She went to the cupboard, slightly dislodging the plastic garden vine woven into her hair, and took out a bottle of red wine.
‘He’s called Scott. He was at college with Jake.’
‘He’s a musician?’
‘No. Yes. No.’ She looked at me. ‘That’s a hobby. He went into the SAS.’
The Special Air Service! He was James Bond! It explained everything. The ‘One, sir! Two, sir!’ Billy jumping and rolling from the tree. The gun reflex at Sports Day. Bond.
‘When did he start at the school?’
‘Last year – December?’
‘I bet it’s him. He went off to Sandhurst, then he was abroad a lot, but they kept in touch in a man-friend – i.e. not-very-often – sort of way. Jake ran into him a few months ago. He’d been in Afghanistan. Some bad shit had happened. He said he was back and “keeping it simple”.’ Rebecca suddenly laughed. ‘He thinks teaching at a London private school is “keeping it simple”? Has he seen your Quadrant Living chart?’
‘And he’s married?’
‘Not if it’s him. He’s got two boys, right, at boarding school? He was married, but not any more. She was a nightmare.’
‘Is she really plastic-surgeried . . .?’
‘Exactly. She turned into a major spender: clothes, charity luncheons, all that bollocks, total plastic-surgery queen. When he went abroad she started sleeping with her personal trainer, filed for divorce and tried to fleece him. That place Capthorpe Hall is the family pile. I think she might have tried to get back with him now she’s made herself look like the Bride of Wildenstein. I’ll ask Jake. Next time I see him.’
BACK TO SCHOOL
Friday 13 September 2013
Minutes late for school pickups 0 (but only as trying to impress Mr Wallaker), conversations with Mr Wallaker 0, seconds of eye contact with Mr Wallaker 0.
9.15 p.m. It seems Rebecca was right. And although I have not breathed a word about any of it (except, obviously, to Talitha, Jude and Tom), the news is out that Mr Wallaker is not married. Which is awful because now there is a feeding frenzy over Mr Wallaker. Everyone is trying to fix Mr Wallaker up with their single friend. Farzia did suggest trying to shove me at him, but it is pointless. Even though my heart leaps now, when I see him on the steps, Mr Wallaker does not come up and tease me any more. Mr Wallaker does not run into us on the Heath. The magic is gone. And it is all my own fault.
Mr Wallaker is in charge of more and more things at the school: sport, chess, music, ‘Pastoral Care’. He is like Russell Crowe in Gladiator – when he was a slave and organized the other slaves into an army and defeated all the Greeks or Romans. It’s like putting ants down in any situation: ants will just do what ants do. If you put someone really cool and capable down anywhere they will just be cool and capable. And be set up with every unattached woman in sight except me.
Friday 27 September 2013
9.45 p.m. ‘It’s you he loves,’ said Tom, on his fourth mojito in the York & Albany.
‘Look, can we just shut up about Mr Effing Wallaker?’ I muttered. ‘I’ve accepted my life now. It’s good. It’s the three of us. We’re not broke. I’m not lonely any more. I’m a great tree.’
‘And The Leaves in His Hair is going to be made!’ encouraged Jude.
‘What’s left of it,’ I said darkly.
‘But at least you’ll get to go to the premiere, baby,’ said Tom. ‘You might meet someone there.’
‘If I’m invited.’
‘If he’s not calling you, if he’s not texting you, he’s just not that into you,’ said Jude unhelpfully.
‘But Mr Wallaker has never called her or texted her,’ said Tom squiffily. ‘Who are we talking about here?’
‘Can we please stop talking about Mr Wallaker? I don’t even like him and he doesn’t like me.’
‘Well, you did rather give him an earful, darling,’ said Talitha.
‘But there was so much depth to what was building,’ said Tom.
‘When he’s hot, he’s hot; when he’s not, he’s not,’ said Jude.