What Maisie Did Next Read online

  Loo before anything else and sod the bell. What can they do to me? Put me into detention or the naughty corner? When you had to go, you had to go and accept you might be the butt of your colleagues’ jokes. It happened to all of them at times. More the women than the men but that, sadly, was life.

  She had to do it and she’d take the flack if there were any. Everyone—even the blokes— understood that sometimes a full bladder took precedence over everything else—even taking your class register on time. By her reckoning she had one minute twenty-three seconds and counting before the bell rang to start the day.

  Roll on home time, it couldn’t come fast enough.

  ****

  A note about a brief after school meeting had been left in her pigeonhole before the lunch break. It was enough to make her want to bang her head against the wall. Why, when a day started badly, didn’t it get better? Surely there was a rule about it somewhere? Rule 1A or something, a day from hell must improve by noon. Rule 1B it was not allowed to continue in a negative vein after 2 pm. Rule 1C all shitty days had to be improved by promptly leaving the annoying place or people and heading for something alcoholic, or a large Americano double shot at the correct time.

  If only.

  The so-called brief after school staff meeting was anything but brief. No one liked these sessions when all you really wanted was to go home and sink into a bath and or a glass of wine plus a good book. Then follow it with rubbishy programmes on the TV and chocolate.

  This meeting was even more unpleasant than usual, as the head, full of cold and holding a wad of tissues, sniffed and sneezed her way through it. It got even worse, when she apologised to her staff and explained to them that due to cutbacks in the budget, they would need to lose two teachers and a playground assistant at the end of the summer term. She hoped by natural wastage. This was said with a gimlet stare at each and every one of them. As no one was remotely approaching retirement age, Maisie considered that could be a problem. It also meant more break and lunch time supervision by the remaining staff. It was a gloomy lot who dispersed to go home.

  Deb, her best mate on the teaching staff, grabbed her handbag and smiled at Maisie. ‘Is this where Tony and I decided to move north and be near his mum and dad?’ She shuddered. ‘Or move south and lotus eat.’

  Maisie grinned. ‘I’d aim for south. If you move north, you’ll be divorced in a month.’ Deb and her mother in law were opposites who didn’t attract. ‘Mind you, if you move south, you’ll miss the city life.’

  Deb laughed. ‘True. And if we did go north, I wouldn’t move that close, but Tony’s got a chance of a promotion to Nottingham. It might be fortuitous, eh? Near but not too near. So, he could do the duty visits whilst I was, oh I don’t know, preparing lessons or something.’ She sighed. ‘If I could get a job. Knowing my luck, I’d end up being at home and expected to be at her beck and call.’

  ‘Yuk.’

  ‘Yeah. Oh well, it might not happen. All depends on Tony. What about you?’

  Maisie shrugged. ‘I have no bloody idea.’

  She did though.

  Apply for the job in Devon.

  Maisie stirred her coffee and stared at the official letter she’d just opened again. It was getting to be a habit—an unwanted and unnecessary habit—to look, read, don’t assimilate a word and then have to go over it again and concentrate. She decided to try and ring Stanley to let him know about these latest developments.

  He didn’t answer. Maisie left him a message and tapped her phone on her teeth. A disgusting habit she needed to get shot of.

  She put the phone on the table and wandered into the kitchen to rummage through the fridge to find something for dinner. It was strange Stanley hadn’t answered, at this time of night he’d be sitting with the paper and catching up on the news, wherever he was. Maisie began to prepare a stir-fry as her phone signalled a message. She tuned the heat down under the wok, conscious that she’d end up with soggy veg and cussing the fact she’d left the phone in the lounge.

  The text was from Stanley. Short and sweet. ‘In a meeting. Go for it.’

  Maisie sighed. He sounded so positive and supportive, and she was sure he was…but…

  What about us? A long-distance relationship wouldn’t be easy. She couldn’t take random days off, and he was often sent all over the country at short notice, sadly never as far as she could tell to within a hundred miles of The Bristows.

  She finished cooking, ate her dinner—not too soggy—tidied up and sat down to think things through.

  She was still wondering what to do for the best the next morning. School was depressing, the children rowdy, and most of the staff had worried expressions. Never more thankful to hear the end of the day bell, Maisie left within a few minutes, and set off. She arrived home, bad tempered, hot and bothered and cussing black cabs, Ferrari’s and fast food delivery drivers of all types. Several of them had got in her way on the journey.

  She got indoors and switched on her phone to see Stanley had texted. The texts, asking random questions such as, ‘do you have my footie top?’—no why should she—‘where’s my library card?’—how should she know, followed by ‘See you Thursday, have you applied, will you make dinner I’ll be tired, how about Boeuf en Croute?’ almost sent her to the cooking sherry. Except she remembered she’d used it in a trifle the week before.

  She sent a smiley emoji with an addendum, ‘all out of croutes, how about mince?’

  He wasn’t over impressed with mince. As soon as she’d pressed send, she wished she hadn’t unleashed her inner bitch and sent another text… ‘Only joking, I thought beef in red wine might be nice, and some oatcakes and that smoked cheese you like for afters?’ That got her a thumbs up. It seemed the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach.

  In the end, Maisie decided it wouldn’t hurt to apply for the head teacher job at The Bristows Primary School. After all she might not get an interview, and even if she did, might not be chosen. However, if her present school was downsizing their teacher numbers wouldn’t it help if she did have a job elsewhere? One thing less for her, and her head teacher to worry about. Plus, the road works were ongoing, her journey to school was taking a good half an hour longer than it should, and the rail and tube fairs had gone up yet again. That combined with Stanley’s positive outlook, albeit without him mentioning ‘them’, a hike in her council tax, and the cost of petrol was a deciding factor. More and more of her salary was going on those things.

  She filled in the form and posted it in the box on the corner of her road before she went to bed. Stanley didn’t ring. She sent him a text, ‘okay, have applied, will let you know if I hear anything’. She didn’t get a reply. She wouldn’t admit it, but his lack of communication was beginning to worry her. A short text, ‘mega busy, babe, not got a moment to myself, see you soon and we can catch up’, reassured her a little, but not a moment to himself? There must be more to his job than he let on.

  The day before he was due home Maisie got another official letter. It seemed she was at least getting an interview.

  Two weeks on Friday just after lunch. She made a note to let her present head know asap. On cue the phone rang.

  She picked it up without checking the number. ‘Yes, okay. I got it.’

  ‘Yes! I knew you would. When?’

  ‘Two weeks on Friday. Can I beg a bed?’

  ‘Duh, and stay for the weekend, I’m off alcohol but desperate for gluten free fish and chips. With mushy peas of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ****

  ‘Told you babe, you’ll slay them,’ Stanley gave her a hug and a kiss that landed nearer her ear than her mouth. ‘Could be just what you need eh? Short commute, because of course you’ll get something down there, new challenge and all that. Spot on.’ He gave her a hug. ‘What’s for dinner? I’m starving.’ He’d brought her some flowers and a big bar of chocolate, which he handed over when he arrived. ‘I tell you, babe, Runcorn is a challenge. Lots to do up
there. Hush-hush most of it. Want a glass of vino?’ He went to her wine fridge, took out a bottle of South African Chenin Blanc without waiting for her answer and poured two glasses. ‘Thought you preferred Chardonnay?’

  Eh? ‘Not me, must be your other girlfriend,’ Maisie teased.

  He went red, white, and red again, then let his breath out in one long hissy huff. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Joke,’ Maisie said hastily. ‘Your mum likes Chardonnay, doesn’t she?’

  He nodded. ‘When she has a glass. As you know she’s not one for excesses.’

  And that’s me told. ‘Dinner’s ready.’ Maisie changed the subject diplomatically. ‘I even cooked fennel for you.’ She hated the stuff, but Stanley was partial to it.

  He beamed. ‘You spoil me, babe. So, tell me what you have to do for this interview.’

  ‘Wonder if I’m doing the right thing for one,’ Maisie said and bit her lip. ‘Stanley, what about us? I mean if I’m down there and you’re up here. It’s not exactly nippable distance is it?’

  Stanley waved his knife in the air. ‘We’ll sort it, no worries. You just get the job.’

  He stopped over. Not to do anything other than sleep, but you couldn’t have everything.

  ****

  By the following Wednesday morning, Maisie was in what her mum would call, a right old dither. Once classes were finished for the day she spent an hour with Mary Compton, the head teacher, going over what to say and how to present herself in the best possible way at her interview, was told good luck, she was a great teacher and any school should be pleased to have her as in charge. The praise was spoiled a bit when the head added, ‘and if you go, that’s one less person I’ve got to get rid of,’ but Maisie took it in the spirit it was meant and went out to suffer the traffic, drive home and pack. Bryony and Dario had offered to put her up so she could travel down during the day and have a good night’s sleep before her interview. Mary, the head teacher had agreed, stating firmly that no one would be at their best after a silly o’clock in the morning or last thing at night journey to Devon. To go down at a sensible hour was the way to go. They’d cover her classes.

  ‘It’ll be good practice,’ Mary said. ‘It’s official, I’ve been notified we lose one and a half members of staff from the beginning of the new school year. At least they’ve spared the classroom assistant.’

  Maisie rang Bryony later that evening. ‘Anything you want or need?’

  ‘Not a thing. Mind you,’ Bryony added. ‘Theo is teething so you might want to bring ear plugs.’

  ‘Duly noted.’

  ‘Good, and well, actually if you’re anywhere near that shop which sells those gorgeous truffles, me and bump would be ever so grateful. It seems we crave them at three pm. And six am. And noon, seven pm, ten pm, not to mention midnight and the wee small hours. Last time it was chocolate fingers, oranges and a certain sort of soft floury bread roll. This time it’s chocolate truffles. I’m on the last box you gave me and I’m having to ration them. The ones I can get down here just don’t really hack it.’

  Maisie laughed. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ She didn’t mention she’d foreseen that request and half a dozen boxes were now tucked away in her suitcase. She intended to give one to Bryony and the rest to Dario to hide and dole out at sensible intervals.

  Chapter Two

  She drove to Devon the next morning in a thoughtful mood. So much had happened in such a short time and she still wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing. Maybe she should make a list? Or two lists, one for and one against? Maisie knew a lot of people who swore by those things.

  Halfway down the motorway she started them in her mind. Once she’d got off the M25 the traffic flowed freely, and she was able to think of other things as well as concentrating on the road.

  ‘So,’ she said out loud. One of the joys of being all on your lonesome was talking to yourself and not getting strange glances. Or anyone else answering you with a comment you didn’t want to hear. ‘For. Step up workwise. More responsibility. Nearer Bry. Less traffic jams. More money?’ Probably not a lot, as there would be no London salary. ‘Hmm, so against. More responsibility.’ She wrinkled her nose then grinned at how she’d put that both for and against. ‘Not in London. What about Stanley? Would he get a job in Devon? Would he want to?’ That was something she had to find out. ‘Probably no handy supermarket, unless I’m living in town and that means still driving to school. So, probably a handy supermarket but still a commute. No idea if that’s good, bad, or indifferent.’ Bryony’s village had a great general store, but she wasn’t likely to find a house there. ‘People just don’t move, so hard to find somewhere to live, have to sell my house in London.’ Not that selling would be difficult. Hardly a week passed without one estate agent or another sending out the ‘are you selling, we have clients looking for a house just like yours’, leaflets. She thought some more, glanced at the time and judged she would be at Bryony’s in an hour or so. ‘Fresh air, countryside, not sure if they’re pros or cons. Ah sod it, they might not even offer me the job. I’ll think of it as a few days break and enjoy myself.’ On that note, she turned on the radio and sang along to a couple of well-known golden oldies. At least she could carry a tune. Not brilliantly, but good enough to lead her class in whatever the school deemed appropriate. As she was the only one who could play the piano and had to sort out songs and so on for whatever play or musical offering the school was doing, it was just as well.

  Just after one o’clock she turned the car down the bumpy track that led to Bryony and Dario’s house and through the open gate into the gravelled parking area. A bit different from when Bryony first moved in and there was only a gap in the hedge blocked off by two oil drums and a rusty bit of chain. Maisie could well remember the complaints from her car as she’d driven over the grassy humps and the odd rock or three.

  Bryony came out as Maisie switched the ignition off. Mop, Bryony’s Old English Sheepdog, bounced after her and wove in and out of her legs.

  The ticking as the engine cooled down was loud in the early afternoon silence. Maisie had forgotten just how little noise there was and how pleasant the air smelled. A tractor rumbled up the lane leaving a distinct whiff of slurry, Mop saw her and woofed loudly, and Maisie laughed. Sometimes little noise and nice, un-whiffy air.

  ‘Yay, you made it nice and early,’ Bryony said as they hugged, and Mop did his best to get between them. ‘Theo’s just gone down for a nap, but that won’t last long, Dario is busy murdering someone, and we’re going to have lunch and a natter.’

  ‘How’s he murdering them this time?’ Maisie asked. Bryony’s statement made perfect sense to anyone who knew Dario was a writer. To anyone else it would have sent them running to dial 999 or scream the place down. Maisie rubbed Mop behind the ears, which made him squirm in ecstasy and try to lick her face. ‘Yes, you’re still my bestie dog, Mop, but I don’t need a wash. Now calm down, or you’ll be featured in the next murder.’

  ‘With a chainsaw, I think. I don’t know the ins and outs, too gruesome for me.’ Bryony admitted cheerfully. Her husband’s erotic thriller writing was not her taste. She had to read it through her fingers, or preferably not at all, and Dario just gave her the idea of the plot. ‘After the baddie had done his bit, Dario says he’ll take Theo out so we can catch up.’

  ‘What’s he after?’

  Bryony giggled. ‘Well, not my body at the moment. I never know when I’ll need to shout that I’m going to be sick which is a bit off putting in the middle of a cuddle and more.’

  Maisie sniggered. ‘I can just see that. Ohh, ohh yessss, that’s it, ohhh more, more, just there…ah…ohhh nooo. Throw up time. Definitely deflation of the…ego.’

  ‘At least.’ Bryony punched Maisie on the arm. ‘Rotter. Anyhow, touch wood, I’m not sicky at this time of the day, and he insists the fresh air will do him good after hunching over his laptop for hours. This book’s causing him no end of problems as he says the heroine won’t do as she�
�s told, he’s having to ask her nicely.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I did say the carrot works better than the stick and he growled something about it needed to be his way this time. Poor bloke. I almost added what heroine in their right mind would let a mere man dictate how she’s written out of the story, but bit my lip and kept quiet. I’m no writer, so what do I know? I just nod and whisper appropriate words of encouragement at the proper times. Sadly, not at the moment things like “forget it for now, let’s go and make love”. Let’s get some lunch.’

  ‘You say let’s make love and get some lunch?’ Maisie asked, straight faced. ‘That’s different.’

  ‘What? Oh.’ Bryony stuck her tongue out. ‘No, you nit, let us go and have lunch.’

  ‘I knew that, just winding you up.’

  ‘Rotter. Just for that you can change Theo’s next poo-ey nappy, and with teething boy do they pong.’

  ‘I’ve got a nose peg.’ Maisie pulled her suitcase out of the boot and followed Bryony into the newly enlarged kitchen. There was a strange noise coming from somewhere. She glanced around, blinked and saw nothing. ‘Er…Bry, what’s that?’

  ‘What?’ Bryony filled the kettle and switched it on. Mop howled. He hated the way it sounded as the water heated up.

  Maisie flapped her hand. ‘Not Mop, though that’s strange enough if you’ve never heard it before. That weird noise. A bit like a pig rooting, or someone being murdered quietly. Dario’s not practising, is he?’

  Bryony burst out laughing. ‘That’s your adopted niece snoring. I’ve got the baby monitor on. She’s a great snorer. Just like her dad. She’s ready to meet her godmum again. This calls for coffee and you can make it. I’ll have mine decaffeinated.’

  Maisie rolled her eyes. ‘I make awful coffee; you always say so.’

  ‘You just need to practice.’

  ‘You keep saying that as well. You know I’ve been doing the practice thing for most of my adult life and it’s got me nowhere,’ Maisie grumbled, half seriously. ‘Let’s accept I’m not a coffee maker, I’m a coffee drinker.’