Dishonour

‘Why not?’

David pointed to Lilly’s bump. ‘I suspect you won’t be following the school of firm parenting, Jack.’

Lilly gave her ex-husband a cold stare. ‘I’ll settle for the school of just being around.’

Aasha knows she should be listening to Mr Markson. Maths is her worst subject. She’ll definitely get As in everything else. Maybe even A

s in geography and art. But maths has always puzzled her. Who really cares how you work out the average score on dice? And why would you ever need to calculate the average speed of a train from London to Inverness? She’d been to Scotland once for a cousin’s wedding and it had taken eight hours in the car to get there. She and her brothers had bickered most of the way, and she’d been sick in a lay-by near Birmingham, but no one had asked her to work out their average speed.

But as her dad is constantly reminding her, she needs to get at least a B.

‘Or no good university will even look at you, and what then?’

What then, indeed.

She tries to drag her attention back to the lesson but in seconds it’s wandered back to where it was before. Ryan Sanders.

Aasha can’t believe she’s giving him head space. He’s such a loser, in the bottom sets for everything. He’ll be lucky to scrape any GCSEs, never mind a good grade in maths. The only thing he’s any good at is art, and then he doesn’t turn up most of the time. Not that she’s noticed him. Or even cares.

‘An ASBO kid,’ her dad would call him.

Not that Ryan has an ASBO, or at least not one that Aasha knows about. But he’s that type. A bad boy.

‘Bet I know who you’re thinking about,’ whispers Lailla.

Aasha feels the heat creep around the base of her throat. ‘I’m not thinking about anyone.’

Lailla giggles. ‘So why are you writing his name all over your notebook?’

Aasha looks down and gasps. She’s doodled Ryan’s name all down the margin.

‘Your brothers will kill you,’ says Lailla.

Aasha turns over the page and smooths it down. ‘Shut up, Lailla.’

She forces her eyes back to the white board but she can still hear Lailla laughing—just like she can still see Ryan’s name through the paper.

‘Any chance of a coffee?’

The engineer was once again prone on the brand-new carpet in Lilly’s office, ferreting about in the socket and squinting like Popeye.

Lilly indicated her espresso maker still in its box, and turned her attention to the printer. She lifted the lid and rooted around. Where the hell did you put the ink?

‘You ain’t really cut out for this,’ the engineer observed.

Lilly bristled. ‘Just fix my phone.’

But he was right. Of all the people best suited to organising things, Lilly had to be at the bottom of the list. She was a litigator, a case lawyer, a court-room brawler.

She pulled out her mobile and called her old boss.

‘Rupes, it’s me.’

Rupinder laughed. ‘How’s it going?’

Lilly poked suspiciously at her printer. ‘It’s a bloody nightmare.’

Rupinder gasped. ‘Is something wrong with the baby?’

‘Oh, that.’ Lilly patted her bump. ‘No, everything’s fine.’

‘So what’s the matter?’

‘I just don’t know how you did it.’ Lilly looked mournfully around the office. ‘How did you run everything so efficiently?’

‘Ah,’ Rupinder caught her meaning. ‘Well, for one thing, I had help.’

Lilly nodded. When she’d worked for Rupes there’d been three partners, a handful of secretaries and the old bulldog on reception, Sheila. Lilly never thought the day would come when she missed the interfering old battleaxe, but at least she could work the photocopier.

‘I can’t afford to hire anyone,’ Lilly said. ‘Not until I’m up and running.’

‘And how will you manage that on your own?’

Rupinder’s voice was, as always, the epitome of calm. Lilly wished she were still around, that they could work together.

‘I miss you, Rupes.’

‘I miss you too.’ Her words were like balm. ‘But you still won’t manage on your own.’

Lilly pushed out her lip. ‘I’ll just have to.’

Sam licked the sugar off his fingers and eyed the last doughnut.

‘Are you eating that?’ he asked.

Jack patted his six-pack. Since the enormity of becoming a dad had hit him, he’d decided the very least he could do was try to stay alive. He’d started slowly, refusing the odd takeaway curry. He’d curbed the beer and upped the running. Before long he began to enjoy his new regime and now ate no wheat, sugar or dairy. It drove Lilly insane.

‘Fill your boots.’

He watched Sam devour it, enjoying the pale sunshine streaming in through the kitchen windows.

‘What?’ Sam spoke through a mouthful of jam and grease.

‘You’re just like your mum,’ said Jack.

Sam frowned. ‘Thanks a bunch.’

‘Your mother’s a fine woman.’