Chapter 1

I locked up the art room, anxious to get my break over and done with so I could distract myself with teaching again. It had been another nightmare getting the kids ready this morning. Marianne had another go at me for taking too long with Harry in the bathroom. She seemed to think the world would end if I spent a second longer than necessary in there. I couldn't wait to get out the door and in the car for work. It seemed to be my only solace these days.

Day after day brought about another round of arguing with Marianne, and I really didn't know how much longer I could put up with it. I mean, I still loved her, of course. But I was beginning to feel that leaving my wife might be the only way out of this sham of a marriage and back to a happier me again.

I sighed as I headed out towards the playground, almost tasting the coffee on my tongue. I peered several feet ahead, seeing a mound of schoolchildren surrounding a woman with what I assumed to be her daughters. One of them looked about twelve, and very frightened, her eyes bulging out of her sockets and face beetroot-red. The other daughter looked older, but very young all the same, no older than fourteen, who wore a red and white checked dress. The mother appeared worried, struggling between standing still and legging it back to the school gates. Feeling sympathetic, I walked towards them. The older daughter said something I couldn't hear, and I reached them just as the mother plucked at her clothes.

"Can I help?" I said. All three of them looked at me worriedly, seemingly scared I would spontaneously take them by the arms and frogmarch them back across the playground and out of the gates.

"My girls are starting at the school. Well, I think they are," said the mother, gesturing towards her children. I smiled at them in an effort to reassure them. They all seemed so nervous, and the other schoolkids weren't helping. I knew how it felt to be totally lost, unsure whether to stay or bolt for the door.

"I hope you'll be very happy here. Don't look so worried. It's always a bit weird staring at a new school." I said.

"They've not been to any school, not for years and years," said the mother, starting to tell me a detailed backstory of her children's lives. Of course, I knew from being a parent myself how easy it was to slip into impromptu monologues about my kids, but after a good five minutes or so of chatter, I decided to cut in as politely as I could: "Well, I'm sure everything will be fine." I nodded at the two girls – Prudence and Grace – and said, "I'll maybe see you in the art room sometime. I'm Mr Raxberry. I'm one of the art teachers here."

"I'm rubbish at art but Prue is brilliant," said Grace, the younger one.

"I'm not," said Prudence, going red.

"Yes you are," said Grace. Prudence pressed her lips together after that, blushing furiously. Then she raised her dark eyes to me, and right then I knew exactly how she must be feeling. There was nothing worse than having your artistic talents broadcasted without permission by a family member, especially in front of a stranger. I'd had the same thing happen to me, too. I wanted to express this verbally but thought better of it, not wanting to offend her sister or mother. So I settled for a sympathetic glance, hoping she got the message.

I showed the three of them to the school office and introduced them to Gina, my colleague. I wished them luck on their first day and then rushed off to get my coffee, though I probably had only a few minutes of my break left.

I spent most of the afternoon in autopilot, only realising I'd finished a double art lesson at the end of the day when the school bell rang, jolting me back to reality. I dreaded going home. I anticipated what mood Marianne would be in when I shuffled through the door later. I slipped back into autopilot whilst getting into my car to go home, yawning as I turned on the radio. What would the kids have for dinner tonight? Could I squeeze in another sketch before bed or would Marianne have me running after the kids all evening? All these worries clattered around in my head. I was so distracted I didn't watch the road properly. A flash of red sprinted in front of my car, snapping me back into the present. I slammed on the brakes, bleeping hard. My car came to a screeching halt in front of someone. And then I recognised her. It was Prudence King.

I felt a rush of anger towards myself. How could I have been so reckless? I almost killed her. I breathed out in relief, winding down my window to speak to her. I saw her sister Grace screaming hard. Prudence looked flushed and disorientated – but alive. I shook my head at her and said, "You must be in a hurry to get home." Her eyes widened when she saw who I was, probably scared shitless that I would yell at her or something. Maybe she thought I would give her a good telling off in art class tomorrow. She certainly wouldn't come back to school if I confirmed that fear by being angry at her now.

Her voice shaking, she said, "I'm sorry, I just wasn't looking," then she turned round and told her sister, "Stop that screaming!"

"I thought you were going to be killed!" Grace whimpered.

"I did too!" I said. "But I try not to make a habit of exterminating my pupils, especially on their first day at Wentworth. Get back on the pavement before another car comes along and really knocks you flying." Prudence shuffled back to the kerb, then I pulled up beside them, wondering how their first day went. Prudence squeezed her sister's hand, and I tried to remember the last time Marianne and I had done the same. Whenever it was, I couldn't recall it. I smiled at the two girls, pushing away those thoughts.

"How did it go then, girls?" I asked.

"It was OK!" said Grace. "I've got these two friends, Iggy and Figgy andβ€”"

"Grace," Prudence interrupted, rolling her eyes upward.

"We're friends," Grace went on. "They're going to help me because I don't know heaps of stuff. Still, the teachers say I'll soon catch up as I'm still just in the first term."

"That's great," I said, glad she seemed happy. I wondered about Prudence, who didn't seem so eager to volunteer a recount of her day. I looked at her.

"What about you, Prue?" I said. Her eyes widened slightly when I spoke to her, but she simply shrugged.

"Oh dear," I said. "Yep. That was my reaction my first day here. In fact, I often feel that way now. But it'll get easier, you'll see. And I think your class is due an art lesson tomorrow. We can check each other out then. Bye now."

Grace wasn't paying much attention as I spoke. But Prue looked straight into my eyes, listening to every word. She didn't break eye contact once, even as I was waving goodbye. I couldn't work out what she could be thinking. Relieved to be alive, perhaps? Hopeful that tomorrow would be better than today? Bored to tears at the sound of my voice? Wishing I would shut up and go away? I was wondering long after I'd driven off and turned the corner. What unnerved me more than anything was how flattered I felt that someone was actually listening to me, genuinely interested in what came out of my mouth. I'd been missing that a lot lately. So much so that I'd forgotten what it felt like to be heard. Until now.