From a Safe Distance by Julia Bishop Page A

made head of department over in East Brickham – last week in fact! For next term. Quite a drive, but I’m sure I’ll love it! How’s your new job going, Vee?’
    â€˜Oh, alright.’ I felt a desperate need to unburden myself to her. ‘But I’ve had a hard time lately because … ’
    Just then her phone rang, and as Diane bent over to pickit up, I noticed something which made me very glad indeed that it had rung at that precise moment. It was only a short call, but it gave me the time to divert from my story, and spared my embarrassment.
    â€˜My sister. Anyway, what were you going to say, Vee?’
    â€˜Oh … it’s just harder work where I am now. That’s all.’
    Diane patted the seat of the sofa next to her, indicating to Jeff that he should join her.
    â€˜We’ve got some other news, haven’t we darling? Jeff smiled and placed his hand gently on Diane’s stomach. ’Yes, you’ve guessed it. We’re going to have a baby!’
    â€˜That’s wonderful.’ I was pleased for them, but I ached inside. ‘When’s it due?’
    â€˜In May. We were planning to get married first, but then we had this little surprise. So the wedding’s on hold for now, but it will happen, and you’ll be invited.’ Her face was lit with happiness. ‘By the way, Vee – have you kept in touch with Max at all?’

    January brought gales and sleet. I looked out of the staffroom window at the moorland sky. Clouds trailed their unstitched hems over the city, the grey sustained by the granite and concrete of its post-war reconstruction. In the distance, beyond the rugby pitch, condensed rows of houses were interspersed with the black trunks and branches of leafless trees.
    Mr Green came in at the start of my free lesson and set all the notices on the board fluttering in the draught. ‘Rachel Mills is downstairs for you, Vee.’
    I put my coffee on the table and moaned. ‘She’s probably forgotten her book or something.’ Hail was rattling on the roof and bouncing on the grass. Rachel did not look at me properly when I went down the stairs. Instead she turned away, her head down, her long dark hair falling loose in its band and her arms folded. ‘Rachel?’
    â€˜Miss.’ She was trying not to cry.
    â€˜What’s wrong?’
    â€˜Can I … can I talk to you? I mean, is it OK now?’
    â€˜Let’s find a free room.’ We waited for the weather to ease a bit, then dashed across to the next building. Room 7 was empty. There was a long silence while Rachel composed herself. I gave her a tissue, then attempted to reduce the noise of the weather by closing the sash window. We sat on grey plastic chairs and our voices echoed slightly because of the high ceiling.
    â€˜Miss, it’s my mum. She’s ill. They took her away last night. She had to be … sectioned, I think that’s what they called it. She’s been acting really strange for a while, but Dad and I didn’t know what was wrong. We were so frightened. My little sister locked herself in her room … ’
    â€˜Oh, Rachel. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?’
    â€˜I don’t think so Miss. I just needed to talk to someone, you know. You won’t tell anyone else, will you? Only if it gets out my Mum is a nutcase, my life won’t be worth living.’
    â€˜I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to – and I certainly wouldn’t use that kind of word. If there’s a problem, I’ll say you’re not feeling well or something. But just remember, Rachel: she’s still your mum and she will get better.’

    I had to move to a different flat for the third time in two years. Patrick helped me on this occasion (not that I had much to move) because the new place, number 79, was only ten minutes’ walk from Arnold College.
    We were seeing each other more often