Things weren't perfect, but she was happier.

Christmas had come and gone, and she'd gone back to the doctor in the new year to review her situation, but found herself in tears before she'd even started speaking. Taking this as a sign that she wasn't ready to go back to the classroom, Dr. James had no qualms about signing her off for a longer period. When she got home, she'd immediately drafted her resignation, and gone back and forth between a simple, to the point letter and a lengthy one explaining in great detail why she was leaving.

Eventually she settled on the latter, and when she received an email from Thompson on the same day explaining that he completely understood how she felt and certainly didn't begrudge her wanting to get out and do something that didn't have such a negative impact on her mental health, she felt like she'd done the right thing.

Time passed. Her sick note had signed her off until the end of her notice period, so she took some time to rest, recuperate and recover, and gradually began the process of looking for work. It was hard going; her specialist qualifications made her overqualified for a lot of entry-level positions, but the only job they would really help her jump into would be another teaching job, which was the last thing she wanted to do.

The business with Mark resolved, Kristina had been using her new-found freedom to hang out with Maxine much more than she had been able to in the past. Maxine, meanwhile, was doing her best to find Kristina a position in her office; it took some time, but she eventually managed to convince her bosses to bring her on for a probationary period.

Kristina took to the work quickly, and began picking up new skills easily. The work was deathly dull, but it paid reasonably well and, most importantly, she could just leave it behind at the end of the day and not have to think about it again until she got into the office. In comparison to the nights of anxiety and nightmares, it was heaven.

Winter changed to spring, and the days got longer and hotter as summer arrived.

Kristina hadn't seen much of Sian for about a month, since her young friend had been busily preparing for her exams. An occasional text message revealed that she was getting on well, though, and had even managed to repair the rift between herself and her friends. She didn't mention Edward though; Kristina found herself wondering how he was doing.

 

*  *  *  *

"Hi, you made it!" Sian exclaimed, running up to Kristina and throwing her arms around her. "Sorry I haven't been around much. Busy, you know!"

"It's okay," said Kristina. "Thanks for inviting me. Are you ready?"

Sian glanced down at the envelope in her hands.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I think so. But hold on a minute. Wait there. I'll be right back."

She disappeared inside the school for a moment. Kristina looked around at the other Year 11 students milling around, talking to one another. Some looked ecstatic; others less so. One girl over there was in tears; another was comforting her and clearly trying not to grin too broadly.

School's a boiling, simmering pot of emotions and hormones, thought Kristina. It's no wonder it was difficult to deal with. Everything's so intense; everyone's forced together to work on things they might not want to do; emotions run high. For these kids, it must feel like they've got their whole lives ahead of them. They have, I guess.

She sighed at the thought. Oh, to be young again.

Sian came back out pulling a familiar figure with her.

"Hello," said Edward, smiling. There was no trace of the anger and resentment Kristina had seen in his eyes the last time she'd seen him. "How are you, Miss?"

"You don't have to call me that any more, Edward," said Kristina with a laugh. "Just Kristina or Kris is fine."

Edward looked her in the eye and his smile broadened, then he looked over at Sian.

"You ready?" Sian asked, holding up her envelope.

"Ready," he said, holding up his own, identical envelope.

"Then… go!" she cried, tearing into it before she'd finished speaking. She withdrew several sheets of paper and made an exaggerated show of reading them. Edward, meanwhile, tore the envelope open more methodically, withdrew the papers and glanced them over.

"Well?" said Kristina. "Don't keep me in suspense any more. How did you do?"

"Take a look," said both Edward and Sian together, offering their respective pieces of paper to Kristina. She looked down at the sheets.

A moment later, a spot of water plopped onto the top page on Edward's stack. Kristina handed them back and turned away from her former students.

"Congratulations," she said. "I'm really happy for you both."

She felt an arm around her waist from her right, then another from her left. As she blinked away the tears that had sprung suddenly to her eyes, she looked down either side of herself and realised that both Edward and Sian were hugging her.

"We couldn't have done it without you," Sian said.

"Thank you," said Edward. "Thank you."

The smell of antiseptic filled Kristina's nostrils. It wasn't a pleasant smell, but it was a familiar, immediately identifiable one. The smell of medicine.

Kristina had never been a sickly person, but she had oddly fond memories of going to the doctors as a young child. It was a simpler time, when she felt she got along better with her parents, and felt like she could trust "adults" to do the right thing to help her.

Now she was an adult herself, and she knew all too well that adults' motivations weren't always particularly simple, nor did everyone just want to help each other and make a better world. But neither was it so simple that some people were just outright evil, either; Mark was clear and living proof of that. She'd grown to think of him as a monster, but it had become apparent that he was a broken man responding poorly to an unfortunate hand that life had dealt him more than anything else. She still wanted nothing to do with him, mind, but she at least pitied him rather than hated him now.

Kristina looked around the waiting room. No-one was talking to one another. The atmosphere felt awkward.

Behind the reception desk, the receptionist was chatting to a nurse who was rifling through some files. Kristina couldn't make out the details of the conversation, but the pair of them seemed to be getting along well with each other, laughing and joking as they went about their workday. She felt suddenly envious that she had never really felt that way about her own job; she'd always felt isolated, even though she was supposedly part of a team.

Still, it wouldn't matter much longer. Today, she hoped, would be the first steps towards a new beginning. She knew it was probably going to be a tough road ahead, but it was for the best. The alternative didn't bear thinking about.

"Miss… Kristina Charles?" called the receptionist. Kristina raised her hand politely and stood up, then walked over to the desk. "Dr. James is ready for you. Room 3. Do you know the way?"

"Yes, thank you," said Kristina. She hadn't spent much time in this surgery, but she had seen Dr. James several times in the past, and knew the way to his room. She passed through the double doors next to the reception desk, followed the corridor around the corner to the left, and came to the door of room number 3.

This is it, she thought. Are you ready?

She rapped three times on the door, heard a cheerful-sounding voice call "Come in!" from within, then pushed it open.

Dr. James was sitting in his large leather chair at his computer. He motioned for Kristina to sit down in the chair across the room from him.

"Hello, Kristina," he said with a familiar tone. "What can I do for you today?"

"Um," said Kristina. "I'm not quite sure how to bring this up, really."

She'd been running over and over in her mind how she was going to explain her situation to the doctor, but now she was here, she felt embarrassed; like she was committing some sort of fraud. Did she have any right to do what she was about to do? Wasn't she just letting everyone down, giving up?

"It's okay," said Dr. James with a sympathetic smile. "I can see that you're distressed. In your own time."

Kristina closed her eyes and took a deep, unsteady breath. She suddenly felt like she was about to start crying, but held back the tears, because she knew if she started, it would be very difficult to stop.

"I am… having some trouble," she said. "A lot of trouble, in fact."

The floodgates opened. She explained how she had been feeling; how it was difficult to motivate herself to get up in the morning, how it was hard to summon up the enthusiasm to do her job, how she felt guilty that she didn't feel better about what she did for a living.

She talked about how she suffered nightmares; how she was kept awake most nights by images of things that had happened in the day.

She talked about the times she'd suffered nosebleeds when she felt she couldn't take any more pressure; how she felt constantly overwhelmed and unable to cope with everything that was going on around her, even the most mundane things.

She started to explain her breakdown in front of the science class, but the doctor stopped her.

"I get the picture," he said gently. "And it's okay. I understand how this sort of thing can be embarrassing to admit. It's not easy to contemplate the fact that the course you thought your life was on might not be the right one, and it's even harder to admit that something you once clearly felt passionately about is now causing you real problems. Because these are real problems; it's not all in your head, if that's what you're worried about.

"What you're describing to me, Kristina, is stress. Serious stress, likely coupled with depression. Now, I could prescribe you some medication and send you on your way, but I'm hesitant to do that right now. Instead, what I'm going to do — and what I suspect you were hoping I might do — is get you some time off to collect your thoughts and determine what it is you might want to do, because I feel it's something you're struggling with right now. The year is getting on, and Christmas is coming up; I'll sign you off until the end of the year, and when the New Year is coming up I'd like you to make another appointment, come and see me and determine what you're going to do. Does that sound good?"

"Yes," said Kristina meekly. "Thank you."

"All right, then," said Dr. James. He turned to his desk, pulled out a pad of paper with red lines on it from his desk drawer, then began to write. A moment later, he was done.

"Give this to your employer," he said. "And then get some rest. Lots of rest."

 

*  *  *  *

She'd done it. She'd admitted that she'd had a problem, and she'd bought herself some time to deal with it. But now she had to determine how she was going to handle it.

She didn't feel like she could really face going in to school right now — not while all the children were still there — but she felt it was probably better to give the note in sooner rather than later.

For the rest of the day she sat watching the clock, wondering if now would be a good time to go, but she still worried that there would be people hanging about. She wanted to be sure the school would still be open, but minimise the risk of actually running into someone, because now she had gone through with this, she was starting to feel scared and ashamed again.

She watched some television to take her mind off clockwatching, but her thoughts were too preoccupied to take anything in. She was grateful for the noise if nothing else, though; it proved to be distraction from her anxiety.

Nearly there, she thought, as the time approached six o' clock in the evening. And then I can be free.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, sighed, then stood up. She opened her eyes and felt resolved. This was for her own good. This was the right thing to do.

She threw on her coat and left her home before she could convince herself to do otherwise.

*  *  *  *

She was happy to see that the school was still open when she arrived there, but the number of cars in the car park had thinned out somewhat. A few lights were still on, and she could see a couple of her colleagues in their rooms, probably getting things ready for the following week. Friday afternoon was a good time to tidy up and get things ready, but it was also the time when a lot of people — Kristina included — just wanted to get out and leave the work behind for a couple of days.

Kristina grimaced as she thought that it was more than a couple of days she'd be leaving the work behind for; it was, in all likelihood, forever.

She pushed open the front door of the school and looked around. The corridor was quiet — no children, no staff, and no-one on the reception desk. Kristina tried the door to the reception booth and found it unlocked; she fished the doctor's note out of her pocket, left it prominently in the middle of the desk, and then made to leave.

As she put her hand on the handle, though, she had a sudden crisis of confidence; she reached for the receptionist's pad of sticky notes, scribbled a quick note that read "Sorry — Kristina" on it, then stuck it to the doctor's note. Then she removed it and stuck it to the desk next to the doctor's note. She wanted to ensure that it was seen, and that she wouldn't have to talk to anyone about it, even though she felt sure that would probably be unavoidable in the long term.

Then she departed the reception booth, trotted out to the school's front door and broke into a run as soon as she was outside again.

She didn't look back.

Sian was nervous.

She didn't bring friends home often, and she hadn't brought many different people home. Jasmine and Nicola had both been over a few times, of course, but with them still not talking to her, it looked unlikely that they would be coming over again any time soon.

She had certainly never brought a boy home. And while she knew that there was nothing going on between her and Edward beyond simple friendship, she also knew how her mother liked to take things out of context and blow them out of proportion. But Sian was putting her own distaste at being interrogated by her mother aside for now, because her friend needed her.

The day after Parents Evening at school had been a peculiar one. Sian knew that Kristina wouldn't be there, because she had received a text to that effect, though Kristina hadn't gone into detail as to what had happened. When she met up with Edward at breaktime, however, things started to become a little more clear.

Edward explained the awkward situation that had occurred, but managed to remain calm while he was doing so. He sounded frustrated, but for once he didn't seem to be outright angry. Sian wondered if she had had anything to do with that, but doubted it; she wasn't so confident in herself as to believe she could "fix" emotional scars as deep as those Edward had in such a short space of time.

She wanted to help, though, so that's where the invitation had come from. It had come out of her mouth before she could stop herself; she'd invited Edward over at the weekend. As soon as she said it, she realised she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do with him once he was there, but she felt it was important for him to get out of his house for a while. She couldn't even begin to imagine what his situation at home must have been like after the confrontation at Parents Evening; she didn't even know if he was staying at home, given the revelations that had come out.

"What time's he coming?" asked her mother with a wry grin. Sian could tell she had already misunderstood the situation.

"Mum, listen," she said. "I need to explain some things." She could feel her hands shaking as she spoke up. She normally tried to avoid difficult conversations like this, but she felt it wouldn't be a good idea to bring Edward into her house without warning her mother about what the stakes were.

She took a deep breath and explained everything: who Edward was, what his background was, why he needed to be treated with a certain degree of care, particularly after last night. By the time she had finished, her mother's face didn't look anywhere near as cheerful as it was before.

"Oh," she said. "Um, is he going to be… all right?"

"I think so," said Sian. "Just… don't provoke him, okay?"

"I wasn't planning on it!" said her mother. Then she smiled. "But I'll be careful."

 

*  *  *  *

A couple of hours later, the doorbell went. Sian, who had been sitting in the living room, raced to the door to be the first to answer it, though she could hear her mother heading to the hallway.

"I got it," called Sian.

She opened the door. There was Edward, standing on her doorstep. He'd brushed his hair, making him look a little tidier than usual, though he appeared to be wearing his white school shirt and trousers beneath his usual coat. He'd left the tie off, at least. Sian looked him up and down.

"Hello," said Sian, who now felt rather underdressed in her jeans and t-shirt. "You look very smart."

"I, uh, don't have that many smart clothes," said Edward. "This is the best I could do."

"You didn't have to dress up!" said Sian with a gentle laugh. Edward looked a little embarrassed. "It's okay though. I'm happy you made an effort."

He looked up at her, and smiled. It was still such a rare sight, it made Sian's heart flutter to see it. She was glad that she was someone who could make him smile, but it made her a little sad to think that she was probably one of the few people in the world who was able to do so.

They paused like that for a moment, neither moving. Then Sian caught herself, stood aside and motioned for him to come through the door.

"Come in," she said. "Please. Oh, would you mind taking your shoes off?"

"Sure," he said, stepping into the house. He removed his shoes, and Sian noticed that his socks were threadbare, with a couple of prominent holes.

"Sorry," he said, looking sheepish. "Like I said, I don't have many smart clothes."

"It's fine," said Sian. "Here, let me take your coat." He removed it and Sian took it from him, hanging it up in the cupboard beneath the stairs. "Come on through."

She led him to the living room, where the television was still on. Her mother was nowhere to be seen, and her father was sitting upstairs browsing the Internet, as usual. She was grateful to them both for knowing to stay out of the way; perhaps they had a bit more sensitivity and consideration than she gave them credit for, she thought.

Edward sat down on the couch; Sian sat in one of the armchairs. They both stared at the television for a few minutes.

"Is there anything you want to watch?" said Sian, indicating the TV.

"Not really," said Edward. Then he sat forward. "We could watch a movie or something?"

"Okay," said Sian. "What do you want to watch?"

"What have you got?" he asked.

Sian smiled, and switched the channel on the TV, then pulled up her favourite video-on-demand service. "Pretty much anything you want," she said. Her smile widened at Edward's open-mouthed expression of wonderment. Apparently he had never encountered this sort of service before.

"That one," he said, indicating a movie starring a popular action her. It looked like a distinctly testosterone-fuelled movie to Sian, which wasn't normally her sort of thing, but she was willing to give it a shot. Today was about Edward, after all, so if sitting through some blood-splattered action movie would make him happy, that's what they'd do.

She set the movie playing and moved onto the couch next to him so she could see the screen better. Edward looked like he didn't quite know where to put his hands, or whether he could relax. Sian just sank back into the soft cushions of the couch with a sigh.

Five minutes into the movie, there was a tap at the living room door, and Sian's mother poked her head around.

"Would you two like a drink?" she asked quietly.

"Please," said Sian. "Edward, do you want anything?"

"Yes," he said. "Please," he added, correcting himself. "Whatever you have."

Sian's mother disappeared, then returned a moment later with two large glasses of Coke. She passed one to Sian and one to Edward, then quietly left the room, closing the door behind her. Sian was grateful for her keeping out of the way, but felt slightly embarrassed at the assumptions her mother was probably making about her right now. She was probably going to go upstairs and have a good laugh about this with Sian's father right now.

Sian shook her head and took a sip of the Coke. It was cold and still super-fizzy, so it tasted good. It had obviously come from a new bottle. Edward followed suit and took a big gulp, then belched thunderously.

"Sorry," he said, looking faintly embarrassed. Sian just laughed.

"It's fine," she said. Impulsively, she took a big gulp, felt the bubbles rise up inside her, then burped and giggled.

"Heh," said Edward, not quite laughing, but that smile coming to his face again. "Don't think I've ever heard a girl burp."

"We're full of surprises," said Sian. "Hey, do you want anything to eat? I can make some popcorn if you want."

"Sure," said Edward. He turned his attention back to the movie. Sian wasn't really following it, but Edward seemed to be enjoying himself, and she was glad about that.

She went into the kitchen, reached into the cupboard and drew out one of the bags of microwave popcorn. She placed it into the microwave, set the timer and waited. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then pop… pop… pop pop pop. She listened carefully until the popping slowed down again, then took the bag out and emptied its hot, popped contents into a bowl and took it back into the living room.

Edward was right where she'd left him. She sat down next to him and laid the bowl of popcorn between them, then reached in and grabbed a handful. Then she turned back to the movie.

This isn't so bad, she thought. This almost feels like a normal life. I wonder what Edward's thinking right now?

Kristina didn't quite remember how she got here; it had all been a bit of a blur ever since Mark had walked in. Stormed in might have been more accurate; regardless, she felt dazed, confused, and not really up to whatever was about to happen in this small room.

She was sitting in a small chair next to the Head's large, comfortable-looking swivel chair. Across the room from her was Edward, Mark and Edward's mother, whose name Kristina didn't know. The Head had stepped out for a moment, leaving the four in uncomfortable silence. Mark still looked as if he might snap at any moment, though he was leaning more towards "emotional breakdown" than "jealous rage" right now, and Edward's mother's face was unreadable. Edward, meanwhile, stared at the floor, his cheeks flushed.

Eventually, the Head walked back in, relieving some of Kristina's tension. She was just starting to think she ought to say something to break the silence, but had come to the conclusion that she really had nothing to say right now.

"Hello," said the Head. "I'm Mr Thompson, the headteacher here."

Thompson was only a year older than Rhodes, but he looked about twenty years older. While Rhodes looked like a kindly uncle coming gracefully into middle age, Thompson's worn face and greying hair made him look more like a world-weary grandfather. Right now, he looked particularly tired. Kristina found herself wondering what he spent his days doing, since his door was usually closed and it was pretty rare the staff would see him at all; most matters of school business, be they discipline or dealing with parents, went through Rhodes rather than Thompson.

This must be serious to involve the Head, thought Kristina. She shook her head. Of course it's serious. A man burst in to Parents Evening yelling and screaming, and collapsed on the floor in tears. What a silly thing to think, Kristina.

She felt oddly detached from this whole situation now she wasn't the centre of attention. She almost felt like she could float right out of her body and watch the meeting unfold from outside; she wasn't even sure what she was doing here. Although the incident in the main hall had involved her, she didn't quite know how she could contribute to this meeting, whatever it was.

"We have a problem," said Thompson. "There is obviously some sort of… history here." He gesticulated in the general direction of Mark and Kristina, then continued. "I take care not to involve myself in the private lives of my staff, but when something spills over into the professional space, I cannot help but pay attention. Would anyone care to explain the situation, please?"

Silence. Kristina felt like she was a naughty child being admonished for a major misdemeanour, even though she knew she hadn't really done anything wrong. She glanced over at Mark, who didn't look in any fit state to talk right now.

Eventually Edward's mother spoke up.

"There's a bit of background we need to talk about," she said. She looked from Edward, to Mark, to Kristina. "And then we need to figure out how we're going to resolve this."

Thompson nodded. No-one else said anything.

"As I'm sure you know, Mark and I are no longer together," she began. "We tried to stay together for the sake of Edward, but it simply wasn't working." She sighed. "I knew that Mark wouldn't be capable of taking care of Edward by himself, but he insisted. He insisted so much he spent more money and time than he had fighting me for legal custody of Edward. There was nothing I could do; even though I knew the situation wouldn't be good for anyone, Mark was too stubborn to give up."

Kristina looked over at Mark as Edward's mother said these things. He was tapping his feet and wringing his hands, but still he said nothing.

"Edward occasionally contacted me in secret," she continued. "He told me how Mark was neglecting him; how he was angry and frustrated; how Mark would hit him in anger; how Mark would lock him in his room when he didn't want to deal with him. I wanted to help him, but the first legal battle against Mark had cost me almost all the money I had; I couldn't afford to fight him again.

"But Edward kept contacting me. He wouldn't give up. He wanted to escape so badly, and I felt so bad for not being able to help him. But I was living in a one-bedroom flat and struggling to get by, so my situation would have barely been better than what Mark could offer, though I would have at least treated him better."

"I'm confused," said Thompson. "If the situation at home was so bad, why didn't this get reported to Child Protection?"

"It was an irrational fear on my part," continued Edward's mother. "I worried that if they took Edward away from Mark, they'd look at my living situation and deem me unfit to take care of him, either. I didn't want him to end up with some foster family he didn't know; that would just make his emotional problems even worse than they already are. At least in my mind. I know now that I should have done something sooner, and I regret that I didn't." She turned to her son. "I'm sorry, Edward."

Thompson turned to Kristina, who was shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

"And I'm not clear how you're involved, Miss Charles. Would you care to explain?"

"I—" Kristina began, but before she could start mumbling her way through an explanation, she was interrupted.

"It's my fault," said Mark with a cracked voice, sounding utterly defeated. "I… used to work with her friend. We had been flirting at work for a long time, and eventually we agreed to go out. But I had been such a mess ever since she left…" – here he gestured to his ex-partner – "…that I was having trouble dealing with… being normal." He took a deep breath and continued. "I thought things were going well. I craved intimacy, both emotional and physical, and I thought I had found it in Maxine. But I went too far, and when she resisted, I became angry and… did some things I regret."

Kristina was surprised he was being so open about what had happened. She had expected him to lie, cheat and become aggressive, but seemingly the simple presence of the woman he had once loved had reduced him to little more than a shell of a man. His voice was cold and emotionless; there was no sadness, no anger, no bitterness; nothing.

"Very well," said Thompson. "Can I please ask you to wait outside for a moment? I need to speak with Miss Charles privately for a moment."

Edward's mother nodded, and was first to stand. She ushered Mark out of the room ahead of her. Edward trailed along, still staring at his shoes, his feet kicking the floor as he walked.

Thompson closed the door after them.

"Anything else you can tell me?" he said, standing in front of the door with his arms folded.

Kristina felt a little uncomfortable.

"Not about this situation," she said. "I can tell you that Edward seems to have been responding well to music lessons, and has actually been doing quite well." She hesitated a moment before continuing. "He has also been getting on well with Sian Beaumont in the music class. She's been helping him out a lot, and they seem to have made quite a friendship out of it. Unfortunately that seems to have had a negative impact on Sian's own friendships, as we've seen recently."

"Hm," said Thompson, stroking his chin. "Anything else?"

"No, I don't think so," she said. She paused. "Err," she began. She considered whether or not now would be the right time to reveal her plan.

"Yes?" he said.

"N-no, nothing," she said. "Would you mind if I… if I just went home now, please? It's been a difficult day."

"Of course," he said. He stepped aside from the door and opened it. She passed through, not stopping to speak to Edward and his parents on the way past. She just wanted out, right now.

 

*  *  *  *

The following morning, Kristina woke up late. She could have probably made it in to school if she threw on her clothes and ran, but all motivation had left her.

She fumbled around on her bedside table for her phone, but when she pressed the button to wake it from sleep, it became apparent its battery had gone flat. Groaning, she reached down beside the bed to grab the charger cable — why did they make them so damn short? — and plug it into the phone. Then she lay back and closed her eyes for a moment, hoping she wouldn't fall asleep.

A few minutes later, after successfully remaining awake, she grabbed her phone, which now had enough charge in it to wake up. She dialled the school's number; she knew that, given how late it was, she'd have to actually speak to someone rather than leave an answerphone message, but it was better than leaving them high and dry.

"Hello," she said with a cracked voice. She didn't clear her throat to fix it; the more ill she sounded, the better. "It's Kristina, I'm afraid I'm not very well today so I won't be coming in."

It was technically a lie, but she really didn't feel like she had the energy to face school today. She tried to avoid pulling a sickie if she could possibly avoid it, but today she felt like she had earned it.

The inevitable question came. Did she have any cover work for her classes?

"I'll email some through to Martin," she said. She had no intention of doing so, but it was easier to say that she was going to send something. Then she hung up before there could be any more questions.

She lay back, closed her eyes and this time allowed sleep to claim her once again.

*  *  *  *

She wasn't sure how long she'd slept when she awoke again; her mind had been bounced around by some truly peculiar dreams. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for a while, not wanting to move. All her joints ached, and she just wanted to lie still for hours.

She stared at the ceiling for a while, closed her eyes and felt herself falling asleep again. But she forced herself awake again, rolled over and pulled one leg out of bed, then the other, sitting up groggily as her feet hit the floor.

She grabbed her phone. There was a missed call from school on it, and another from a mobile number she didn't recognise. Probably Martin asking where the cover work she promised was.

She dismissed the notifications and opened up her contact list. She scrolled through until she found the number for her local doctor's surgery.

"Hello," she said as the receptionist answered on the other end. "I was wondering if you had any appointments today."

There was a pause as the receptionist checked.

"There is?" Kristina said. "Okay, I'd like to make an appointment, please. Thank you."

This was it. There was no turning back from here, but she no longer felt any regrets or hesitation; this was the right thing to do.

The week rolled around, day by day. Sian felt demotivated and indifferent towards her studies for the first time in years, and her teachers had noticed, with several of them pulling her aside after class to ask whether everything was all right. Most of them were aware of the altercation between her, Jasmine and Nicola the previous week, but they also tended to assume that spats between teenage girls were usually patched up almost as quickly as they happened.

This one hadn't, though. Jasmine and Nicola had barely said a word to Sian since the incident, and had pointedly moved away from her in the classes they had together, leaving her to sit by herself. It made her feel bad.

The only person she felt gave her any meaningful interaction any more was Edward, and despite her good intentions to be positive towards him, she was wary of being seen with him for fear of either or both of them being harassed — and worse, it causing Edward to fly into one of his rages. She didn't want that, and she knew Edward didn't either; it just happened. It was part of who he was, and Sian felt like she was one of the only people in the school — staff of the Unit aside, whom she'd got to know quite well over the last few days — who could look past the angry exterior to the person within.

Sian had discovered through her conversations with him that Edward was actually quite an intelligent person, with a particularly natural flair for the creative. The fact that his difficulties had caused him to miss a lot of lessons meant that he was lacking in certain basic skills, particularly when it came to literacy and numeracy, but when he could communicate his feelings and articulate his thoughts coherently, it was clear to her that there was quite a clever young man struggling to get out from beneath all the resentment, bitterness and anger.

Sian had paid Kristina a few visits over the course of the week, but had found her friend increasingly distant, distracted and unwilling to talk. She often had a far-off look in her eyes, like she was seeing something Sian couldn't, and she rarely had time to spend more than five minutes talking.

Sian knew the reason, of course; it was abundantly clear. Kristina had given up. She had had good intentions to try her best for one last shot when they had met in the coffee shop, but her attempts had obviously been unsuccessful, because now she looked utterly defeated. Sian recognised the feelings, and felt for her teacher, but didn't know what else she could do.

She thought back to the story Sian had told her about her friend at university, the one who had suffered from depression and had regularly shut herself away from anyone who wanted to help or comfort her. She couldn't help but draw comparisons to Kristina; she was starting to show much the same symptoms, and Sian recognised her own feelings of helplessness as what Kristina must have gone through several years previously.

Thursday morning came around; the day of Year 11's Parents Evening. Sian tried her best to maintain her focus over the course of the day, but knew that most of her teachers had already noticed how distracted she had been for the rest of the week and would almost certainly tell her parents about it. She really wasn't looking forward to the inevitable conversation in the car on the way home; her mother in particular would ask probing questions that she wouldn't want to answer, and her father would get increasingly frustrated as she refused to answer them. She predicted the evening would more than likely end in a huge argument between her and them.

When lunchtime came, Sian decided to go and see Kristina again. When she arrived at the classroom, Edward was already there waiting outside the door, peering through the small window.

"Hello," she said.

"Hey," he said quietly, not turning to look at her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I wanted to see Miss," he said. "But she looks… well, take a look."

He moved away from the door and gestured for Sian to take a look through the small window. She did so.

Inside, she could see Kristina sitting at the piano, but she wasn't playing. No, she was crying. Her head was in her hands, and she was crying; judging by the heaving of her shoulders, it was a particularly intense bout.

"Should we go talk to her?" Edward asked. "I, uh, don't really know how to deal with this."

Sian didn't either.

"I…" she began, turning to him, then turned back to look through the window again. Kristina was right where they had left her. "Yeah. Yeah, we should."

She pushed the door open assertively without knocking. Kristina looked up, startled, tears sparkling on her cheeks and makeup running down her face.

"Oh God," she said. "I'm sorry, was I supposed to…"

"No," said Sian as calmly as she could manage. "No, there's nothing to worry about. We just wanted to…"

She wanted to say "see if you were all right," but that seemed like a silly thing to say right now. Of course she wasn't all right.

"We just wanted to come and see you," said Edward. "We're worried about you."

Sian looked at Edward in surprise. It wasn't like him to show such open empathy.

"Yeah," said Sian. She fumbled around in her pocket to find the packet of tissues her mother pushed onto her every few days. She drew one out and handed it to Kristina, who took it with a weak smile.

"Yeah, you should be," said Kristina. "I know I'm being completely unprofessional by being like this, but, you know, fuck it. I can't take this any more."

Both Sian and Edward bristled as they heard Kristina hiss the profanity bitterly, but they didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry," she continued. "I'm sorry to you both. But…" she hesitated and took a deep breath, which was interrupted by the remnants of a sob. "I don't think I'm going to be your teacher for much longer."

Sian nodded.

"I understand," she said. Edward said nothing; he just looked at the floor.

The room was silent for a moment.

"It's my fault, isn't it?" said Edward quietly, still looking at his shoes.

"No," said Kristina. "No, Edward, why would you say that?"

"I don't know," he said. "But I feel like everything's my fault. I fuck everything up."

Sian placed a hand on his shoulder, and heard him take a sharp intake of breath as she made contact with him.

"You don't," she said quietly. "You can't blame yourself for everything. There are things you could do better, sure, but that's true for all of us. But this; this isn't your fault."

"No," said Kristina. "It's not. It's not you. It's me. I'm not cut out for this job. I thought I was, but I'm not. It's taken me quite some time to admit that to myself, but this really isn't me. This isn't the person I used to be. I don't like the person that this job is turning me into, and if I carry on I'm not only going to be letting myself down, I'm going to be letting the rest of you down, too."

Sian took her hand off Edward's shoulder and walked towards Kristina. She put her arms around her teacher's shoulders and hugged her.

Kristina started crying again, but the tears didn't have quite so much sadness in them this time.

 

*  *  *  *

Finally, the end of the day came around. Kristina somehow managed to survive her afternoon lessons without having an emotional breakdown, and knew that she only had to make it through Parents Evening, and then she would be free.

Between the end of school and her first appointment, she took a moment to wash her face, reapply her makeup and make sure she looked presentable and professional.

Might as well go out on a high note, she thought.

She walked back to her classroom, picked up her mark book and headed to the table assigned to her in the hall; tucked away in the back corner, much like the music department as a whole.

She only had a few appointments; a number of her students' parents had apparently decided that music wasn't important enough to check their progress in, and so she spent much of the evening drinking the staffroom's horrible instant coffee and eating cheap biscuits.

As the light faded outside, she couldn't help but look at the last entry on her list: Edward's parents. She wasn't sure how she was going to deal with Edward's father, and Edward hadn't said whether or not his estranged mother would be coming along, either. But time was ticking down, and she knew that there was no escape.

She went and sat back at her desk, feeling her heart rate gradually increasing as she watched the clock gradually work its way ever-closer to seven o' clock.

As she saw Edward's father approaching, she felt like her heart had stopped and time was standing still.

"Holy shit," she said to herself. "Mark."

There was no mistake; it wasn't the clean-cut, well-dressed Mark she'd seen before, however; he had shaggy, unkempt hair and he obviously hadn't shaved for a while. But it was still him.

She made eye contact, and she knew it was too late to get away; he was storming towards her, striding with furious purpose down the aisles between the tables.

The rest of the world became a blur, darkening at the edges; all she could see right now was him, with Edward following closely behind him, looking more scared than she had ever seen him.

"Bitch!" hissed Mark as she reached Kristina's table. He slammed his fist down on her desk and said it again, louder. "Bitch!"

The noise of the other meetings going on in the room subsided, and Kristina could feel all eyes turning to her. She wanted out, now.

"Uh-uh-uh-uh," she stammered, unable to get any words out. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

"You and your little friend ruined my life!" he yelled, pushing her table aside as if it were nothing more than a light curtain. Kristina stood up and moved behind her chair, though she knew it would offer little protection if he did decide to become violent.

"You ruined my life!" he said again, but this time he wasn't screaming with anger; it was said with agonising frustration and sadness. He sank to his knees and clutched at his temples; tears formed in his eyes and he started to sob.

He let out a bloodcurdling howl and sank to the ground. Kristina looked at him in astonishment, and could tell the rest of the room was doing the same.

The room fell silent for a moment, then the noiselessness was broken by the sound of high-heeled footsteps on the wooden floor, echoing through the high-ceilinged hall.

They came closer and closer; Kristina didn't recognise the woman, but as soon as Edward turned around, looked at her and smiled, she understood.

"Have I come at a bad time?" said Edward's mother.

The weekend came and went, and with it, time to think.

Kristina had reached an agreement with herself; she would return to school on Monday, stick it out until Parents Evening, and only then decide what to do next. She was trying very hard not to decide beforehand what she was going to do; she was determined that it would be a considered decision, but not one she had made her mind up about days beforehand.

Parents Evening was Thursday; today was Monday. That gave her three full days and most of a fourth to prepare herself and figure out what was going on — whether she could continue surviving the way she had been, or whether it was time to bow out gracefully and try to do something else.

Kristina couldn't help but see the second option as a failure somehow, but in a long conversation with Maxine, she had learned to at least entertain the possibility that it might, in fact, be the right thing to do. Regardless of whatever sense of "duty" she had; regardless of whether or not it meant that all that time she'd spent training had somehow been wasted; if it was the right thing to do, it was the right thing to do.

But no. She wasn't going to decide one way or another until after she had made it through Parents Evening, at which point she would make her mind up once and for all, and then try her best at whatever she decided to do next.

It felt like an attainable goal. It was just three and a bit days, after all — perfectly doable.

She stepped into the school grounds on Monday morning feeling oddly positive and detached. She dimly heard a few children jeering at her as they saw her, but she successfully ignored it and walked into the building, through the corridors and down to her classroom.

The room was just as she'd left it. The papers were still on the desk, though in her absence at least the piles hadn't grown any more. The book of music was still on the piano, so she took a moment and indulged herself in flamboyantly performing a couple of favourite pieces to no-one in particular. She looked at the clock; it was time for the staff briefing, but she didn't feel like going today. Instead, she just waited for the inevitable.

There was the bell for registration; the gradual calming of the noise outside. There was the second bell for the end of registration; the gradual crescendo of talking, laughing and shouting as the children returned to the hallways of the school, then the diminuendo of them entering the classrooms and beginning their lessons.

She noticed that the noise she expected outside her own door was nowhere to be seen. Where was 7C?

She stood up from the piano and walked outside; no-one was in the open area outside her room. How odd. Had she missed something important?

She returned to her room and rummaged through the papers on her desk. Eventually she found her answer: year 7 was on a field trip today, and as such their normal lessons would not be taking place. All teachers who would normally teach year 7 were expected to be available for cover lessons.

Kristina looked at the date on the memo; it had gone out last week, and had seemingly just got buried amid all the other piles of paper on her desk. Fortunately, it didn't appear to matter too much; no-one had come to fetch her for cover today, and so she smiled at the prospect of a free period, and resolved to get up to date on marking some of the books she'd neglected for so long.

She'd had good intentions for marking, but had somehow never managed to stick to them. The school had rather exacting standards as to how books should be marked, with particular attention paid to things like spelling and punctuation, and an overly complicated system of marks to denote various things about the things students had written. In her first few weeks, Kristina had stuck to the marking scheme rigorously, but over time had determined that whatever she wrote, whatever she pointed out with her pens — red or green, she'd tried both — it was, more often than not, summarily ignored by students, so much so that there were children in year 9 who were still writing answers to questions in textspeak and completing homework with printouts from Wikipedia.

She opened the first of a stack and sighed at the sight of the owner's clumsy handwriting and poor spelling. She flicked through the pages, admiring her seeming dedication to the job in the early days of the term, spotting the cut-off point where she'd simply stopped marking books and begun the path she was on now — the path of never being able to get caught up, ever.

She closed the book and returned it to the stack, then returned the stack to its customary spot on the windowsill. Marking had waited this long; it could wait for another day, and besides, the attainment levels for music were so poorly defined that she had proven on several occasions already that she could pretty much make up the results for her students based on what she knew of their personalities and work ethics and still be complimented on her rigorous marking and solid tracking of their attainment — just so long as they didn't take a random sample of her exercise books, of course.

Oh God, she thought, sitting down at her desk. I really am an unsatisfactory teacher. I can't be bothered with any of this shit.

But did it matter? That's what she wasn't sure of. She still held the somewhat idealistic view that teachers should be people who inspired and imparted knowledge, not people who filled out forms. It shouldn't matter that she hadn't used the school's secret code for showing when someone had misspelled something or failed to put a comma in the right place, because she had it where it counted — she had heart and soul, and she wanted these kids to learn about music.

It wasn't that simple, of course. Her mind drifted back through numerous lessons, and it naturally fixated on all the times where she'd spent more time shouting at the class than actually imparting knowledge or helping them out. She saw the faces of the few industrious, committed children in even the most unpleasant classes, and worried that they felt disappointed in her.

Then she saw Sian's face, looking at her supportively. If Sian understood what she was going through, didn't it follow that other students would too? Not necessarily, she thought, since Sian was a special case; she was far more mature than many of her peers, and she was rare in that she clearly saw her teachers as real people rather than automatons purely designed to make the life of teenagers difficult.

Kristina sighed and laid her head down on the piles of paper on her desk. The positivity with which she had arrived at school this morning was draining out of her by the second, and she was becoming more and more convinced of what her decision would be come the end of Thursday.

Her door opened, and a child she didn't recognise walked in.

"Miss?" she said. "Um, I think you're supposed to be covering our class?"

Shit, Kristina said to herself. They must have doled out cover assignments during briefing. Bollocks. Fuck. Shit.

"All right," she said. "I'll, uh, be right there. What class is it?"

"8A," said the girl. "We're doing Maths."

"Okay," said Kristina. "I'm sorry, no-one told me, I…" She stopped herself, realising that the child probably didn't care, and that the class probably welcomed the fact they had been without a teacher for twenty minutes.

She gathered her things and turned to the girl.

"All right," she said. "Ready to go."

"Uh, miss?" said the girl. "Your nose…"

Kristina put her hand to her nose, which she now noticed was feeling a bit strange. When she looked down at her hand, it was covered in blood.

Oh shit, she thought. Great timing. Just perfect.

"Let me get you a tissue," said the girl, running out of the door.

Kristina tipped her head back and pinched the bridge of her nose, unsure of what else to do; it had been a long time since she'd had a nosebleed, and she couldn't for the life of her remember how to fix it. When the girl came back, Kristina took the sheet of paper towel from her and held it under her nose. Before long, it was stained a deep crimson with her blood; the girl passed her another as Kristina tossed it aside.

"Can you go to Reception, please," said Kristina from behind the tissue. "I… don't think I'm very well. I'm going to need someone else to cover your class."

"Okay," said the girl. "Get better soon, Miss."

Then she was gone.

Eventually the bleeding stopped, and Kristina looked down at the bloody tissue in her hand.

"Nothing is worth this," she said out loud. "I've got to get out of here."