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Chapter One
‘You inhale like you’re constipated.’ James Plummer exhaled heavily, throwing a cloud of smoke into my face. He was tapping an annoying beat with his left foot on the scratched linoleum of the toilet cubicle.
‘Shut up,’ I said. I don’t appreciate it when people take the piss out of me. I’m used to it by now. In the ten years that I’ve known him he always manages to find some way of knocking me down and pointing out something wrong in everything I do. The problem was that he always does it in this horribly amusing and witty way so I can never really stay angry at him. He might take the piss out of me, but he’s a good mate, believe me.
James finished his cigarette and was staring hard at the butt in his hand. He leapt off the cistern and dropped it into the bowl, where it hissed on the water for a moment before dying out. He reached up to the rusty chain and gave it a heavy tug. I dropped my half smoked stick in too and watched the water swirl in the nauseating basin, sucking the contents down into oblivion.
I checked my watch and noticed that the first class of the year was due to start in fifteen minutes. I pulled a black marker pen from my trouser pocket and observed the cubicle wall. I searched my brain for new snippets of wisdom to add. I struggled. It seemed that my synapses were starved of oxygen. I decided with a flash of inspiration and scrawled “Children are completely egoistic; they feel their needs intensely and strive ruthlessly to satisfy them.” Freud had it right; kids are selfish and annoying.
We unbolted the toilet door and stepped out in front of the grubby mirror which occupied the majority of the wall. James- six feet two, thirty three years old- checked himself out in the mirror. He was once quite athletic but over the past two years he had developed a light paunch. He refused to believe this however and wore shirts one size too small. I looked like a bit fallen off him. I looked at myself. Wait- what’s that? I peered closer to the mirror. A grey hair! I’m only twenty nine! I peered at James’ pruned head- not a grey hair in sight. Damn him! He looked his age, but he carried the extra weight well which meant that he had retained his boyish good looks. His light brown hair was thick and swept back and contained a copious amount of styling gel.
I tried to avoid the mirror, but how can you when the whole world is full of them? My face is distinctly average. My eyes sit slightly too close together and I sport a scar on my left cheek from my childhood which my mother says makes me look more ‘rugged’. I should wear glasses but after school I decided to wear contact lenses, even though they occasionally cause my eyeballs to itch.
‘Hey, Davey Boy,’ said James. I hate being called that, I prefer David. ‘Have you heard the rumours about our new queen?’ He was referring to the new headmistress of the school, Miss Elaine Shackleton, beginning her reign today. I had only met her once before. It had been during the summer staff meeting and I had the distinct impression that she disliked me.
‘No, I haven’t actually. Enlighten me,’ I said.
‘No time, I’ll tell you later,’ he said, peering at his scratched watch, the second hand of which didn’t move. ‘C’mon Davey Boy, assembly starts in ten.’
He took two sticks of chewing gum from his pocket and handed one to me. I noticed that I had yet to tuck my shirt into my trousers. It was much greyer than it had been when I had bought it last year and it was now fraying at the hem.
‘Freshen up,’ he said.
He popped it into his mouth and chewed with frenzied jaw. I followed. I wondered, at the end of the day, whether the suit is the only thing separating us from them.
*
Assembly hadn’t started when we burst into the hall. The rows of new kids turned their heads when we entered, our faces pink, panting. I gave a sharp cough and instinctively straightened my tie, as though this made me seem more composed. Every day I could feel myself getting more and more unfit.
The room gave an aura of grandness despite the fact that it was in desperate need of renovation. The walls used to be coloured a bright white but years of neglect had caused them to fade to an unappealing grey. The stage still played host to backdrops from the summer production of ‘The Pied Piper’. Hamlin looked a better place to be than this school.
The kids were chatting amongst themselves. I settled myself down towards the rear of the room, next to the returning year elevens. I listened closely to the conversation which was taking place next to me, trying to detect any swearwords just to give me an excuse to shout at them. I got nothing. They were talking about this ‘awesome new game’ which they had ‘ragged’ over the summer. A frail looking ginger boy boasted of how he had ‘pawned this Noob’ that had tried to ‘shank’ him, whatever the hell that meant. Kids these days speak their own language, I swear.
James was sitting a few chairs in front of me and was motionless. He had his arms crossed and had brought his right leg up so that his ankle rested on his left knee. James was the kind of guy that could appear really well behaved when he wanted to. I knew better though.
Suddenly the heavy door opened and a hush filled the room. Through the silence a heavy tapping could be heard, of heel on marble. Elaine Shackleton swept her way into the hall. Despite her sharp, two inch heels she looked shorter than most of the kids in the school. She was wearing a tight black blazer with a front pocket filled with pens of various colours. Her trousers were too short, even for her, and they hung like flares around the lower half of her shins. Her hair was jet black and was tight in a greasy bun which reflected the bright lights. Her skin had been pulled back, revealing tiny dark eyes, making her resemble a startled mole.
‘Good morning all.’ She spoke with a sternness which caused my hairs to listen attentively. ‘I hope you are all rearing to go in this fine new school year!’ Here we go, another boring introductory assembly. Ten minutes passed, in which time she had outlined her expectations of the faculty and pupils and asserted herself as much as she could. I knew right away that she would make this year hell for everyone. Once we were released it was time for the first class of the day.
*
I arrived at my classroom late, as I often did, and noticed twenty eager young faces waiting for me. I surveyed the rows of desks. There must have been more writing on those desks than in the collected works of Dickens- little scribbles spouting such inane wisdom as ‘Here sits a bored student’ and ‘Mr Balcombe is hot’ etched with a green biro into the slowly rotting wood.
‘Good morning, I trust you all had a productive summer?’ A general hum answered me. Of course they didn’t have a productive summer. Silly question- a reproductive summer more like. “They feel their needs intensely and strive ruthlessly to satisfy them.”
As I scanned the classroom I noticed myself drawn to a female student who I had never seen before. She was sitting on the second row back near the window (there were five rows of chairs in my classroom, each consisting of six chairs and desks, just so you know). Her shoulder length brunette hair hung loosely, obscuring half of her face. Her ears were pierced with dark green studs and I had never seen so much make up on one of my students before. Her mouth was carved into a crescent. Her finger was snugly hooked in between the two rows of white teeth and she was leaning forwards on her left arm. I tore my gaze from hers; her stare made me nervous.
I grabbed the register from my desk and called the names of the people in the class. I paid specific attention to where in the room the responses came from. When I arrived at the name ‘Sandra Ketchell’, she answered with a long drawn out ‘yes’. I ignored the way that she seemed to pucker her lips as she said it.
I put my pen down and picked up my syllabus- brand new and ready for another year. The necessary textbooks were on the sill next to Sandra Ketchell.
‘Sandra,’ I said kindly, ‘you see those textbooks next to you? They’re the ones. Could you hand them out? Thank you.’ I pretended to shuffle notes, like a newsreader. In an attempt to take my mind off the girl I searched my desk drawer, not that I had anything specific to look for.
When I looked up again Sandra had returned to her seat and I was relieved to see that she had busied herself inside Advanced Psychology. Maybe she was doing what I had just been doing? No, she’s an eager student that’s all. I silenced the person in my head who had just winked and uttered, ‘eager is right’ and got on with the class. His voice was just like James’ and I had no idea what it meant. I should spend less time around that man.
I had almost managed to forget about Sandra Ketchell by the time the sound of the bell filled the room at 10:45am. There was the usual panic to leave the room as quickly as possible. It was as though I would infect them with some horrid virus if they were to hang around much longer. Sandra Ketchell dawdled on her way out. She sauntered to the front of the classroom and swept past my mahogany desk. Her fingers stroked the varnished surface. I stared transfixed at her nails, which were painted orange with swirls of blue like a Maelstrom. I made a mental note to mention her odd behaviour to James to see what he had to say about it.
*
The staff room at Webworth College was as dreary as the rest of the school. The eroded concrete walls encased a selection of odd aesthetic choices. The most noticeable residents were the ill looking tropical fish which occupy a grubby tank next to the arthritic coffee machine.
The machine jittered and spat coffee into my plastic cup, all the time making a churning noise and vibrating so ferociously that it was a miracle the fish hadn’t been shaken into an early grave. I only ever had espressos due to the machine’s tendency to sour the foam. The door slammed open and James entered, looking as smug as ever. None of the teachers moved or even seemed to be disturbed by the entrance. He spotted me and came over.
‘Davey Boy,’ I concealed a cringe and he continued, ‘good morning? I tell ya, there’s some potential in my year eleven class.’ He had this annoying tendency of clicking his head to the side whenever he was going to begin talking about something dirty. I braced myself.
‘Some real potential mate. Remember Danielle Jacobs? The one whose parents copped it last year? Let’s just say she has really matured without them, if you get me.’ He leant close and winked. He gave out a laugh which I returned. ‘Any potential with the year twelves?’
I told him about Sandra Ketchell and way she stared at me. James made a horrid ‘phwoar’ sound when I mentioned her name. I described her to him.
‘She sounds like a right dog mate. Did you get her number?’ he opened his mouth with a strong laugh. He was chewing gum and I would have bet anything it was the same piece from the morning. ‘Just kidding. What did you do?’ he added, once he had calmed down.
‘What should I have done?’
‘Oh Davey Boy you are so fucking retarded sometimes mate, you’re telling me you didn’t give anything back?’ I told him that I tried to ignore her and get on with the class. He slapped me on the shoulder. ‘You fucking idiot mate. Next time give a little back, a cheeky grin, whatever. Oh well. Listen, we’re heading out after work, us and the guys, you’re in right?’ By ‘the guys’ he was referring to three thuggish men named Kenny, Big Harry and Jools. I disliked all of them.
‘Of course,’ I said automatically. Then I suddenly remembered something. ‘Shit, can’t. Got to go and see the boss. Sorry.’ I wasn’t lying; Miss Shackleton had contacted me the week before and asked for me to speak to her today after school.
‘Fuckin’ shame mate, tough break. Interview with the queen.’ He looked around the staff room, paused, and then his head jolted back. He had this habit of performing exaggerated double takes when he saw something that caught his eye. ‘Hello, what do we have here?’
I followed his eyes and saw who he was talking about. Sitting towards the corner of the room, on a small plastic chair, was a young woman whom neither of us had seen before. We didn’t know her name.
It’s fair to say that I was instantly drawn to her. She was scanning the room, not keeping eye contact with any one for longer than two seconds. She kept looking down to her feet, which were shuffling back and forth across the worn staff room carpet. She kept cupping her hands in her lap as though she were moulding a ball of plastercine. She wasn’t strikingly beautiful but possessed that quiet and natural beauty that many young people have. Her hair was drawn behind her in a ponytail and she wore a plain white dress with a pair of scuffed beige shoes.
‘New English teacher you reckon?’ said James. ‘Looks as shy as a bleedin’ mouse.’
I considered going over to her to say hello. As I placed my empty cup down she spotted the time, sprang from her seat and swiftly left the staff room.
James gave a slim laugh. ‘Moves like one too.’
When, at last, the bell rang through the grey corridors of Webworth College at the end of the day, I made my way to Miss Shackleton’s office. On my way through the emptying corridors of the building I happened to pass through the English Department. The large clock on the breezeblock wall read 3.50pm. I was already five minutes late. I slowed my pace when I heard a noise coming from a nearby classroom. Someone’s crying! I peered slowly into the glass of the door and noticed the new English teacher sitting at her desk, tears resting gently on her cheeks. A scrunched up tissue was lying on her desk. Should I go in and console her? I hung around for a few seconds, unsure of which action to take. In the end I decided that I could speak to her tomorrow. I’d have to find out her name first, of course. This fact burrowed to the surface of my skin and spat at me.
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