Читать книгу Zero Per Cent - Mark Swallow - Страница 12

So, now I had conquered the playground and the photocopier. The corridors held no fears and I could handle most things in a classroom, excepting incompetent student teachers. Furthermore I had an ongoing relationship with a qualified teacher. But I wasn’t finished yet. I wanted to learn more about the staffroom. Razza’s account of trying to get into this sacred space in order to find a teacher during break had made a great impression on us all.

“They just screamed they did, screamed at me to get outside.”

“Who did?” we asked.

“Loads, all going ‘Get out!’. I felt like I was blasted back into the corridor.”

“What d’ya do?” we went.

“Course I wasn’t having that, specially being as my dad’s caretaker, I mean site supervisor, and they never made him feel all right in there neither. So once I’d recovered me senses I goes right back in.”

“And…?”

“That Physics teacher only body-checked me! I swear he did. An’ he’s built, man. He goes, ‘You are never, ever, allowed to come in here. Do you follow?’”

“Didja?” we went.

“I went, ‘I follow. I hear what you say. But it ain’t right. Sir.’”

“What did he go?”

“Slammed the door in me face, didn’t he!”

“Didja tell your dad?”

“Course. But he jus’ went, ‘Wot you want to went in there for? There’s nothing for you in there my son. Nothing for me an’ all,’ he went.”

“But didja get a look in?” we went. “What were they doing in there, the teachers?”

“Sittin’, talkin’ and with Ms Grundle’s buns and cakes bulging down their necks. Mainly they was jus’ feastin’.”

“So what if you have to see one of them in break?”

“Wait outside The Door, innit,” said Razza. “Catch ‘em on the way in or out.”

“Or wait and wait,” we went, “and wait and wait and wait, more likely.”

“Innit,” went Razza. “They ain’t in any hurry to serve ya. They’ve got easy chairs in there an’ all.”

“Bastards.” In this school, chairs upholstered in anything more than plywood, gob and gum have always been exciting.

“The bastards!” we chorused again. Clearly I had to get in there. Yes, Jack Curling had to do something about the staffroom.

I was leaving for home one afternoon as Miss Price drove out of the gates in her ashtray of a car. Perhaps she could help me with this campaign, I thought, preparing myself to wave and smile with my best side. But there in the passenger seat was Mr Carew, pale-faced, with eyes red and, I noticed, staring straight at me.

“That’s him! That’s the kid!”

I didn’t need to lip-read the words which spattered against the grey interior. The car swerved and I hopped into the border as Miss Price stopped and opened her window.

“Jack?” She looked at her passenger – whose hand she was holding. “Is this really the boy?” She turned her clear, fresh complexion on me again. “I can’t believe you’re responsible for this. If only you could understand what it is you have done—”

“But, miss—”

“Why do you find it hard to believe?” Mr Carew was snarling. “He’s just another fucking teenager.”

“Calm down, sweetheart! One day this youngster will be ashamed of himself, one day Jack’ll have to take responsibility for this. And to think I once asked for your help, Jack!”

“Please, miss, listen won’t you?”

But the window scratched shut and they bumped out into the road, leaving me as crushed as the pansies I was standing on.