I am a very subdued diarist today.
I have had a very full day and have not even begun to think about recording it for the benefit of posterity until just now, at which point in fact it is actually well and truly tomorrow.
As you know, it has been the day for collecting Lucy from school.
I really was collecting her from school, you will be pleased to know: it was not one of those things I had made up in a moment of wild organisation failure, and it was all a bit exhausting because of working last night, which of course I had got to do on account of Friday being an ace cash-raising night.
In the end I stopped work a bit early, and managed to be in bed by three. Despite this I still felt as though I had been rubbing handfuls of grit into my eyes when the alarm went off not long after six this morning. Mark made me coffee, and then thankfully retired back to sleep when I set off.
Fortunately school had the thoughtfulness to provide coffee as well, for which I was very grateful indeed by the time I arrived, just early enough for two cups before the service in Chapel.
I usually enjoy this very much, because of the singing, and because of listening to the school’s very splendid choir.
Today it was different. It was poignant, and heartbreaking. A little girl in Lucy’s class has died this term, and the Easter themes of death and loss seemed to have laid an awful quietness over everyone.
It is like losing a sister. It is a small school, and its collective terrible sorrow poured out as the girls sang, and in the yearning melody of the organ.
We parents were on the balcony above the girls, with them but apart, empty spaces in our own number as well, because of the two poor parents who will never be with us again, and listened sadly as the Chaplain spoke of hope, and the headmistress of courage: and hugged our own daughters rather more fervently than usual when they poured out at the end.
Most of the school bounded off then, heading for home, but Lucy’s year, being at the top of the slippery GCSE slope, had to stay behind for parents to talk to teachers. After a hasty lunch and the obligatory quick concert, we processed across to the sports hall, where it turned out that Lucy had forgotten to put in her contact lenses, and could not actually identify any of her teachers.
This added a certain spice to the meeting as we wandered round the carefully spread out desks, peering at vaguely familiar looking teachers and occasionally apologising and hurrying off. Whenever we found one who looked promising we settled ourselves down to spend five minutes fidgeting in the school plastic chairs whilst we listened to an explanation of the impossible amount of work to be expected of Lucy in whatever subject we thought we were probably discussing: and assurances from everybody that she would inevitably get an A star in everything if only she just spent half an hour to an hour working on the subject every day during the holidays.
When we left we reviewed the meeting and found ourselves to be in agreement over which staff were sensible, which were being rather optimistic, and which were just plain bonkers. I thought she looked pale, and tired, which was the way she said she felt, and we thought that a few days holiday might be a good start, with no working on anything at all.
When we got home Mark was at work, but he had left the house beautifully bright and warm, which felt wonderful. We rang him, and he came and helped us pile luggage up all over the living room, where we have left it until somebody feels energetic enough to deal with it. Mark made us all coffee, and we listened to teenage girl stories until we could see her grin slowly coming back to her face, and we knew that she was all right.
Really it was time to go back to work, but I was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of such monumental exhaustion that Mark thought I should sleep for an hour at least: and I was too tired to do anything but agree.
I went to bed, and Lucy chucked her school uniform in the washing basket and wrapped herself in a large fluffy dressing gown.
I felt so terribly relieved to have her home and safe, I slept utterly soundly for two hours, not even hearing the alarm.
In the end it was almost ten before I got to work: but we were so busy that it didn’t matter and in the end I made almost as much money as Mark.
It is beginning to start to think about getting light now, and I am off to bed.
I shall be very glad when we have got Oliver as well.
