‘No thank you.’
He moves them back to me with nicotine-stained fingers and scratches the side of his nose. I can’t get out of there fast enough. My mobile starts to ring again and I nearly drop it, my hands are so shaky.
‘Where are you?’ Tom asks.
I look round. Away in the distance the Shard pierces the sky. ‘Out shopping.’
I shout above the noise of the drill as I dig in my pocket for the car keys. I point them at the door and press the fob, then try to extricate Josh one-handed from his pram.
‘Well, check your messages, will you? I’ve had Amber on the phone, looking for you.’
I go still. What has she said to him? ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. Something about a parents’ tea.’
‘Oh no.’
‘Vicky? What have you done?’
‘I’m supposed to be at the school this afternoon.’ I can’t believe this.
‘And you forgot?’ His voice is hard.
‘I … I’ve had a lot on my mind.’
‘We all have a lot on our minds. For once, Vicky, could you put the children first?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t tell me that. Tell your daughters.’ He disconnects without giving me a chance to explain. But what is there to explain? It would only mean another lie.
As I race across London I torture myself with the image of Polly watching the door for me, bewildered, forgotten and tearful, and in desperation I put our differences to one side and phone Amber. It galls me to do it, but no one else can help and Polly will only care that her godmother has come especially for her.
‘It’s OK, Vicky,’ she whispers. ‘I’m in the classroom now. Miss Samantha called me so I dashed over and I’m playing mum for Polly. She is so sweet. She brought me a plate of biscuits and insisted on dunking them in my tea. And she’s reading really well. I told Miss Samantha you’d had an emergency with Josh, so don’t worry, she was very understanding.’
I doubt that. I’ve blotted my copybook. But I don’t care what they think about me; it’s Polly’s hurt that breaks my heart. I swallow my pride and thank Amber and mean it. She’s done something for my little girl and rescued what could have been a much worse situation.
‘So where are you?’ Amber asks.
‘Somewhere off the Old Kent Road.’
‘Really? What on earth are you doing there?’
‘I’m outside a pawn shop.’
There’s a tiny pause. ‘Oh. Right, well, that’s great. Will you be back in time for pick-up?’
I glance at my watch. ‘Yes, if I get a move on. There’s no money, by the way. My jewellery isn’t worth anything like what you’re asking for.’
‘Well, at least you tried,’ she says cheerfully. ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’
‘I do understand you’ve had a bad week,’ Polly’s teacher says when I arrive flushed and ashamed at going-home time. The other adults in the room turn to look at me as I rush in. I force a rueful smile.
Miss Samantha only started in September, but even though she’s never known me as a fellow teacher, she knows I am one. I don’t like her manner but I play the game and apologize abjectly. I don’t want to alienate her.
‘I am so sorry. Josh was running a temperature and I was worried there was an infection, you know, due to the fracture. So I’ve been back to the hospital with him.’
Polly’s bottom lip wobbles. I kneel down and she wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me so hard I can barely breathe. If it had been Emily she would have reacted differently, she would have treated me to a stern reproof or a studied silence; Polly’s sweet, unconditional forgiveness is hard to bear.
‘It’s important to come to these things.’
Her response implies that she doesn’t believe my excuse; that she thinks, rightly, that I forgot about Polly; that Polly doesn’t matter as much as everything else going on in my life. I hate her for thinking this.
Miss Samantha has a perfect, heart-shaped face, blonde hair, tanned skin, a curvaceous figure and wears kooky summer dresses in winter with cardigans and brown leather boots. The dads all fancy her. It’s a local running joke and a safe crush because we all know she’s besotted with her rich lawyer fiancé. Even so, when your husband is leaving it’s impossible not to look at the women you both know and wonder who’s going to share his bed next.
Polly extricates herself from my embrace and I stand up. ‘Wait for me outside the door, sweetie.’ I feel rotten and ashamed.
‘Are we going home?’
‘Two seconds. I need a quick word with Miss Samantha.’
I wait, watching her as she skips out of the room to the bookshelves that line the corridor.
‘I do know.’ I speak quietly so that Polly can’t hear. ‘I do understand. Obviously, if I could have helped it, I would have done.’
‘Is there anything else going on?’ she murmurs. ‘Anything we need to know about? It’s only that she’s been unusually quiet since she came back from her holidays and sometimes, in my experience, it can be a sign that there are tensions at home.’
I glance round to make sure nobody is listening. I’d rather not tell her, but it’s important that she knows the circumstances so that she can keep an eye on Polly.
Imogen Parker is bending over Alannah, doing up the buttons of her cardigan. I’m sure she’s stalling so that she can listen in, and to my horror I feel myself blushing. I am the mother who failed to turn up; the selfish and neglectful Vicky Seagrave who doesn’t deserve her beautiful family. I wonder if Chinese whispers about my marriage are doing the rounds yet. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly news spreads in this community.
Miss Samantha ushers me into the book corner and we crouch on two little chairs like co-conspirators. Josh squirms to be put down so I let him crawl over to the beanbags. I tell her the bald facts, that my marriage is in difficulties and that we may be separating. I can’t say divorcing. The confession elicits sympathy, but also some patronizing advice about taking care that the children don’t start worrying about their parents and an entirely gratuitous warning that they might think it’s their fault. I resist a strong temptation to retort sarcastically thanks for the tip and force myself to be humble instead. When I get up to leave she gives me a sad smile and tells me to take care of myself.
Out in the playground the older children have lined up and Emily waves at us from the middle of her line. Beside her, Amber is doing up Sophie’s shoe buckle. I can’t see her face, but from the set of her shoulders I know she is as aware of me as I am of her. She stands up and turns. I nod curtly and she wanders over.
‘Sorry you had a wasted afternoon,’ she says. ‘Why don’t you come back to mine now and we’ll brainstorm, see if we can’t think of an alternative plan.’
Presumably still involving my money. I baulk and respond tersely. ‘I can’t, Amber. I’ve got things to do at home.’
‘I think this is more important, don’t you?’