Читать книгу Look to Your Wife - Paula Byrne - Страница 17

CHAPTER 6

Missy

Lisa kept saying that she had had enough of teaching. Apart from Jan, she didn’t get on with the other women in the staff room. Especially not with Ms Robinson. There was history between them.

Misan Robinson was formidable. Most people at SJA were terrified of her. She was so right-on, with her dreadlocks and her Adidas trainers. The students respected Missy. There was no messing about in her classes. She taught religious studies (even though she was an atheist). Her special interest was in feminist theology. She worshipped Rosemary Radford Ruether. Her dream in life was to teach at Howard University, and, to that end, she had enrolled on an MA programme at the Open University. Missy had a dream.

Lisa could not stand Ms Robinson. She was so pretentious, so achingly cool. What a phoney. Edward, of course, loved Missy. This was one of the rare instances when he and Lisa did not agree.

‘She’s exactly what this school needs. Know your privilege, Lisa.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’

‘Do you fancy her?’

‘Don’t be absurd. She’s a first-class teacher, and a team player. You don’t make any effort to win her over.’

‘I don’t intend to. She patronizes me about our relationship. She’s a cow. And I’m not going to be nice to her because she’s black. Because that’s racist.’

‘Lisa!’

‘What?’

Edward shook his head as he unlaced his shoes. Sometimes, Lisa was utterly impossible.

‘She likes you, Edward. A bit too much, in my view. I’ve seen her, with her velvet doe-eyes giving you the look.’

‘Lisa, she’s gay. I’ve met her partner.’

‘Don’t believe that for a minute. She told me she’s gender fluid. As if! I could float a canoe in her gender stream. You mark my words; she’ll be married by Michaelmas.’

Edward burst out laughing. God, Lisa was funny, even when she was being ridiculous.

Missy was sexy, though. He wondered if she did swing both ways. It was true, she loathed Lisa, and she did give him the eye. He quite liked those feminist types. At least she had an opinion about something. Maybe he should promote her to deputy head. Let’s face it, she deserved a break. What was it they said about religious studies teachers? ‘Can’t do: teach.’ ‘Can’t teach: Teach RS.’ Besides, Chuck was starting to drive him mad. He was getting a bit too big for his boots. It would teach him a lesson to announce that the duties had to be shared and a second deputy head would be appointed.

Edward decided to sound Missy out. No matter how tough they all behaved in staff meetings, the mob usually crumpled when he called them individually to come to his office for a little chat. He kept her waiting outside his door for a good ten minutes, pretending he was making a phone call. It helped to exacerbate their anxiety. They always thought that they’d done something wrong; that they were in trouble. It gave him the psychological edge.

The meeting did not go well. Edward asked Missy what she thought about extra-curricular activities. It was his belief that SJA was not doing enough. It was that sort of thing that created a sense of belonging and camaraderie. He went on a bit too much about improving standards. Missy was looking bored. When she finally spoke, she was bolshy. She was a prominent member of the Union, and this was exactly the sort of thing that the Union feared and loathed. The teachers were under great strain, too much red tape, and time spent on the phone speaking to stroppy parents. Edward insisted that books should always be marked promptly and handed back – no excuses. The staff were at breaking point. No, Missy certainly did not support the idea of extra-curricular work.

Later, he spoke to Lisa, when they were in the black BMW heading back to towards the Birkenhead tunnel.

‘She was a nightmare. I forgot that she was a powerful voice in the Union.’

‘So what will you do? Did you mention the deputy post?’

‘Well, I dropped the hint. I told her that her CV would benefit from a leadership role, that she was highly respected by the students and staff, blah blah blah, but then she blew it by banging on about the Union. I need her to be onside. I’m not sure that I trust her.’

‘But if you don’t promote her now, she’ll be really pissed off. You’ve dangled the carrot.’

‘No, it’s fine. I’ll find a way to give her something. Keep her quiet.’

‘Well you know my feelings about her, and I never change my mind: about clothes or men.’

‘That’s a quote from Jane Austen, isn’t it?’

‘Wow, Edward, you’re really learning. But it’s true. I don’t trust her one bit. Do you know what she said to me today? I saw her chatting with the girls in the loo, and as I walked in she said, “Oh don’t come in, we’re having a good gossip about you.” She’s a spiteful cow.’

‘Ignore her. She’s trying to rattle you. She’s jealous. I think she’s OK, deep down. What she needs is a good seeing-to by a real man.’

It was Lisa’s turn to be shocked.

‘You can’t say things like that. You’d be sacked, if anyone heard you.’

Edward chuckled; that wonderful, throaty laughter (as infectious as herpes, as Chuck once described it).

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, it won’t be me; she’s not my type.’

A police car’s siren wailed as they drove past the docks, and a slight look of anxiety flickered across Edward’s face. He watched as the car passed, and then he descended into silence. Lisa put her hand over his as he switched gear. Her man, her love.

* * *

Missy waited to see what would happen about the promotion. She guessed that Edward was sounding her out for the deputy headship. She knew she had it all; she was mixed-race, gay, female, clever, and young. God, if she only had a disability she’d be running the world! Missy was all for positive discrimination. Diversity was one of her things. She loved playing that game with all her white friends: ‘How many black friends do you have?’ That usually shut them up.

Missy’s mother was Liverpool–African. Her father was white, and from a working-class Catholic family. He was a boxer, and the gentlest man she had ever met. Her mother had died of cancer when she was thirteen, so it was always just Missy and her dad, Tony. Tony’s father was a racist, so they had very little to do with his extended family. Her father was insistent that she should be proud of her roots and in touch with her African heritage. He took her to the Maritime Museum at the Albert Dock, where she read about the eighteenth-century slave trade that had made her city rich on the blood and tears of African slaves. Tarleton Street, Tony explained, was named after one of the richest slave merchants. They owned plantations in the West Indies. They got rich on sugar and slaves.

Her father told her the story of the Zong massacre, where healthy slaves, including women and children, were thrown overboard, for an insurance claim, when the ship ran out of water. He told her about Lord Mansfield and Wilberforce, and Thomas Clarkson, the man who wrote the first history of the slave trade. Tony had inspired in Missy a love of history, but she had read religion and ethics at university. Tony was so proud of Missy. Time and time again, he told her to live her own life, get a boyfriend, and a flat, but she would never leave her dad. She hadn’t told him, either, that she was attracted to women. That could wait.

To begin with, Missy had quite liked the new head. He was a great appointment and he was really turning the place around. He set a very good example, but she didn’t like it when Lisa became his girlfriend. It was a bit of a scandal when the news broke that they were an item, and that he was leaving Moira. It was the talk of the staffroom. No one thought it would last. They were so unsuited, so different. She felt he was letting the side down, again. Though she had to admit, that working-class Lisa wasn’t quite such a sell-out as posh, blonde Moira. No matter, he would come to his senses once the sex wore off. He was too ambitious to be stuck with someone as gobby as Lisa.

Missy was annoyed when Lisa started getting into feminism. Far too close for comfort for Missy. Lisa was writing some tripe about fashion and feminism. Disguising her frivolity and shallow nature and obsession with clothes and lingerie by transforming it into something political. Well, she, Missy Robinson, wasn’t having any of it. She despised clothes and fashion. Gay men designing expensive clothes for stick-thin women starving themselves to death. She was waiting for Lisa to bring up the subject in the staffroom, so she could confront her. But she would do it cleverly: attack her with words, with considered argument. Missy did not buy into third-wave feminism.

She had been secretly flattered by the head’s attention. Promotion would be a great opportunity. She was glad that she had mentioned her interest in the Union. He was impressed by that, she could tell. He was right-on, Edward. She had a feeling that he wanted to get rid of Chuck. The power had gone to his head, and he was becoming insufferable. Since Edward had married Lisa and they had had the baby and moved to the country, the Head had become rather less visible around the school. Chuck, picking up the slack, was strutting around and giving orders as if he were the top man. When Edward was around, everyone mocked Chuck for running around him like a bitch on heat. Chuck was all right with Missy, but he kept his distance, too. He knew a rival when he saw one.

But then the weeks passed and no word was forthcoming. Edward was avoiding her, and then an announcement was made that Chuck would be carrying on as sole deputy head for another year. Bastard. Leading her on like that and then discarding her like orange peel. I bet that Lisa had something to do with it. She’d always been so thick with Chuck. She needed male adoration, that one. Well, you just wait. I’ll have my day with you. You’ll make a slip and I’ll be there to see it. To bear witness.