She stood quickly, stepping away from him. “Clean this mess up. You’re disgusting.”

He stared, lips shiny with vomit, nose shiny with blood, eyes shiny with tears.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the idiot who married a stranger.”

She was tempted to kick him in the gut, but she was barefoot and didn’t want to hurt her toes.

Returning to the table, she continued eating. Scott quietly climbed to his feet and walked across the room, grabbing some kitchen towel and cleaning his face.

“Honey? I need another five thousand. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine.”

“And no more surprise sickies, deal?”

He placed the dirty kitchen towel on the counter and grabbed some more, holding it against his nose. “No more. I promise.”

32

SCOTT

Scott felt like he was sleepwalking during the next couple of days at work.

He was certain he could still taste the rat, even after brushing his teeth several times. He bought some mouthwash and kept it in the top drawer of his desk, swilling it every chance he got. Maybe she’d been bluffing, he told himself, but he knew that was a lie. Casey didn’t bluff. She just did. And the stinking rat carcass had proved it.

Casey waited outside for him both days, leaning against the car, looking glamorous with her designer sunglasses perched atop her head. As he approached her, he tried to match this version with the woman who hit him, but he couldn’t.

She was like an expert impressionist; she was a bloody mascot, not a person at all.

To make things even more difficult, Beth Vaughn was acting up in class. She’d taken out her mobile phone several times, shooting him a challenging look. Scott pretended not to see, as he imagined Beth running to the headteacher’s office – probably with some fake tears, perhaps even with some fake blood – and telling her story.

On the third day, Scott asked Lauren to wait behind. It was the meeting with the husband the next day.

Lauren walked over to the desk, pity radiating from her like a stench. Scott shrunk away from it. They hadn’t spoken much since he’d snapped at her, reverting to their professional relationship, but Scott had caught her looking at him from time to time.

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. None of this is your fault.”

She nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Really. I mean it.”

Her laughter sounded nervous. “Take it easy, honestly. It’s fine. You don’t look good, Scott.”

He didn’t have to ask her why. Scott had busted his nose by falling into the fridge; it had been late and he’d slipped on the tiles, crushing his face against the handle. That was the story he told in the staffroom, to the kids, even somehow making a joke out of it. He was weirdly proud of how he could wall that part away, focus on the kids.

He'd always been good at separating home and work life.