‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Help me prep. Lay the table. Make sure the glasses and plates and cutlery are spotless. Run to the shops if I need anything. And wait at the table while I do the cooking.’
‘Be your bitch, you mean,’ grinned Lauren.
‘If you like,’ said Thomasina. She knew she was taking a big risk, but she had seen something in Lauren the other staff had overlooked. She’d seen her concentrate while she was cooking, her total absorption in the process. Lauren wasn’t interested in the written theory, but she threw herself into the practical work with something bordering on passion, and she wanted to please Thomasina – again, something none of the other teachers had ever experienced. Thomasina wanted to capture that passion and do something with it, and giving Lauren a job out of school, where she didn’t have the rest of the class to show off to, was a step in the right direction.
Thomasina was halfway out of the classroom door when Lauren stopped her.
‘Do you need me this weekend, miss?’
‘Yes, please. I’ve got an anniversary dinner booked in.’ She looked at Lauren. ‘But you know the drill. Short nails. No scent. Hair tied back.’
Lauren came to school with glittery fake nails, her blonde hair backcombed into a bouffant mane, drenched in noxious perfume. She rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah.’ She looked at her nails – silver with black lightning streaks appliquéd on. ‘Do you know how long these take?’
‘It’s non-negotiable.’ Thomasina was putting on her coat. Her stomach was churning. Why had she said yes? She was starting to hope for a natural disaster – a hurricane, perhaps? It was too early for a snowstorm. Or maybe her car wouldn’t start? It wouldn’t be her fault, then, if she didn’t turn up.
‘You all right, miss?’ Lauren was looking at her.
‘I’m nervous about something.’
‘What?’
‘I promised to do a reading at a friend’s memorial.’
Thomasina couldn’t even begin to think about it. If she thought about it, she wouldn’t do it. She had the book in her bag – Remembrance of Things Past, by Proust. It had seemed obvious to her, to do the most famous literary passage about food. She had practised it over and over and over, at home. But practising at home was worse than useless, because there was only ever her there.
Lauren was staring at her, puzzled.
‘What are you scared of? You’ll be ace, miss. Knock ’em dead.’ She made a face when she realised what she had said. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’
Thomasina couldn’t help laughing. And she felt a little bit cheered by her pupil’s faith in her.
‘Thanks, Lauren,’ she said.
‘That’s all right,’ said Lauren. ‘You tell me I can do things I don’t think I can do all the time. No one minds if you mess up, that’s what you say. But you have to try.’
Thomasina was touched by Lauren’s logic. She hadn’t realised her words of encouragement went in. It gave her the courage she needed.
Sarah arrived at the church door just before the service was about to begin. She slipped inside and her eyes widened in surprise at the size of the congregation. She scanned the pews for a space, hoping that no one would turn and notice her. She reminded herself there was no reason for her not to be here, but nevertheless she didn’t want to be under scrutiny. There was a space next to a pillar. She wouldn’t have the greatest view, but in a way the pillar gave her protection. She sat down as the vicar stepped forward to begin his welcome.
Oh Julius, she thought, and clasped her hands in her lap tightly.
Thomasina’s reading was one of the first. With terror, she read her name on the order of service and realised there was no time to back out now. On the other hand, her ordeal would be over more quickly. She was in the front row, along with the others who were doing a reading or a performance. Her heart raced, and her palms felt sweaty. She wanted to run out, but she couldn’t make a spectacle. She had to go through with it.
And then suddenly, the preceding hymn – ‘Fight the Good Fight’ – came to an end and it was her turn. She made her way out of her pew, and walked across to the pulpit as if she was walking to her execution. She climbed up the winding steps. She felt as if she was high up, in the clouds. She put the book down on the lectern, open at the page she was going to read. She’d underlined the words in red and they swam in front of her. She couldn’t look out at the congregation. The thought that every single person in the church was looking at her, waiting for her to start, made her feel hot with fear. She was trembling. Just begin, she told herself, and then it will end. Before you know it.