Please don't tell the school, Mum! Please don't! It'll only make it worse!
I'd assured her it wouldn't. Assured her that Mrs Webber would get this crap sorted out in a heartbeat. That's what head teachers are for, I'd said.
Eventually she'd listened, but she'd gone to sleep hugging Mr Fluff, her tatty old teddy, and I hadn't seen her do that in years.
"Miss Symmonds?" Mrs Webber appeared from the staffroom, she shook my hand before opening her office door for me. I took a seat on the chair in front of her desk, took a breath.
She sat herself down opposite, smile polite and professional. "I understand you have concerns about bullying?"
"On the bus," I said. "Tyler Dean and some of his friends."
"Go on … " she encouraged, and I did go on. I told her everything, every taunt, every sneer, every horrible name those assholes had called my daughter when she was supposed to be in a safe environment.
Mrs Webber nodded, jotted down notes. "We take this kind of accusation very seriously," she said. "We have a zero tolerance bullying policy here." She pointed to a poster on the wall, a big smiley face with Say no to bullies in bold font.
"What happens now?" I asked. "Mia's very worried, she doesn't want any repercussions from this."
"I'll call him in," she said. "And then I'll be calling his mother, I've already looked her details up from his file."
I smiled. "Thank you," I said. "I appreciate it."
"Anytime," she said, and got to her feet. I shook her hand. "I'll keep you informed."
She'd better do.
I pulled out my phone to text Darren, thinking it probably best to give him the lowdown on what was going on. I typed out a message, just the essentials, but my stomach churned at the thought of the angry questions, the very idea of him charging on in like a bull in a china shop and causing a right bloody hoo-hah.
I deleted the message before I sent it.
I'd handle it myself first, then give him the details later. It's not like I couldn't deal with this, and things with Darren were already … complicated.
My heart pounded.
Darren.
The way he'd felt inside me. The way his body felt against mine. The way I'd wanted him so much I couldn't even bear it.
The thought that he was probably humping some skanky posh bitch at that very minute sobered up my desires enough to put that phone back in my handbag and get with the plot.
I picked up Nanna's pills from the chemist and tried my best not to give him another bloody thought.
I could hardly bear to fucking look at them. Not any of them.
I holed myself up in the office with the radio on, kept myself focused on invoicing and nothing else. I didn't even greet customers, just kept my head down and hoped this nasty shit feeling in my gut would clear the fuck off.
I handled the calls when they came in, some car related, some not. They all got the same gruff treatment; I didn't give two shits who they were today.
I opened up the black book and scribbled out anything Bang Gang related in the coming few weeks. There wasn't all that much to scrub, I'd already been holding back most of it. Mid-November earliest, I told the callers. That's when we're looking at.
There were some grumbles, but most of them took it just fine. It's not as if they had a choice.
I'd have my shit together by then, I had to have my shit together by then.
I ventured out for a cigarette just before lunch, walked into a load of banter that would normally have amused the fuck out of me, but not today.
Today's humour was at Petey's expense. Some fucking idiot had loosened the lid on a big can of lubricant then sent the lad over to pick it up. Cue the inevitable fucking mess of spilled lubricant all over the fucking floor.
The lads were in hysterics, cracking all the pissing jokes about Petey spurting it everywhere, Petey dropping his load everywhere, flooding the place before he'd even got the fucking lid off.
Poor kid was beetroot, looked like he was gonna fucking cry.
I lit my cigarette and told them to knock it off. It only made them laugh all the harder.
"What's up with you, boss?" Jimmy goaded. "On your fucking monthlies or something?"
"Just sick of your shit," I said. "It's fucking tiring, Jimmy. Someone better get a mop and bucket and clean that fucking mess up quick sharp."
He pulled a scowl, never knowing quite when to shut his fucking mouth. "This little hissy fit ain't got nothing to do with us fucking your missus by any chance?"
"Leave it, Jimmy," Buck said. "Just fucking leave it."
"I won't fucking leave it," Jimmy said. "He told us to fucking do it, now he's got his frilly fucking knickers in a twist. Do the crime, take the time. Don't like what went down, suck it up and get fucking on with it."
I glared at him. "Are you quite fucking finished?"
He nodded, gave me the usual Jimmy O swagger. "Yeah, I'm finished," he said. "Just telling it like it is."
I took a drag on my cigarette then stubbed it out, made my way back over to them. "This is how it fucking is," I said. "We're taking a break for a few weeks, I'm booking in nothing til mid-November."
"Why?" Hugh asked. "Christmas is coming, was counting on the cash for that."
I shrugged. "You'll have plenty of backlog to catch up on before Christmas, Hugh. Overtime here, too. The diary's rammed full of car shit."
"This is bullshit," Jimmy snapped. "Putting the dampeners on everything just because you can't get your dick in fucking line."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I barked. "Got no fucking problem with my dick, Jimmy."
He laughed. "Yeah right, mate. Don't think we didn't fucking notice your little erectile dysfunction issues last week."
"You're talking fucking shit," I said. "Did I look like I had erectile dysfunction issues this fucking weekend, Jimmy?"
He shrugged. "You sat on the reserves bench for most of it, how would we fucking know?" Buck shook his head, told Jimmy to leave it, but Jimmy was on a roll. "Why don't you pop some little blue pills and get over yourself? Save us all the fucking bullshit."
"Why don't you just shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you?" I said.
"You want a piece?" Jimmy said. He dropped his spanner, slapped his hands on his chest. "It's not my fucking fault your missus wanted my fucking dick, Trent. You just gotta deal with that shit."
I pictured Jodie riding Jimmy's cock, his grubby hands on her waist. His face between her legs. I was up and at him before he'd really prepared for it, but Buck pre-empted me, pushed his way between us while Hugh grabbed hold of Jimmy. I swung for him but I was too far back, too many fucking bodies in the way to get a punch in.
"What the fuck?!" Buck yelled. "Jesus Christ, guys, just chill the fuck out! Leave it! Just fucking leave it!"
He shunted me backwards once, twice, three times until I'd calmed down enough to shake off the red mist, but even then I was seething, on the edge of blowing my fucking fuse all over again.
I held my hands up. "Alright," I said. "I'm fucking calm!"
Buck wrapped his arm around my shoulders to be sure, steered me back outside. "Fucking hell, Trent," he said. "What the fuck's wrong with you?"
I said nothing.
"Is this about the shit with Jodie? Christ, mate, nobody was out to cross any lines. You said it was fine. You said you'd be cool with it."
"I am," I lied. "This is just about Jimmy and his running fucking mouth."
"If you say so," he said.
"I do fucking say so."
He sighed. Patted my back. "Look, Trent, you want to hold off until mid-November, we'll hold off until mid-November. It's your fucking gig."
I had nothing to say, so I said nothing at all, just pulled out another cigarette and lit up like I hadn't just launched myself at one of my employees.
The prick was fucking asking for it.
"Kiss and make up," Buck said. "It's not worth falling out over this kind of shit, Trent. Jimmy's alright, he's just got a dirty fucking mouth on him."
"Jimmy can kiss my fucking ass," I said. "I'll make it up when I'm good and ready."
Buck slapped my shoulder. "Ain't none of us after your fucking missus, Trent, it was just a fucking gig."