Читать книгу Missing Pieces - K L Harrison - Страница 3

Mid-March

….She let him stand there for almost ten minutes before she came back in. He was the epitome of the perfectly dressed public school boy: striped tie, grey shirt and shorts, grey socks neatly pulled up, polished shoes. A metronome was ticking; it added to the tension. She re-entered the room and continued to ignore him. Her purple silk blouse was neatly tucked into her black skirt. When she turned her back on him he could not fail to notice her seamed stockings and heels. She turned and walked over to the metronome and ceased its motion. Silence. Finally she spoke.

“I am displeased Benjamin. When you attend detention, I expect your uniform to be perfect. It is not. I notice a scratch on your right shoe and your shirt is not totally tucked in. You know how detention begins if your uniform is not perfect. Step forward towards my desk…”

Early September

It sounded more like an unsupervised lower Year Nine class than the first staff meeting of the year. The first day of the year for Woodlands Academy had included what was called a ‘Staff Development Day’ for the past three years. Most of the teachers had resented losing the last day of their summer break, but they were used to it now, and it did mean that all the routine administration could be sorted out before the onslaught.

Woodlands contained the usual range of misfits, idealists, careerists and communicators extraordinaire that comprise most school staff rooms. It also contained the usual range of timewasters, swots, miscreants and average students that comprise most school class rooms. Woodlands was never going to win the Stirling Prize for architecture, but there were a lot worse schools in the area.

What made Woodlands work better than most schools was the way the staff interacted and the tough, but realistic regime imposed by Robert Hamsby, headmaster for the past four years. Robert Hamsby had what his teenage charges called ‘cred’. He played in the local over-50s football comp, knew the name of every manager in the Premier League, could quote Byron and brought his son Nicholas to every school event he could. Nicholas might be severely handicapped but Hamsby loved that boy. The senior girls were always willing to look after him and push him around in his wheel chair.

The Staff Development Day was one of Hamsby’s first innovations. Bob Hamsby loved his work, but it was not his entire life, and he knew that that was the case for most of his staff. He expected everyone to work hard, but he also wanted them to play hard.

“Get a life!” was his stern rebuke to any staff member hanging around school longer than him.

As the staff room filled up, stories were being exchanged about summer trips and the opening of the new football season. Young Chris Watson was being ribbed about his newest girlfriend. Chris Watson was shy beyond understanding, yet always had his students eating out of his hand.

Hamsby had told him, “Not bad for a second year out Maths teacher kidder.”

Pictures were being passed around by Mark Varos; his wife had just had triplets and he was receiving the appropriate taunts, while the female staff were being warned to steer clear of him. Such banter had long disappeared from most school staff rooms. Robert Hamsby had made it clear that he wanted respect amongst colleagues but extreme political correctness was not going to rule his school. His quick suspension of Kevin Jones earlier in the year for sexual harassment of a female colleague had earned him the respect of the women on his staff.

This was a friendly, respectful and enjoyable working environment.

This year’s opening staff meeting was of a little more interest than usual. The Deputy headmaster, Bill Williams, had been forced into retirement suddenly in late May, a few weeks before the end of the school year. His health had been a problem for a while; he died just a couple of weeks before the start of the new school year. The School Council had allowed Robert Hamsby to select the new deputy from the existing staff and part of the buzz around the staff room had been about who was going to get the job.

“I reckon he’ll give it to Timmsy,” said Jack Deans.

Despite his fifty one years, Deans looked like he could still make it into the SAS. Shaven-headed, not an ounce of fat on him, proud father of four girls, he was in charge of Industrial Arts at Woodlands. He was an old school style teacher, took no messing but treated the kids fairly. He coached football, supervised the building of sets for the school musical and was always there to help the young teachers when a class was getting out of hand.

“Timmsy deserves it,” said Deans, “he runs the Sports Department brilliantly.”

“Yeah, but he’s got no brains Jack,” offered Deirdre Palmer.

“Being a Deputy Headmaster requires a bit more than getting the second eleven to the right park, at the right time and on the right day.”

Deirdre Palmer was in her early forties, divorced, attractive and going nowhere. Her problem was her honesty. A fine teacher, in love with literature and able to enthuse even the most recalcitrant fifteen year old, she had never risen beyond the role of class room teacher after eighteen years in the job. If you were talking rubbish she would tell you to your face, be you Becky Holden in 8E9, her latest paramour, or Robert Hamsby.

“So who do you reckon it’s going to be?” said Jack.

“The Deputy has got to be good at everything,” piped in Charlie Page. “He’s got to be a good administrator”–

“What’s this ‘he’ business Charlie?” was Deidre Palmer’s lightning quick reply.

“Sorry Deidre, he or she has to be a good administrator, an educator, be willing and able to work bloody hard and be able to control some of the unruly brats we have around this place.”

Charlie was, of course, describing himself.

Charlie Page was head of Social Science but economics was his passion. He made out he had turned down Oxford because Bristol had a better Economics Department. Charlie was indeed as good as he said he was, but that was the problem. He insisted on telling everyone how good he was. Charlie Page had a First Class Honours Degree and had boxed at university. He was smart, and he was tough. His temper had got him into trouble more than once in his younger years.

Charlie wanted the deputy’s job. He expected the deputy’s job. It just had to be his.

An hour earlier

“For Christ’s sake come on. You can’t be late. You’d be ready if it was for her wouldn’t you?”

The venom in Felicity Davidson’s voice was total. Her husband of five years, Roger Davidson, might have gone on his knees and begged forgiveness for his fling with Patricia Patel, but Felicity wasn’t going to let him forget it soon. She had put her career on hold to help him up the ladder and had given him the child he so desperately wanted. And what had he done?

“Started screwing that bitch from the Modern Languages department”.

“Come on, we’ve got to drop Rebecca off at kindergarten on the way.”

Felicity Davidson stormed out the front door, play group bag in one hand while dragging Rebecca with the other. Roger had known for a long while that things were going sour with Felicity. He wasn’t sure if his pursuit of his various ‘other interests’ was the cause or the result of things at home. And he could not work out whether his affair with Patricia Patel was chance or inevitable.

The night that he had given her a lift home proved to be the start of the most passionate relationship he had ever had. Roger Davidson had never experienced sex like it and he grew to hunger for every minute he could spend with her. They were almost caught once in a storeroom at Woodlands. And yet…

But Patricia Patel was obsessive. It took Roger a while to realise this but by then it was too late. As far as Patricia was concerned, Roger Davidson was hers. She found his ‘other interests’ rather amusing.

“Have you ever longed for Felicity like you have for me, Rog? Could you really stand not being near me? Tell her it’s over. You know that I am the one for you. I mean it Roger, tell her it’s over!”

Roger Davidson’s head was buzzing. He had broken it off with Patricia only two days earlier, just after he had received his call from Robert Hamsby. Roger might fantasise about Patricia Patel’s body, but nothing was going to stop his rise and rise. He was only twenty nine, and Robert Hamsby had rung ‘him’. He knew the affair had to end. He knew that a life with Felicity was the price he would have to pay for his ambition, at least in the short run.

As he stepped into the hallway, he received a text. It was Patricia. She was not going to let go of him that easily.

“See you at school baby. I’ve been thinking of your tongue all night.”

Mixed emotions swirled around his head. As he closed the front door, he heard Felicity’s voice: “For fuck’s sake Roger get a move on”.

Back at the staff meeting

Robert Hamsby stepped forward.

“Right everybody, let’s get started. Welcome back to the start of another year’s adventure in learning.”

He knew this comment would get catcalls and gentle jeers, which it did, which is why he said it. Robert Hamsby had learned long ago that the best way to get an audience onside was some immediate self-deprecation. He had the staff smiling; now he was ready to get down to work.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as you know Bill Williams passed away during the summer holidays. It was expected but still a shock. I’ve been to see Jean a few times since the funeral; she’s holding up pretty well considering. Bill may have been dealt a bad hand health wise, but he was certainly lucky finding Jean.”

There were murmurs of agreement around the room.

“You all know Bill had a passion for music and did great things with the kids. Even when he was poorly earlier in the year, he was there at the Town Hall concert working with the school band. Jean wants to establish a memorial prize in Bill’s name for student involvement in music. Bill had put money aside for this. Carol I’ll talk to you about that in a day or two once we’ve got things moving here.”

Carol Bryson was the head of music. She nodded, tears in eyes. She and Bill had worked closely over the years on the annual concerts.

“But we have to move forward. As many of you know, the School Council has allowed me to choose my new Deputy from the existing staff, allowed me to choose a man or woman who has the skills of organisation, communication and the ability to get along with me, the staff and the kids. A leader.”

He paused for effect.

“As I went through the list of staff we have here, I thought, ‘Christ, you’ve gotta be joking’.”

The room erupted with good-hearted protests. At a stroke, Hamsby had broken through the seriousness of Bill Williams’ passing and managed to re-establish the light-hearted mood of before.

Patricia Patel readied herself for school. It might be a staff development day but she had no intention of going in wearing jeans and a sweater. She pulled out the close fitting red piece she was wearing the first time she had seduced Roger Davidson. He’d get the message. He’d better.

“The job of deputy must be the worst in this place. You’re in charge of the admin, discipline and the general running of the school. The rest of you experience the joy of teaching while I’m able to swan around with the local member.”

Again the staff were amused. The public stoush between the headmaster and the local Conservative MP, Alistair Fitzsmythe, was the stuff of legend. When Fitzsmythe had openly attacked Hamsby’s staff and students because of an incident in Swindon town centre, he came out all guns blazing in defence of his people. When he got the staff and students involved back to school, he ripped into them.

“Don’t you ever let me or my school down again. You understand?” They did.

As Roger Hamsby surveyed his staff, he knew that he was about to cause a major stir. Charlie Page was good but Hamsby also thought he was an arrogant shit. He’d thought of Jack Deans but Deansie was too much the family man to take on Deputy. Deidre Palmer was smart.

“But just imagine having to deal with her every day,” he had thought to himself.

Fran Wilcox was a possible, she ran the science department like clockwork and her staff admired her. She was a bit young but he could hardly use that as an argument. She would certainly want it, that’s for sure. She had said as much last term.

But Hamsby thought, “No Fran, you’re not the one for this role.” As he looked across the room, there were easily half a dozen he could have chosen. Just then Patricia Patel walked in, late. Hamsby thought to himself:

“Christ, what is she wearing today; maybe she’s got an interview at Marlborough College – either that or the new escort agency in Town.”

Tim Hawkins, the PE Master, was a staff favourite and everyone believed he would do a great job. Everyone except Deidre Palmer that was. Tony Lukacs in Social Science was an odd one, but he was a smart man. And then there was…. But no, Roger Hamsby recognised potential and he was willing to take a risk.

“Okay, now the new Deputy Headmaster…”