Free School Run by Sophie King Page A

until August.
    Pity, thought Nick, that he couldn’t retake Life. He’d have done it all so differently. ‘Great.’ He was studying the Polaroid with his assistant. ‘Lovely, love.’
    Nick always called his models ‘love’. It saved him having to remember their names and, because he used it with all of them, it stopped them getting crushes on him. When Juliana had died, Nick couldn’t imagine ever again being close to anyone but, as the months went by, he could almost hear Juliana telling him to go ahead. ‘I don’t want you to be lonely,’ she would croon into his ear. But it might just be his own voice, reminding him that he couldn’t remain a monk for ever, whatever Julie thought.
    ‘Right, love, just tilt your chin back to its original position. Lovely. Over there. Look at the dog – behind me. Fantastic. Open your mouth as though you’re going to talk to him. Great. No, Mutley – no !’
    Nick broke off to restrain his dog, who had decided to join the model.
    ‘He’s so sweet,’ she said, kneeling down to stroke him.
    ‘He’s OK when he’s doing what he’s meant to,’ said Nick. ‘Back, Mutley. Sit, stay. Can you tilt your chin, love, and push your hips in the other direction? Talk if you want. What’s your name again?’
    ‘Juliana.’
    Nick’s hand wobbled.
    ‘Sorry?’
    The model pouted. ‘Sofia.’
    He felt his hands sweat on the camera as he took some more shots. God, he must be going mad if he was hearing things like that. Perhaps he ought to see Amber tomorrow after all. ‘Right, love, just keep talking. What’s your favourite animal?’ He carried on, asking the inane questions that would achieve his original purpose of getting her to look as he wanted. Even so, it took a good four hours to wrap it all up, by which time the girls were complaining of hunger and he was pretty knackered himself.
    ‘Fancy a late lunchtime drink?’ asked one of the girls, as she brushed past him, flashing smooth brown skin under her dressing gown.
    Nick poured water into Mutley’s bowl. ‘No, thanks. I’ve got to do the school run.’
    ‘The school run?’ squealed one of the others. ‘How old are your kids?’
    ‘I’ve got just the one. She’s seventeen and, actually, she drives me .’
    ‘So cute,’ said a tall blonde girl, who was bending down to stroke Mutley. ‘Does she drive your wife too? I used to practise with my mum.’
    Nick looked away. ‘My wife is . . . She isn’t exactly here any more.’
    A flash of pity crossed the blonde’s face. ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Nick, quietly. He waited until they had all left, then got out his mobile. Four missed calls but none from Julie. He always checked in case she needed him. Then he punched in the number of the centre. ‘Can I leave a message for Amber? It’s Nick. No, just Nick. She rearranged my session from today to tomorrow but I said I couldn’t make it. If it’s not too late I’d like to come after all. Is that all right?’
     
    BETTY
     
    ‘Towards Kingston temporary traffic lights are causing more problems. Dangerous Dan has just rung in about an accident outside Harrow. Betty from Balham has also called to warn drivers of the new speed bumps along the high street.’
     
    Funny to hear my own name on the radio again – fourth time in a month. ‘Betty of Balham’ has a certain ring. ‘Dangerous Dan’ shows people don’t care any more. You can see that from my window – hardly anyone’s bothering with the thirty m.p.h. limit. Cars packed with mums and dads and kids, all trying to get to school or work on time. Don’t care who they hurt to get there.
    My flowers on the lamp post look nice. Roses, this week. They smell absolutely heavenly.
    Terry used to buy me flowers. ‘Here you are, Mum,’ he’d say, when he came back on Saturday evenings after his little job at Tesco. ‘Got these for you.’
    Then he’d give me a hug before he went out. Tall boy, Terry.
    Always did look older than he was.