Blink(11)

I looked over at my handbag longingly. It still felt a bit early in the day, but I felt sure it wouldn’t hurt this once. But just as I started to move towards relief, the doorbell rang.

I sat down again, rooted to the spot. Nobody knew we lived here yet. It was likely to be an opportunist seller, so I decided to ignore it.

The doorbell rang again.

‘Mummy, SOMEONE IS AT THE DOOR,’ Evie roared above the television in the other room.

The front door opened directly out onto the pavement. Evie had shouted so loudly, the caller would have almost certainly have heard her. Reluctantly, I ditched my plan to pretend there was no one home.

I opened the door to a plump, middle-aged woman. She had a thatch of short, curly brown hair that was shot through with wiry grey, and pale bespectacled eyes that darted around but didn’t seem to settle on anything.

‘Hello?’ I said, relieved she didn’t look in the least bit official.

‘Mrs Cotter? I’m Harriet Watson from St Saviour’s Primary School.’ She peered at me over a bulging canvas shopping bag that she held in both arms. ‘Evie is starting in my class next week.’

The awful state of the Lego-strewn living room next door flashed into my mind but I pasted a smile on my face and stepped back from the door.

‘What a nice surprise. Please, come in, Mrs Watson.’

‘Actually, it’s just Miss.’ She stepped inside the tiny hallway and set down the bag. ‘I thought I’d drop some work off for Evie, seeing as I won’t be around when you visit the school this afternoon.’ She glanced at my tatty leggings and T-shirt. ‘I do hope you don’t mind me just turning up like this.’

‘Not at all,’ I said, holding out my hand. ‘I’m Toni, by the way. Evie’s mum.’

Harriet Watson had a deep scar, about four centimetres long, that divided her pasty forehead into two. Her hair was so tightly curled, it looked as if she’d modelled each coil individually with styling wax.

‘I’ve brought mainly worksheets and reading material.’ Harriet shook my hand and her fingers, loose and clammy, pressed against my palm. ‘If she can get through some of this, it’ll stand her in good stead for the new term’s work. Introduce her to the sort of things we’ve been doing in class.’

Evie came running full pelt out of the lounge and crashed into my side.

‘Careful,’ I chided, putting an arm around her and hugging her to me, instantly shamed by the fact she was still dressed in her pyjamas. ‘This is Evie.’

‘Hello, Evie,’ Harriet said.

‘Hello,’ Evie muttered.

‘Miss Watson is your new teacher. She’s brought you some worksheets to do before you start your new school.’

‘And some reading material,’ Harriet added.

Evie regarded the bulging bag at my feet.

‘What do you say?’ I nudged her.

‘Thank you.’

I became conscious of the booming television noise emanating from the lounge. Harriet would think I was the kind of mother who allowed her child to sit and watch it all day long like a zombie. Which, I admit, I sort of did, at the moment. But that would change once we got organised.

I realised with a sinking feeling that it was rude to expect Harriet to stand in the poky, cold hallway any longer. I pinched the fabric of my T-shirt away from the damp patch that had already formed at the bottom of my back and felt a welcome kiss of cool air there.

‘Please, come through to the living room,’ I said loftily, as if we lived in one of those million-pound penthouse apartments on the banks of the River Trent. ‘I’m afraid we’re not quite settled in here yet.’

She followed Evie and I into the lounge. I strode across the room and snatched up the remote control, switching the screeching volume to mute.

‘That’s better, I can hear myself think now,’ I said brightly.

The whole room smelled of biscuits and warm bodies – and not in a good way.

I stood for a second or two and looked at the room through Harriet’s eyes. Barely an inch of carpet was visible in the middle of the room, due to Evie’s latest sprawling Lego structure and the piles of multi-coloured bricks that surrounded it.

An old PlayStation that Mum had picked up at a car-boot sale for Evie’s birthday sat redundant in front of the television. The numerous wires of its controller snaked and coiled around discarded empty glasses and toast-crumbed plates.

‘Evie, come on, let’s start to tidy this mess up,’ I pleaded.

Somewhere between the doorbell ringing and leading Harriet Watson into the living room, the fluttery sensation in my chest had developed into a full-blown, irregular hammering. I could feel sweat patches pooling in my armpits.

‘I’m sorry about the mess.’ A silly little laugh escaped my lips as I swept my arm around the room. ‘We’ve only just moved in, you see. I haven’t had time to get it sorted out.’

Harriet cleared her throat purposefully. ‘Perhaps you could help, young lady?’ She glared down at Evie through stark, wire-framed spectacles. ‘Instead of making more of a mess for Mummy.’

I felt a sharp spike in my throat and tried to swallow it down. I supposed I ought to feel relieved Miss Watson was trying to support me, but it wasn’t her job to chastise Evie in her own home. Particularly after all the upheaval she’d been through.