Eternally North
Page 16
As I opened the door, I was greeted by a fifty-something-year-old woman with dark brown hair and a kind smile.
“Ms. Munro?” she enquired.
“Yes, please come in. Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Mrs Nor–,… erm I mean Mrs. Jones.” she announced, a little flustered.
“Oh, you must be Boleyn’s mother?” I asked, shaking her hand.
“Yes. I really just wanted to come and see you and meet the woman who is changing my daughter’s life,” she said, smiling.
“Excuse me, I don’t understand. You mean me?” I questioned, shocked.
“Ms. Munro, since you came to this school and started working with her she is a completely different person. She smiles. She’s happy, she sings all day, and I didn’t even know she could sing.
“Boleyn doesn’t have an easy time at home, and has to live an unusual and, let’s say, unique life. She moved against her wishes to Calgary two years ago, and has been in two schools already, and hasn’t responded to anyone as she has done to you,” she announced kindly, with a face full of gratitude.
With a lump in my throat I replied, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I confided.
Getting up, Pamela took my hand again and pulled me in for a hug. “I know it may be your job, but it's her life and it's got a whole lot better since you came along,” she flattered, patting my hand.
With that, she turned and walked out of the studio. I waited two minutes, and then began shimmying around my classroom with ‘Spice Up Your Life’ playing in my head. I grabbed my bag, and decided to ditch the rest of the marking; this called for a hot tub celebration!
As I headed to the door, I punched a Breakfast Club-style arm up in the air, and with a loud shout of, “She shoots, she scores!” ran to my Smart car, eager to tell all to the other Oink Fairy.
Chapter 6
The beginning of the Tudor reign
Les Miserables was shaping up to be the best production I had ever put on, and I couldn’t have been happier, but the stupidly long hours and huge pressure made me look forward to the October break like I’d never looked forward to a holiday before.
With only getting a week off school, I had decided not to go home for a visit – it took me four bloomin’ days to beat the jet-lag anyhow – so I planned to have a nice chill-out week in Calgary, all kicked off with a night on the razz with Tink.
I arrived home at five o’clock after finishing some paperwork, and I was excited as hell for a good night of drinking. Tink was at the restaurant and wouldn’t finish until ten that night, and I was to meet him there, prepped and ready to go.
In true Geordie style, the beauty regime had started the previous night with a soak in the bath for about an hour, using a good exfoliating brush to get my skin as smooth as Bruce Willis’ head. I’d then applied fake tan, a Natasha Munro-trademark three times, to make sure I was totally tan-tastic, although the outside observer may say that I resembled a recently creosoted fence. Yes, my sheets were completely ruined, but vanity costs, people!
So, the perfect night-out colour achieved and a large glass of pinot grigio in hand, I concentrated on meticulously curling both my hair and my 18-inch clip-in hair extensions; applying lots of helpings of bronzer; gluing two layers of fabulous strip lashes firmly in place (anymore and your eyelids will struggle to function, believe me); sticking on nails like talons; adding a thick coat of scarlet red lipstick; and finally, whacking on the shortest dress I owned and the highest sky-scraper heels you can imagine! I was good to go.
Looking at the clock and feeling a little bit tipsy from the wine and obligatory few cheeky sips of sambuca I had consumed, I realised that it was only just eight in the evening and that I was two hours early. After twiddling my thumbs and searching for something to do, I decided I’d go to the restaurant early and hang out in the back with the staff. I quickly called a cab, and fifteen minutes later arrived at a very busy Ristorante Girasoli.
In the months that we had been in Calgary, I had been to the restaurant more times than I could count. I always used the staff entrance, as they all hung out there when things were quiet or when the wait staff were on their scheduled breaks. There was always someone to talk to and always music playing, with each staff member rotating their iPhone playlists – although the back room was always a lot quieter on Tink’s playlist night – funny, hmm?
The best thing was that you could have a laugh and talk without the patrons seeing you. Tink had truly landed on his feet working there, and he knew it too. The Italian contingent of Calgary were some of the nicest people we had met since we had moved. I had become a bit of a permanent fixture on weekend nights, always showing up to neck a grappa or two just before closing, and grabbing Tink for a night on the tiles.
“Ms. Munro?” she enquired.
“Yes, please come in. Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Mrs Nor–,… erm I mean Mrs. Jones.” she announced, a little flustered.
“Oh, you must be Boleyn’s mother?” I asked, shaking her hand.
“Yes. I really just wanted to come and see you and meet the woman who is changing my daughter’s life,” she said, smiling.
“Excuse me, I don’t understand. You mean me?” I questioned, shocked.
“Ms. Munro, since you came to this school and started working with her she is a completely different person. She smiles. She’s happy, she sings all day, and I didn’t even know she could sing.
“Boleyn doesn’t have an easy time at home, and has to live an unusual and, let’s say, unique life. She moved against her wishes to Calgary two years ago, and has been in two schools already, and hasn’t responded to anyone as she has done to you,” she announced kindly, with a face full of gratitude.
With a lump in my throat I replied, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I confided.
Getting up, Pamela took my hand again and pulled me in for a hug. “I know it may be your job, but it's her life and it's got a whole lot better since you came along,” she flattered, patting my hand.
With that, she turned and walked out of the studio. I waited two minutes, and then began shimmying around my classroom with ‘Spice Up Your Life’ playing in my head. I grabbed my bag, and decided to ditch the rest of the marking; this called for a hot tub celebration!
As I headed to the door, I punched a Breakfast Club-style arm up in the air, and with a loud shout of, “She shoots, she scores!” ran to my Smart car, eager to tell all to the other Oink Fairy.
Chapter 6
The beginning of the Tudor reign
Les Miserables was shaping up to be the best production I had ever put on, and I couldn’t have been happier, but the stupidly long hours and huge pressure made me look forward to the October break like I’d never looked forward to a holiday before.
With only getting a week off school, I had decided not to go home for a visit – it took me four bloomin’ days to beat the jet-lag anyhow – so I planned to have a nice chill-out week in Calgary, all kicked off with a night on the razz with Tink.
I arrived home at five o’clock after finishing some paperwork, and I was excited as hell for a good night of drinking. Tink was at the restaurant and wouldn’t finish until ten that night, and I was to meet him there, prepped and ready to go.
In true Geordie style, the beauty regime had started the previous night with a soak in the bath for about an hour, using a good exfoliating brush to get my skin as smooth as Bruce Willis’ head. I’d then applied fake tan, a Natasha Munro-trademark three times, to make sure I was totally tan-tastic, although the outside observer may say that I resembled a recently creosoted fence. Yes, my sheets were completely ruined, but vanity costs, people!
So, the perfect night-out colour achieved and a large glass of pinot grigio in hand, I concentrated on meticulously curling both my hair and my 18-inch clip-in hair extensions; applying lots of helpings of bronzer; gluing two layers of fabulous strip lashes firmly in place (anymore and your eyelids will struggle to function, believe me); sticking on nails like talons; adding a thick coat of scarlet red lipstick; and finally, whacking on the shortest dress I owned and the highest sky-scraper heels you can imagine! I was good to go.
Looking at the clock and feeling a little bit tipsy from the wine and obligatory few cheeky sips of sambuca I had consumed, I realised that it was only just eight in the evening and that I was two hours early. After twiddling my thumbs and searching for something to do, I decided I’d go to the restaurant early and hang out in the back with the staff. I quickly called a cab, and fifteen minutes later arrived at a very busy Ristorante Girasoli.
In the months that we had been in Calgary, I had been to the restaurant more times than I could count. I always used the staff entrance, as they all hung out there when things were quiet or when the wait staff were on their scheduled breaks. There was always someone to talk to and always music playing, with each staff member rotating their iPhone playlists – although the back room was always a lot quieter on Tink’s playlist night – funny, hmm?
The best thing was that you could have a laugh and talk without the patrons seeing you. Tink had truly landed on his feet working there, and he knew it too. The Italian contingent of Calgary were some of the nicest people we had met since we had moved. I had become a bit of a permanent fixture on weekend nights, always showing up to neck a grappa or two just before closing, and grabbing Tink for a night on the tiles.
