Today she was trying the Stress Reducing Baking Therapy, imagining a tiny Stewart standing in the mixing bowl, as she threw flour at him, cracked eggs over his head, poured honey over him, chucked sticky dates at him, finally beating him with a whisk.
Shoving the cake tin in the oven and slamming the door shut, she said in a spooky voice, ‘In you pop. Cheery-bye!’
Lucy looked around the staffroom at her colleagues, tucking into their packed lunches, checking their phones, reading theAyr Advertiser, standing by the water cooler discussing their weekend plans, the latest fad diet, dating, Royal Family gossip and soap storylines. Was this what she wanted for the rest of her working life?
A stern voice in her head was whispering,If you don’t take action soon, before you know it, you’llbe writing end-of-term reports, attending parent–teacher meetings and planning the next Christmas Nativity. You have been warned.
It was during one lunch break that same week when Lucy stumbled across a Teach English Abroad website.
Her eyes flicked to:
Teacher of English required in Naples, Italy from August.
Private students and business professionals.
Accommodation provided.
20-30 hours per week.
Must be flexible and willing to work weekends and evenings.
For more information and to apply:
click on the link below…
A sparkle of excitement flashed through her.
Her fascination with Italy had begun one particularly hot summer, while Stewart was away on yet another lads’ long weekend. One of her colleagues, who was half Italian, invited her to an open-air screening ofCinema Paradisoin the grounds of Culzean Castle. The ticket had included an Italian-style picnic and live opera. That was the day she’d fallen head over heels in love with all things Italian: the culture, the food, the language and the music.
With Stewart working in Glasgow all week, she was free to study and immediately signed up for an Italian evening class. From that day on she wore her Italophile badge with pride.
The sounds uplifted her, made her feel sexy, passionate and alive. She made a playlist of Italian songs, experimented with Italian cuisine, and treated Stewart to a performance of Puccini’sLa Bohèmefor his birthday. She was captivated. He spent acts two, three and four in the bar.
The time eventually came when the only way to start thinking in Italian without first translating in her head, would have been to spend a decent amount of time in Italy, asking for directions, chatting to market stall vendors, buying train tickets, ordering food in restaurants, and listening to the radio and TV. But Stewart was a devout Glasgowphile. He played goalie with his local team every Saturday morning, held a Rangers’ season ticket, was a regular at his local pub and the curry house on the corner. Why would he want to move to a country where he didn’t know anyone or speak the language?
Apart from one school trip to Venice, her annual leave had been spent hiking in Glencoe, climbing in the Cairngorms, or sitting for hours on the banks of Loch Ness, passing Stewart his binoculars, various long lenses and cups of tea and whisky, in the hope that this would be the trip when he finally caught a glimpse of the elusive monster, before they both perished from hypothermia.
So, could this be the fresh start she was searching for? She found her finger curling nervously over the mouse. Why was she hesitating? If not now, when? She glanced guiltily over her shoulder, in case anyone was lurking nearby and blurted out,
‘Ooh! Looking for a new job, Lucy?’
She scanned the role description, eyes flicking back and forth. A wave of adrenaline whooshed through her body. This quickly turned to disappointment when she noticed that there were just three hours left before the application deadline, and she had only forty-five minutes of her lunch break remaining. She could either dismiss it as another lost opportunity or go for it.
Taking a deep breath, she flexed her fingers, focused her mind and began furiously tapping the keyboard, clicking the mouse, inserting and deleting words, brain whirring, heart pounding. Forty minutes later, with no time to review her submission, she crossed her fingers, and clicked ‘Send’.
‘Lucy?’
Lucy swung round in her chair and leaned across the desk to hide the screen, cheeks reddening, doubtless giving the impression she’d been poking around some dodgy website.
‘My office please,’ said Mrs McKinley, the headmistress. She ushered Lucy into the corridor with a genial smile. ‘Don’t look so worried. I have some very good news for you. It’s about the Deputy Headteacher post…’
‘You’re grieving, pet. Believe me. I know.’
‘Mum,’ said Lucy with a sigh. ‘I amnotgrieving. As far as I’m aware, Stewart’s still alive and well. In fact—’ Lucy stopped herself. Now was not the time to divulge Stewart’s suspected infidelity. Ifher mum had her way, it would be the talk of the town by nightfall, and anyhow, she didn’t have solid proof – nor did she want or need it.
‘You don’t have to put on a brave face for me.’
‘Mum…’
