher meeting. I took the bottle from him. ‘Tignanello – my favourite! How did you know…?’
‘I have to confess, I checked out your Instagram to get the inside scoop.’
Who actually said things like ‘inside scoop’? I quickly turned my back so he wouldn’t see me smile and made a big deal of putting the flowers in water. Also, what was the point of Instagram-stalking if you told someone straight away? Richard was such a dork, it was actually quite sweet.
‘Will you have a glass?’
I was keen to open the wine. There was nowhere locally that sold it, which meant Richard must have gone through quite an effort to procure it. Extra points that were definitely making up for the extra aftershave.
We sat in the living room, each with a glass of wine in hand, Richard looking awkwardly at his feet.
‘You wanted to talk about Betsy?’ I reminded him.
I took my first sip, not wanting to look over-eager, and wondered how long this might discussion might take.
‘Yes,’ he said, headteacher voice back now. ‘We’re obviously quite concerned about what she’s been through, and how much there is for her to process and deal with. And while her support structure is going through a period of… adjustment’ – he gestured towards me – ‘we feel that a professional could help to guide her through some of those emotions.’
He was trying to cushion my feelings. Should I be offended by this? Was he saying that I wasn’t doing a good job with Betsy?
‘I’m…’ I searched for the words. ‘I’m really trying my best with her – with all of them.’ The tears came from nowhere, catching me off-guard.
‘I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to upset you,’ Richard said, fumbling to put his wine down and retrieve a tissue from his pocket.
I was crying as much for me as I was for failing Betsy. I knew I wasn’t good at the kids’ stuff, and hearing other people confirming it wasn’t especially hurtful, or even surprising. I thought of Hannah’s reaction to me trying to help her and realised it was silly, really. Then I remembered that I did have things to cry about – the life I’d lost, and the job I had worked so hard for that might not be waiting for me by the time I got back, if I ever got back… And the fact that my sister might have been murdered. And I got more upset when I realised that the things that had set me off were my hair and skin and the fact that I hadn’t tasted my favourite wine in weeks, which officially made me a superficial narcissist – and that made me bawl even more.
I heard myself weeping and but I couldn’t stop myself, I couldn’t rein it back in. I tried to take deep breaths and choked on them.
Richard carefully prised the glass from my hand and set it on the side table next to his. Kneeling on the floor in front of me, he placed one hand tenderly on my knee.
Suddenly it all seemed vaguely ridiculous. This whole situation – Betsy’s headteacher, bringing me wine and flowers and telling me that she needed psychological help and me crying because my skin looked crappy – was hilarious. Richard’s expression morphed from concern to bemusement as my crying turned into laughter. Now who was the crazy one?
‘Sorry,’ I said, wiping away a final tear. ‘I don’t know what that was, or where it came from, but I needed that.’
‘Of course,’ he nodded sagely, like I hadn’t just had a meltdown in front of him. ‘You’re processing a lot right now. You know, talking about it can really help. And I just want you to know, if you need anything at all, I’m here for you.’
I considered him. He wasn’t bad-looking. In fact, he was quite attractive from a certain angle. If I just squinted my eyes a bit and pretended that he wasn’t wearing a cardigan, he was actually quite handsome.
His hand was still on my knee, and with the lightest touch, he brushed his thumb against my thigh, watching me, waiting for my reaction. I didn’t object. He pressed harder, and the pressure and heat from his fingertips was travelling through me, making me hunger for more. It felt so good to be touched, to be wanted. Maybe what I needed was right in front of me. To hell with Jake Ridley.
I leaned in towards him, ever so slowly, then stopped. Our faces were just inches apart. Did I want to do this? Did he want to? His eyes signalled a resounding yes. I parted my lips.
‘You know, you remind me so much of her.’
I stopped. A chill
