Her Melting Point

Those Who Don't Learn From History

"I will be direct," Ms. Sparrow said. "I came to tell you to leave Stephen alone."

The handle slipped out of Jackie's hand, and her now full kettle hit the bottom of the sink with a deafening metal clank.

"I beg your pardon?" Jackie exclaimed.

Eddie was sitting in one of the Windsor kitchen chairs, her arms crossed.

"I know what happened in the past." Eddie pinned Jackie with an icy stare. "I know that you were married when you came to Fleckney. Your husband was supposed to join you a year later, as a teacher of chemistry in the Comprehensive. You had an affair with Stephen, who was your TA at the time. And then your husband got a job elsewhere; your plans changed; and you left. Stephen told me everything."

Not everything, Jackie thought. She turned to the sink, mostly to hide her face. Her hands were shaking violently.

"And before you say anything," Ms. Sparrow added, "I am not ashamed of coming here and dissing you."

There was a challenge in the baker's voice, which made her statement utterly unconvincing. Jackie turned the hob on and finally faced the woman.

"There is nothing going on between Stephen and me," she said quietly and fidgeted with the string on her hoodie.

"And nothing will," Eddie cut her off. "Ever since you showed up, he hasn't been himself. He hasn't been sleeping well, he's distracted. And it affects the children. Any change in the mood in the house, in the routine, throws Robbie off. And I will not have you arse up my son's life!" Her voice was rising. "If I didn't have Robbie, I'd say you could help yourself to Stephen." She barked a venomous laugh. "I brought up one child on my own, I can handle two, especially since the second one is neurotypical. But Robbie needs Stephen."

Jackie was still frozen near the counter, somehow not daring to sit down in her own kitchen. Eddie exhaled noisily and looked Jackie over.

"You're properly different from what I imagined, I have to say." The baker briskly tapped her fingers on her other upper arm. "Everyone's discussing how you're this badarse business woman, and how you worked in a school in some slum, raising money and basically rebuilding it with your own hands. There are even rumours of you being cheffed or something."

Jackie clenched her jaw, stifling a gasp, and hurriedly pressed her hand over the scar from said 'cheffing' on her right side. Judging by her vernacular, Eddie Sparrow had a rougher past than her present elegant self suggested. Cheffed, plugged, dipped; spinners, mashes, burners; frying and wooshing; gliding and touring. To think of it, just a few months ago Jackie heard these pretty much every day.

"I was the principal in an inner-city school," Jackie muttered. "I didn't leave it out of necessity. I was invited to take over Mrs. Guthrie's position."

"I don't give a toss," Eddie dismissed with a derisive grimace. "I doubt it'll make any difference for Robbie, he hardly attends. All he cares about is his music. And Lee is still little." She pursed her lips in a hard line. "But I bet you'd hate someone to cock up this new cosy set-up you bagged for yourself. And this is Fleckney. Everyone might be bloody woke and liberal and waving rainbow flags, but people here won't stand behind a home-wrecker. I spent a lot of time building connections in this county. I will use them if I have to."

An untimely joke popped up in Jackie's mind: that she was more of a 'cradle robber' than a 'home-wrecker.' The kettle started whistling, and she took it off the stove.

"Eddie," she started. "May I call you Eddie? You're misunderstanding the situation." Jackie met the woman's eyes, hoping that the sincerity of Jackie's words showed. "I've only seen Stephen twice since I returned, and both times were an accident. I ran into him in the ice cream parlour, he was there with your son. And then we spoke on the phone, strictly regarding my delivery. I wasn't even aware that he worked in the moving company."