How good was Tuesday?

I own nothing: both titles are taken from Much Ado about Nothing by Shakespeare. I'm hoping this will be multi-chaptered, although any updates will be erratic because of my work load at the moment; apologies in advance. I should be writing essays rather than fanfiction, but hey, it's a Friday night. If Last Tango is only on for six hours a year I may as well make the most of it.

MOUNTAIN OF AFFECTION

One: I will weep a while longer

Several years ago, before Lawrence's dyslexia had been diagnosed, Caroline had spent many an unhappy night sitting on the end of her son's bed as he tried to explain to her how the words swam in front of him and turned into other words, how impossible it was for him to memorise spellings.

She couldn't imagine not being able to read, she'd contentedly whiled away years of her life with her head buried in a book, and it seemed that William had inherited her passion. It wasn't that she'd doubted Lawrence's effort in English, more that she'd accepted his strengths lay elsewhere, and that it was instinct for a child not to put as much effort into subjects they liked less.

"Miss Johnson thinks I'm lazy."

Caroline had reached across for his hand in the darkness, "Did she say that?"

"No. Nobody says stuff like that because they know you'd kill them."

She'd smiled to herself at that because she knew Lawrence was exaggerating, as he was prone to do, and yet it was the truth. She would kill for her children. She doubted that Celia felt such an intense protectiveness, but then she remembered her mother's fury the night Caroline's family had been torn apart by the discovery of John's affair.

"When we're reading in class she keeps choosing me, and then she just gives me this look when I make a mistake."

"Maybe that's just the way Miss Johnson looks at people."

"She smiles at Harry all the time."

Caroline had turned on his lamp and took a book from the pile on the bedside table. An encyclopaedia; going along with the assumption that he preferred science (she'd liked to think he got that from her) and maths, she'd thought these were the kinds of books he was most interested in. Now she flicked through and saw that it was predominantly images.

She thought back to when he was a toddler; his reading had never been as advanced as William's, but she'd never noticed a particular problem. Of course, she'd been dragged further and further into her career as Lawrence in particular had gone through his early years, left her sons to do their homework with John. Poor things. No mother in their right mind would leave John in charge of their child, but then Caroline hadn't been in her right mind. Maybe if she had, Lawrence wouldn't have been so frightened to tell her he was struggling.

"Go on," she said, putting the book on his knees.

"The giraffe is world's– the world's– tallest–"

Silence had fallen between them like a void she couldn't cross no matter how tightly she squeezed his hand.

"They all think I'm lazy, Mum," he'd said, and it had broken her heart to see the damp trails on his cheeks when he'd finally raised his head.

Since then, Caroline had thought a lot about how he saw the world, and only now, sitting at her office desk gazing at the first of seventy-six unread emails she needed to trawl through in the next half hour, did she finally think she knew what it was like for him to stare at a page in a book. The words were fuzzy, moving around when she tried to bring them into focus, their meanings missing even when she did manage to read them. Something about free school meals.

This morning she'd suspended a colleague, someone she'd worked with for almost a decade. It made the memories of her conversations with Lawrence more painful because she'd defended Loretta Johnson to him, promised him her ignorance was to blame for her lack of empathy when she continued to make him read in class. She'd told herself she would kill for her children and she couldn't even make sure Lawrence wasn't miserable in his English lessons.

She'd had to deal with disciplinary issues in her time as headmistress – they were never very nice things, of course – but she'd never suspended someone outright. Never had to call someone into her office and watch every muscle in their face slacken as she asked them not to return to the premises until further notice.

The circumstances were as fuzzy as the words in front of her. Something had happened in the playground last night between Loretta and a child, leaving the child with pink strips across his cheek where her fingers had made impact. Plenty of students claimed to have witnessed it, and a couple of parents as well (which was just what she needed) but each one had flung their own embellishments into the story so that she was left questioning whether the incident had happened at the school or on Mars. Questioning who the hell she could trust.

"Your name is mud in the staff room," Kate announced cheerfully before she'd fully emerged through Caroline's office door.

"Morning, Kate."

"What've you done?"

"Shagged Beverley," Caroline deadpanned, continuing to stare at her emails until she'd given Kate enough time to digest this. She raised her eyes over the top of the monitor and met her girlfriend's gaze. "I'm kidding."

"You must have done something. I'm always the last to know; they won't tell me because they think I'd scurry in here and bitch about them."

"Well, you would."

Kate sat down opposite her unconcernedly, and Caroline returned to her emails and clicked on the next one up. She wanted to pretend to read it but her gaze remained in the same position for so long trying to decipher a word that her eyes swelled with frustrated tears.

"Stupid," she muttered.

"What's wrong? Is it something with the boys?"

"No, no, they're fine. It's– last night Loretta Johnson hit a year eight student, and this morning I had to suspend her."

"God."

"I've worked with her for ten, nearly eleven years, and it's just so unexpected. If someone had asked me to list my colleagues in order of who I thought most likely to hit someone, she would have – not that I think any of you likely to hit someone," she tried to smile, then got lost slightly trying to continue her sentence. She shook her head. "It's just shaken me a bit, that's all."

"Caroline," Kate said softly, reaching a hand across the desk and pressing her fingers over Caroline's where they rested on the computer mouse.

Kate had such a soft voice, she was so good at saying what Caroline needed her to say (and quite often that was just 'Caroline', so she knew that she wasn't alone), putting Caroline's feelings before her own. She was too good at it. It was part of how busy Caroline was that she sometimes got caught up in her own worries and forgot everyone else had their own; she needed Kate to ground her, remind her gently that there were more important things. She thought that she really ought to let Kate lean on her for a change, but she barely had the energy to prop herself up, let alone somebody else as well. One of Caroline's greatest faults – she blamed Celia for this – was subconsciously holding back from trusting anyone, even those who adored her.

There was a firm knock on the door, three taps in quick succession. "Gavin's here, Caroline. Do you want me to show him through to the conference room?"

"No, I'd better speak to him alone first, before we open up the floor to all and sundry telling us what they think we should do."

"Right you are. I'll get some coffees made."

"Thank you." Caroline was fond of her secretary, discreet and unflappable as she was. Caroline could be herself around her. If any other person had walked into the room Kate would have snatched her hand away from her girlfriend's, but not Beverley.

"It's like you're chairing a COBRA meeting."

Caroline wrinkled her nose and closed the window displaying her emails on the screen, "If only it was that exciting."

"I should go. I hope everything goes alright."

"I'll let you know. And I'll meet you in the organ loft at lunch," Caroline stood up and moved around the desk to give Kate a kiss, "Oh, doesn't that sound romantic?"

Caroline watched a plastic smile emerge on Gavin's face as he and Kate passed each other in the doorway. She gave him an equally plastic smile as they shook hands and exchanged greetings, and he took the seat opposite her desk. There was barely a point in pretending; they both knew it was going to be a thoroughly unpleasant meeting.

"It's a shame we–"

Her phone spun on the desk, screamed for attention with its bright screen and fluttering letters. Mum. One day she'd get round to asking Lawrence how she could make the vibrations less ferocious. "Sorry, I need to get this. Mum, I'm in a meeting, can I–"

"Caroline," Alan whispered, and she knew that no, she couldn't call back later, there might not be a later. Why did they all insist on postponing things until it was too late?

"Is it my mum?"

"No." His voice was shaking. "It's Gillian."

XxXxX