Fiona needed a boost after her divorce – luckily, she made a great new friend . . .
BY EIRIN THOMPSON
FIONA wasn’t sure about this at all. “Think of it as an adventure,” her new pal, Hattie, insisted. But Fiona wasn’t daring like Hattie.
The two women had met at the swimming pool when Fiona had gone for her first session.
Hattie had plunged in, whereas Fiona had gasped and gingerly lowered her body into the chilly water.
Then Hattie had taken off, thrashing up and down the pool in a vigorous front crawl, while Fiona bobbed along close to the side in a nervous but determined breast stroke.
It was in the showers afterwards that they’d got chatting, and then they’d ended up going for a coffee in the on-site café.
“Do you work?” Hattie had enquired.
“Oh, yes. Full-time,” Fiona replied. “I’m a teacher.”
“A noble calling. Which school?”
Fiona explained that she didn’t work in one school, but was peripatetic, visiting children and young people at home who were unable to attend school for some reason.
“What sorts of reason?” Hattie asked.
“All kinds. Some have had surgery and can’t get out and about for a while,” Fiona explained. “But increasingly it’s issues with mental health.
“Social anxiety is a big thing, which is very hard if you’re expected to cope in a school with hundreds of people every day.”
“So you meet a lot of unhappy kids,” Hattie stated.
“Not exactly. Because I see them at home, which is their safe place, they’re usually chatty and good fun.
“It’s my job to keep their learning going while they get the therapies they need to gain the confidence to return to the classroom.”
“You must have to be a bit of an expert in a wide variety of subjects,” Hattie observed.
“Jack of all trades, master of none, probably,” Fiona replied. “I studied languages at uni, so I can manage French, German and Spanish.
“I took a history degree by distance learning a few years ago, so that’s useful, too.
“I can just about deliver science and maths lessons up to GCSE.”
“That’s quite a range.”
“Do you work?” Fiona turned the question back to Hattie.
“Yes, but nothing quite so worthwhile. I have a women’s fashion boutique in town.”
“Oh, no! Then you’ll be horrified by my baggy old tracksuit!” Fiona exclaimed, comparing her attire to Hattie’s very smart leisurewear.
“I don’t judge,” Hattie said. “But I do like to think I have a good eye and can dress any woman for greater self-confidence.”
“I’m afraid you’d have your work cut out with me,” Fiona commented.
“Since my divorce, I’ve pretty much lived in comfy jeans and tops that hide my figure.
