But the Year Two parents had been particularly dire. On reflection, that might have been why Mr Bingley had put Tati in here, alongside Sarah Yeardye. Perhaps he wanted her to get a taste of things at the sharp end. If so, the main lesson Tati had taken away was that, without a saintly disposition and superhuman patience, neither of which she possessed, there was every danger of these meetings descending into an out-and-out brawl.
This hadn’t been a good week for Tati. Her short-lived triumph over Brett Cranley at church had been blighted by the unpleasantness with Dylan. Returning to work anxious and depressed on Monday morning, she’d hoped to try and set things straight between them, but Dylan had chickened out and called in sick. He’d seemed fit as a fiddle the day before, climbing all over her like an ant on a melted ice lolly, but now apparently he was all but bedridden with flu.
Then this morning he’d bounced back into the staff room, ignoring Tatiana completely, and immediately closeted himself away in the head’s office in a manner that made Tati feel distinctly paranoid.
Was he saying something about her? Making up lies to get her into trouble with the head? Tati prayed not. She couldn’t afford to lose this job, and up until now Dylan had been her only ally.
‘Tatiana? Do you have a minute?’
Max Bingley stuck his head around the door of Year Two. Sarah Yeardye cast him a pleading look as Kai Wilmott’s mother leaned forwards, her white, fat forearms shaking like two cylindrical lumps of lard. But Max was focused wholly on Tati.
‘Of course.’
She was glad to get out of the stifling classroom, but braced herself for what the head might have to say. This was bound to be about Dylan. The thought of discussing what had happened last Sunday with Max Bingley made Tati’s stomach churn. It would be like discussing sexual positions with your dad. To her surprise, however, Max didn’t mention Dylan at all.
‘The Cranleys are here,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘They’ve specifically asked to talk to you about Logan’s reading.’
‘The Cranleys?’
‘Yes.’
Cranleys, plural. Did that mean Brett? But Brett never came to school. Never ever. It was one of the things that had made working at St Hilda’s bearable for Tati.
‘Are you quite sure it’s me they want to see?’
‘Tatiana, I am not yet quite senile,’ Max said drily. ‘Although I’m beginning to wonder if you might be.’ He did so hope that Pritchard Jones wasn’t right about Tati experimenting with drugs. She certainly seemed dazed and confused right now. ‘They’re waiting for you in the Year Four classroom.’
Angela turned and smiled nervously as Tatiana walked in. She was also worried by Brett’s sudden interest in Logan’s academic progress and prayed he hadn’t come here to cause a scene with Tati. But early signs were good. He barely looked up when Tati walked in, smiling and projecting a confidence she did not feel.
In wide-fitting grey trousers paired with flat shoes, and a simple white shirt with a sleeveless cashmere sweater pulled over the top, Tatiana looked professional and pulled-together, like any young teacher. But not even the dowdy clothes could fully disguise her knockout figure, or that perfectly structured face that seemed to grow more beautiful each time Angela saw it.
Tati pulled up a chair, keeping a few feet of distance between herself and the Cranleys. ‘You asked to see me?’
‘Yes.’
It was Brett who spoke, looking up suddenly, his eyes boring into Tati’s with that same half-lustful half-disdainful gaze that had so unnerved her when he’d burst into her bathroom at Greystones. She wondered whether she would ever be able to look at Brett Cranley again without feeling naked. ‘I understand you’ve been doing some work with my daughter.’
Tati noticed the way he said ‘my’ rather than ‘our’, and the way he had instantly taken over the conversation, to the exclusion of his wife. Was that what their marriage was like, she wondered? Brett, bullying his way through while Angela sat meek and cowed at his side? Clearly Brett Cranley was a man unused to having people stand up to him, especially women. Tatiana felt her confidence returning.
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Logan’s made tremendous progress. She’s really very bright.’
Brett snorted. ‘Is that so? Funny how she’s always bottom of the class then, isn’t it?’
‘That’s not fair, darling,’ chided Angela. ‘Logan’s maths has always been good. It’s only in English where she’s struggled.’
‘And she still struggles,’ said Tati, deliberately addressing herself solely to Angela. ‘I’m not saying she doesn’t find reading hard, because she does. But she’s made immense progress. And her difficulties don’t reflect a lack of intellect, or effort.’
‘What are they caused by, then? Black magic?’ sneered Brett. ‘Because I can tell you, in the time it takes my daughter to read “Danger: Keep Out”, she’d already have been mauled to death by bears or fried to a crisp on a live railway track.’