Such a Good Mother by Helen Monks Takhar

Author:Helen Monks Takhar [Monks Takhar, Helen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2022-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

20

DESPITE MY PRIDE AT WHAT Amala said about me, I can’t help but stress over what she’s going to want from me, exactly what “the next phase” will entail. I end up barely sleeping on Sunday night, gaming through how the meeting might go. Surely, she wants to get me started on The Woolf business, tell me how I might take over at least some of Bea’s work, but I get a strong feeling I should be prepared for anything.

At least this time round I’m used to Amala’s unsmiling secretary, who all but winces at my uniform when I arrive at five minutes to eight on Monday morning, after handing Charlie over to one of the office staff who promised they’d get him to breakfast club. I realize I was so rushed I’m still holding Charlie’s lunch box, its turquoise plastic clashing terribly with my royal blue uniform. Thankfully, the secretary barely looks at me, instead waving me straight in. But when I step inside her office, Amala isn’t there.

Alone, I place Charlie’s lunch on a side table and walk slowly around the office. I run my palm over the invitingly tender leather of her desk, then move behind her chair and view the main hall below through the darkened pane of what I’ve assumed to be blackout glass, which I now see extends into a thin gallery, accessible through a slim door near to Amala’s chair. I can see what looks like a lighting and sound deck, doubtless intended for use at school productions. Seems I was right about the spotlight I felt on my head at open night after all. My disquiet grows as I look down into the hall where older children are learning to fence. The sight of them in their unsettling white masks, being encouraged to stab each other, makes me shudder.

I turn away and lay my hands on the sumptuous maroon leather of Amala’s chair. It screams quality, shouts status. I wonder how comfortable this deep, spinning hammock of a seat is. With another long day serving other people at the bank ahead of me, Amala’s chair seems to beg me to sink into it. There’s still no sign of her, so I turn the chair toward me, eye it wantonly, and ready my knees to bend, about to slip into the throne of molded leather.

“Rose? Come here, would you!”

I jump, seeing the swish of Amala’s hair disappearing back into another side room I didn’t notice. I follow her guiltily, wondering if she saw me about to take her seat. I find her in a surprisingly large shower room. Of course she would have some kind of en suite; Amala Kaur couldn’t possibly be expected to use the same facilities as the teaching staff. I scan the bathroom, noting a bale of maroon towels with gold piping as the trim and a discreet stack of loo rolls, half expecting these to be maroon and gold too.

“What do you think?” Amala’s hands are on her hips.

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