affairs and beach stones

III - III

BY NOW YOU'LL have gathered that for months I'd tried my hardest to remain blind to what was between you and Harry. But after Julia's naming of his disposition, my husband's relationship with you began to come into sharp, terrifying focus. Comme ça: the words themselves were dreadful – they conjured an offhand knowingness that utterly excluded me. And I was so stunned by the truth that I could do nothing but stumble through the days as normally as possible, trying not to look too closely at the vision of the two of you that was always there, no matter how much I wished I could turn my eyes away.

I was, I decided, lacking in precisely the way Miss Monkton at the grammar had pinpointed all those years ago. She was right. Enormous dedication and considerable backbone were things I did not have. Not when it came to my marriage. And so I took the coward's way out. Although I could no longer deny the truth about Harry, I chose silence rather than further confrontation.

It was Julia who tried to rescue me.

One afternoon during the last week of term, after all the children had gone home, I was in the classroom, washing up paint pots and hanging wet artworks on a string I'd rigged across the window especially for this purpose. This gave me the kind of satisfaction I imagine my mother experienced on wash days, seeing the line of clean white nappies blowing in the sunshine. A task well done. Children well cared for. And the evidence pegged out for all to see.

Without a word, Julia strolled in and sat on a desk, which immediately looked ridiculously small with her long limbs on it – she was almost as tall as me. Putting a hand to her forehead, as if attempting to stem the pain of a headache, she began: 'Is everything all right?'

There was never much preamble with Julia. No skirting around the issue. I should have thanked her for it. But instead I said, rather surprised, 'Everything's fine.'

She smiled, tapping herself lightly on the forehead now. 'Because I had this silly idea that you were avoiding me.' Her bright green eyes were on mine. 'We've hardly spoken since we took the children to Castle Hill, have we? I hope you've forgiven my clumsiness ...?'

Pegging up another painting so I didn't have to look at her questioning face, I said, 'Of course I have.'

After a pause, Julia jumped up and stood behind me. 'These are nice.' She touched a corner of one of the paintings and peered at it closely. 'The head mentioned that your museum visit was a great success. I'm thinking of taking my lot next term.'

When the head had asked me about the visit, it had crossed my mind to tell him that you were nothing but an incompetent toff with plenty of artistic pretensions but no real idea of how to handle a roomful of children. However, I'd been unable to lie, Louis, despite what had happened at the end of that day. And so I'd given him a positive if brief report of your activities and shown him some of the children's creative efforts. He'd admired Alice's mask in particular. Needless to say, I'd mentioned Milly's puddle to no one. But I was reluctant, now, to give you any more credit. 'It was fine,' I said. 'Nothing extraordinary.'

'Shall we go for a drink?' Julia asked. 'You look like you deserve one. Come on. Let's get out of this place.' She was grinning, gesturing towards the door. 'I don't know about you, but I'm very ready for a drop of the hard stuff.'

We sat in the snug of the Queen's Park Tavern. Julia's glass of port and lemon looked somehow wrong in her hand. I'd thought she would have a half of stout, or something in a shot glass, but she declared herself a slave to the sweet drink, and had bought me one too, promising that I would love it if only I gave it a try.

There was something wonderfully illicit about being in the dark, slightly dingy pub, with its heavy green curtains and almost black wood panelling, on such a bright afternoon. We'd