“The Next Step is Mine!”
“Valerie Evans, have you completely lost your mind?” The headteacher Margaret Collins’ sharp voice cut through the silence of the staff room. “At fifty-eight, you want to leave the school? Where will you go, for heaven’s sake?”
Valerie carefully stacked her teaching guides without looking up. Her hands trembled, but she wouldn’t let it show.
“I’ll manage, Margaret. Somehow.”
“Do you understand what you’re doing? Thirty-six years at this school! A respected teacher, beloved by the students, praised by parents… And your pension is just two years away! What on earth will you do at home?”
Valerie finally raised her head. Tears welled up, but she refused to let them fall.
“And what am I doing here? The same thing, day after day. Lessons, marking books till midnight, preparing classes like I haven’t known the curriculum inside out for decades. The kids…” She trailed off, running a hand over her face. “They’re different now, Margaret. They don’t hear me.”
“Nonsense! Just yesterday, Sophie Bennett said her Oliver only understands maths because of you!”
“Understands…” Valerie gave a bitter smile. “And what does he do at break? Stares at his phone like the rest. Ask him a question and he mumbles. Explain a problem, and he stares out the window. At home, he’s up till three in the morning on those wretched games.”
Margaret sighed heavily and walked to the window.
“Valerie, why are you working yourself up like this? Times change, children change… but we have to teach them! Who else will?”
“I don’t know,” Valerie said quietly. “Honestly, I don’t anymore.”
Valerie walked home through the familiar streets, automatically counting the steps to her flat. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Always twenty to the second floor. Everything in her life was predictable, scheduled down to the minute.
“Mum, you’re home early!” Her daughter, Emily, peeked out from the kitchen. “Something happen?”
“I handed in my notice,” Valerie said flatly, heading to her room.
“What notice? Mum, where are you going?” Emily hurried after her.
“My resignation.”
Emily froze, then gripped the doorframe.
“Are you ill? Do you have a temperature?” She rushed over, pressing a hand to her mother’s forehead.
“Leave it, love. I’m fine. I’ve just decided.”
“Decided what? Mum, do you hear yourself? You’ve got a steady job, a good team, your salary—small but reliable! What now? Stay home? You’ll be miserable!”
Valerie kicked off her shoes, rubbing her aching feet.
“And what am I now? Happy? Every morning I wake up like I’m facing execution. Walk into school like a prisoner to labour. Stand at the board, explaining the same thing for the hundredth time, with one thought in my head: When will this end?”
“Mum, everyone feels like that sometimes! It’s called burnout. You need a holiday—”
“A holiday?” Valerie laughed hollowly. “Emily, I haven’t had a proper break in forty years. Forty years of teaching, marking, weekend planning, summer courses… When was I supposed to rest?”
Emily chewed her lip, fiddling with her jumper.
“What will Daniel say?” she finally asked.
“What’s Daniel got to do with it?”
“Well, you two… I mean…”
“We what?” Valerie turned to her. “See each other Sundays—cinema or a play. He walks me home, kisses my cheek, and leaves. Three years of the same routine.”
“But you’re planning to—”
“Planning what?” Valerie stood, facing the mirror. “Emily, look at me. What do you see?”
Emily hesitated. “I see my mum.”
“I see an old woman. Grey roots I dye every month at the same salon. Wrinkles deepening each year. Hands that only know chalk and red pens. Eyes that forgot how to shine. And the worst part? I can’t remember the last time I laughed. Really laughed.”
Emily hugged her shoulders. “Mum, that’s not true. You’re beautiful, clever—”
“Clever? If I were clever, I wouldn’t have lived like someone else planned my life. School, university, teaching at the same place I studied. Married the first man who asked. Had you, got divorced, back to work, work, work… Where was I in all that? Just Valerie. I lost her somewhere along the way.”
The front door banged open, and footsteps pattered down the hall.
“Granny Val!” Ten-year-old Jack burst in. “What’s for dinner?”
“In a minute, sweetheart,” Valerie wiped her eyes. “Emily, we’ll talk later.”
Jack hurled his backpack aside and threw his arms around her. “Granny, can I go to Liam’s? He got a new game with mega monsters!”
“Homework done?”
“Almost… Just maths left, but it’s easy. Please?”
Valerie studied him—bright eyes, restless energy, his whole life ahead.
“Jack, tell me—what do you want most right now?”
He scratched his head. “For summer to last forever. And for Mum to stop nagging about grades. And Dad to visit like he promised. Oh, and a dog, but Mum says no.” His face turned serious. “What do you want, Granny?”
Valerie pulled him close. “You know, Jack, I’ve forgotten how to want things for myself.”
“How?”
“I just stopped asking. Thought it was wrong—at my age, dreaming.”
Jack frowned. “Grandad Geoff says you’re never too old. He moved to Cornwall at seventy to grow tomatoes. Says he always wanted to dig the earth, but worked in a factory instead.”
Valerie smiled. “Grandad Geoff is wise. Go finish your work, then off to Liam’s.”
As Jack scampered away, Valerie stayed on the bed, his words pricking her mind. Never too old to dream. And what had she dreamt of? Travel, the sea, being an artist… Ridiculous, at fifty-eight.
She woke before dawn the next morning, too restless to stay in bed. The city stirred lazily below—commuters hurrying, traffic creeping. A normal morning.
Her phone rang.
“Valerie, it’s Margaret. I couldn’t sleep. Please, let’s talk. There’s still time—”
“My decision’s made.”
“But Valerie, think! What will you do? Where will you work? You’ll be bored stiff at home!”
“Maybe. But it’ll be my boredom, not someone else’s.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That my whole life, I’ve done what was expected. Studied hard because I should. Became a teacher because it was ‘respectable’. Married because friends were marrying. Had a child because that’s what you do. Worked without complaint to provide. Now… I want to live for me.”
“And what will that be?”
Valerie looked at the sunrise. “I don’t know. Maybe learn to paint. Join an amateur dramatics group. Take computer classes. Or just leave—go to the coast. The point is, it’ll be my choice.”
“Valerie, you’re exhausted. Rest, and this’ll pass.”
“Margaret—are you happy?”
“What kind of question—”
“Simple. Do you wake up glad? Love your job? Or are you just going through the motions?”
A long pause.
“Valerie, I’m forty-eight. Two kids, a mortgage, an ill mother. Happiness isn’t the point. Work is.”
“Exactly. ‘Have to.’ Not ‘want to.’” Valerie set her cup down. “I’m done with ‘have to.’”
After hanging up, she watched the city wake. Everyone rushing—plans, purpose. And her? For the first time in years, no schedule. No lessons, no marking…
She opened the bottom drawer. Beneath old photos lay a sketchbook—yellowed pages, childish pencil drawings. She remembered her mother’s voice: “Darling, art isn’t a career. It’s a hobby.”
She flipped to a sea sketch—clumsy lines, but full of longing.
“Mum, what’s that?” Emily stood in the doorway.
“My old drawings.”
“These are good! Is that the sea?”
“Yes. I always wanted to see it. All my friends went on holidays… I sketched and imagined walking barefoot with waves at my ankles.”
“Did you ever go?”
“Once. Honeymoon with your father—three days in Brighton. It rained the whole time.”
“Mum, let’s go!” Emily blurted. “I’ll take leave, bring Jack. A proper holiday!”
“Love, you’ve got bills. The sea’s a luxury.”
“So what? We save, scrimp, plan… Life’s passing us by! Mum, after last night, I realised—I’m just like you. Stuck in a job I hate, terrified to change, living on autopilot. And one day Jack will leave… What thenValerie smiled, took Emily’s hand, and whispered, “Then let’s start living before it’s too late.”