Second Chances by Charity Norman Read Free Book Online Page A

to his car and wrenched at the door. ‘I’ve had my say. I just wish you’d think again.’
    The pink Beetle was pulling out onto the road when Mum stuck her oar in.
    For Sacha, it’s a disaster.

Five
    It all happened so fast, once we sold the house. There wasn’t time to take a breath.
    Logistics and practicalities devoured our energy: packing, organising, discarding. Clothes to Oxfam, toys to Lou. Selling cars, renewing passports, applying for visas. Everything we did became charged with an awful significance because it was the Last Time. That Last Time Waltz was ghastly. I never want to do it again. The word goodbye became meaningless. Yes, we’ll keep in touch! Yes, lots of sheep in New Zealand. Yes, ha-ha, if you went any further you’d be clean off the planet. Mm, hilarious. In the end we stopped wanting to see people, especially the ones we most loved. We longed to be teleported away. Scotty, beam us up.
    They threw a party for me at work, with all the flags and bunting. Flattering speeches, a natty little video camera and a truly mammoth card signed by everybody, including people I never remembered having met and at least one who heartily disliked me. Kisses, hugs, pretending to wonder how they’d manage. I was touched and nostalgic, but the truth is I’d already left them. My mind was focused on the future.
    Some people thought we were making a mistake and felt constrained to say so. Many seemed to interpret our leaving as a personal insult—what, did we think we were better than them? Three, with ghoulish satisfaction, predicted that we would be back within the year.
    The one-armed man at the fuel station sucked on the matchstick he always held between his teeth. ‘Tedious spot though, isn’t it?’
    ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’
    ‘Dull as ditch water. Like Switzerland.’
    ‘Is it really? I didn’t know that.’
    He nodded gloomily. ‘Nothing but mountains and smug folk in hiking boots.’
    ‘Do you know New Zealand well, then? Or Switzerland?’
    ‘Tears before bedtime,’ he predicted, in his Eeyore drone. ‘Never a good idea. Not in my opinion. Gambling with your family’s lives, really, aren’t you?’
    ‘Got to go,’ I said, hastily snatching back my credit card. ‘I’m collecting my daughter from school.’
    The final bell had gone, and girls were pouring out to begin their summer holidays. Abandoning the twins in the car, I raced up to the fifth-form common room to find a Greek tragedy being re-enacted. Mascara streamed down stricken faces. Ties were loosened, hair crazed in distracted grief. They were all signing Sacha’s school shirt with indelible marker pens while munching on the giant cupcake she’d made for them.
    Their lavishly coiffured class tutor, Belinda Rothman, caught my eye and wiggled her fingers. I went to this same school with Belinda. She used to be a total bitch, actually, but that’s another story. I don’t know what possessed the board when they made her deputy head. She minced over on ridiculous kitten heels.
    ‘Mass hysteria,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve had to stop one of them mutilating her arms with a compass.’
    ‘You’re joking . . . aren’t you?’
    ‘Tanya’s a bit of a drama queen. But we’re all devastated to be losing Sacha.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘You’re public enemy number one in the staffroom.’
    I murmured something lame, and the silly woman patted my arm. ‘I do hope this move won’t disadvantage her academically. She wants to do medicine, doesn’t she? And what about her flute lessons? Ooh!’—holding up a finger—‘I’ve got something for you to read!’ She skipped over to her French shopping basket, looking smug. Actually, Belinda Rothman’s been looking smug for twenty-five years, ever since she stole my part in the school play.
    ‘As it’s been an emotional day, I asked all the girls to express their feelings in a poem, essay or poster. Here’s Sacha’s. She doesn’t mind you seeing it.’ Belinda was holding out a