‘Yes, well, you’ve got a lot in common,’ teased Laura. ‘He’s definitely the naughtiest dog in Fittlescombe.’
‘Perhaps he’ll reform?’ grinned Logan. ‘Like me.’
Laura laughed. ‘Perhaps he will.’ Felix wriggled sweetly against her chest, disturbed by her laughter. He then emitted a fart so loud and long it was impossible to believe it had come from such a tiny person. Logan erupted with giggles.
‘What on earth have you been feeding him?’ she looked at Laura aghast.
‘Just breast milk, I swear! What can I tell you? Flatulence runs in the Baxter family, I’m afraid. Gabe may seem perfect from a distance, but I can assure you he has his faults – and plenty of them. You’ve never seen him in Speedos.’
‘Oh God, really? No. He doesn’t, does he?’ Logan gasped.
‘Not any more. But he did before I married him,’ said Laura. ‘Then there were the snowflake socks.’
‘Stop!’ pleaded Logan.
‘The goatee that made him look like Noel Edmonds.’
‘Oh, now, come on. I don’t believe that.’
‘I have photographic evidence!’ Laura squealed. ‘Hold Felix and I’ll get it for you.’
Logan demurred. ‘There’s no need. The truth is, it’s sweet of you to say all that, but I’m not in love with Gabe any more.’
It was such an endearingly honest comment that Laura wasn’t sure what to say. She eventually opted for ‘Oh.’
‘I probably never was. It was just a crush gone a bit, you know … mad.’ Logan pushed her hair out of her eyes. She’d cut it shorter since Laura last saw her, but it suited her face, and her new, more mature manner. Then again, a crew-cut would have suited Logan Cranley. She really was disastrously pretty. ‘I’m in love with an amazing boy now. Tom,’ she gushed. ‘Tommy. You’ll meet him one day. If Gabe’s OK with it.’
‘I’ll meet him whether Gabe’s OK with it or not,’ said Laura robustly. ‘Free advice for you, angel. Never let a man tell you who you can and can’t hang out with. Not that Gabe would dare.’
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t!’ giggled Logan. Laura Baxter really was the nicest woman she knew. She somehow combined all Tatiana’s fun side with all her mother’s kindness.
‘Felix is so lucky. Having you for a mum,’ she blurted out suddenly.
Laura was so touched she felt tears prick her eyes. ‘Logan. Thank you. What a lovely thing to say. And you mustn’t worry about Gabriel. He’ll come around eventually, I promise.’
Back at her office at Hamilton Hall, Tatiana reached into her desk drawer and scrabbled around for a headache pill. She usually kept Nurofen in constant supply, as well as Alka-Seltzer for those mornings-after-the-nights-before, and (slightly embarrassingly) Rescue Remedy bottles for everything from stress to fatigue. Obviously they didn’t work. But there’d been a fad for them in her A level year at school years ago, and Tati had got into the habit of using the little glass bottles; rather in the same way as she still read her horoscope at the back of Vogue every month.
Today, irritatingly, she was out of everything. And boy, could she use a pill right now.
Unlike Jason and Logan, Tatiana was having a horrendous morning. Hamilton Hall’s headmaster, the brilliant and eminently sensible Drew O’Donnell, had called her to the school to fire two teachers. As chair of governors, and CEO of the parent company, hiring and firing were still officially Tatiana’s job. The problem was that both today’s fire-ees were lovely people: genuine, vocational teachers with decades of experience in their respective subjects of Chemistry and Maths.
‘Look, I don’t like it any more than you do,’ Drew O’Donnell told her. ‘But Miss Watkins’ class all did poorly in their mocks last week – we’ve had several complaints from parents. And David Brinton can’t focus on anything since his wife died. His head’s a mess.’
‘Can’t we give him compassionate leave or something?’ Tati protested. ‘It seems awful to sack someone for grieving.’
‘We offered.’ Drew threw up his hands. ‘The old boy won’t take it. He’s stubborn as a mule. I feel terrible for him, I do, but it’s not fair to leave our Year Sixes with substandard teaching. Besides which, our policy’s clear. Poor performance is cause for dismissal.’
Tatiana knew. She wrote the policy, a document abhorred by the teachers’ unions who viewed it as the educational equivalent of Mein Kampf. Hamilton Hall staff were paid twice the salaries of their unionized peers at other schools. But their jobs came at a price.
Tati buzzed her secretary. ‘How long do I have till Janice Watkins’ appointment?’
‘About ten minutes, Mrs Cranley.’