02 Mister Teacher (19 page)

There was silence as this group of men, bonded by football, friendship and fantasy, supped on their pint pots.

‘Ah even bought ’er a Wimpy,’ added the brokenhearted Stevie.

There was another gasp of disbelief.

‘Y’daft ha’porth,’ said Kojak.

‘Our dad says when y’go out wi’ a girl, a threepenny bun costs sixpence,’ said Shane, ruffling his brother’s tightly permed curls. ‘Reight, Nancy?’

His brother Clint grunted in agreement and carefully rearranged his ringlets, concerned that the sparkly highlights may have been disturbed.

‘Y’can’t trust women,’ growled Big Dave.

Strangely, Little Malcolm did not immediately agree with his giant cousin, but no one noticed this gap in the conversation.

‘Is anyone tekking a lass t’dance tomorrow night?’ asked Norman ‘Nutter’ Neilson, the hard-tackling full back.

Relieved to move on to another important subject, everyone started talking at once. It was the annual Valentine’s Dance in the village hall the following night and each year the football team sat by the bar, observed the local talent, but rarely summoned up the courage to ask a girl to dance. After ten pints of Tetley’s it was usual for them to start dancing with one another.

‘Ah’m tekkin’ her wi’ t’big chest from Easington fish shop,’ said Clint proudly.

‘Y’mean that bow-legged lass?’ asked Shane.

Clint frowned. ‘Ah admit she’s not what you’d call a looker,’ he said.

‘She wouldn’t stop a pig in a passage,’ said Shane, with a grin. He ruffled Clint’s hair again. ‘C’mon, Nancy, get some pints in.’

Clint rearranged his bubble perm and decided that the next time he visited Diane’s Hair Salon he would ask for a David Bowie feather-cut.

It was at that moment Beth arrived, looking flushed. She walked into the lounge bar, sat down and sighed deeply.

‘You look as though you need a drink,’ I said.

‘Probably more than one,’ she replied. Her eyes looked tired and she wound a strand of honey-blonde hair round her fingers in a distracted way.

A few minutes later, a glass of Muscadet, with its sharp dry taste, seemed to wake her up and she sat back in her chair and closed her eyes in contentment.

‘Mmmm, I needed that,’ she said. ‘I’ve come straight from a girls’ netball tournament.’ She stared at her glass and swirled the amber liquid round and round.

‘It’s good to see you, Beth,’ I said, trying to gauge her mood. As usual I was cautious, when all I really wanted to do was pick her up in my arms and whisk her off to Bilbo Cottage.

‘So what’s your news?’ I asked. ‘You sounded quite excited when you rang.’

Beth continued to stare at her glass of Muscadet. ‘I’m applying for another headship, Jack,’ said Beth simply.

I could barely wait to ask the next question. ‘Where is it, Beth?’

She sipped her wine, set down the glass and looked me squarely in the eyes for the first time. ‘It’s in North Yorkshire.’

It felt like my prayers had been answered.

‘In fact it’s not far from where I teach now in Thirkby,’ explained Beth. ‘It’s a tiny village school called Hartingdale Primary School.’

‘That’s wonderful news, Beth,’ I said enthusiastically. ‘If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.’

‘Thanks,’ said Beth, relaxing visibly and settling back in her seat. ‘Maybe you could check through my letter of application. It has to be at County Hall by the end of the month.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Anything to help.’

Beth smiled and I wondered if she guessed how much I wanted her to get this headship.

‘I hoped you would,’ said Beth, rummaging in her handbag. ‘So I’ve brought a gift.’ She pulled out a large, heavily embossed card and gave it to me. ‘It’s a ticket for the Valentine’s Dance at the Assembly Rooms in York for tomorrow evening.’

I stared at the elegant cursive script in disbelief. ‘Thanks, Beth,’ I said. ‘What a lovely surprise. So what time should I pick you up?’

Beth grinned and shook her head. ‘No, we’ll meet you there at seven-thirty,’ she replied mysteriously.

‘
We
?’

‘It was my sister’s idea, Jack. Laura is staying with me
for
a few days while she checks out her next job. It’s a promotion for her in the fashion industry. She’s being transferred next month from Regent Street in London to a management post at Liberty’s in York, and she’s looking for somewhere to live.’

‘So who else is going?’ I asked.

‘That’s it, Jack: just the three of us. Laura’s friend can’t make it, so she wondered if you would like to come. She says she doesn’t want anything for the ticket.’

‘Oh, er, well, thanks,’ I said, a little nonplussed. ‘I’d love to come.’

‘It’s a formal affair,’ said Beth. ‘You’ll need a dinner jacket.’

The meal that followed was dominated by Beth’s application for the local headship, but my mind kept drifting back to why I was going with two women to a Valentine’s dance the following evening.

The next morning, Vera was determined to find a dinner jacket and trousers for me to wear. She was also curious to know why Beth’s sister was coming as well.

‘You will have to look smart for the Assembly Rooms, Mr Sheffield,’ she said. ‘The dances there are so elegant.’

Anne walked into the office with Sally and quickly solved the problem. ‘John’s got an old dinner jacket and trousers, Jack. Can’t remember when he last wore it. You’re about the same size, I should think.’

Vera, Anne and Sally scrutinized me from head to foot and nodded in agreement.

‘I’ll nip home at lunchtime and get it for you,’ said Anne.

Jo Maddison popped her head round the door. ‘Just heard about the dance, Jack,’ she said, with a grin. ‘I’m going with Dan, so we’ll see you there.’

Jo sounded even more excited than usual. Dan had obviously become a big part of her life and she seemed to walk around school with a permanent smile on her face.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Sally mournfully. ‘Not only am I not going anywhere tonight, I didn’t even get a Valentine’s card. My dear hubbie said he didn’t think you did things like that when you were married. That’s men for you!’

‘Did you send him one?’ asked Jo.

‘Huh, you’re joking!’ retorted Sally.

With that she walked back to her classroom to write the notes of ‘London Bridge is Falling Down’ on her chalkboard for her beginners’ recorder group.

After school, I put John’s rather dated dinner jacket, trousers and black bow-tie in the back of my car and drove down the High Street. As the dance ticket made no mention of dinner, I called into Nora’s Coffee Shop for a mug of coffee and a jam scone. Blondie’s number one hit, ‘Heart of Glass’, was on full volume on the jukebox as I walked in and, at the counter, Dorothy Humpleby was deep in conversation with Little Malcolm.

‘’Ello, Mr Sheffield,’ said Dorothy, looking up. ‘Ah were jus’ tellin’ Malcolm ’ere that ah’m an Aquarian. We’re the kindest, most ’elpful and friendly people of the Zodiac.’

‘That’s good news, Dorothy. Please can I have a coffee and a scone?’

‘It’s the perfect sign to be a model,’ said Dorothy, smoothing the creases in her incredibly short miniskirt.

‘I’m sure that’s right,’ I said, looking at the state of the scones and wondering if I had made a wise choice.

‘At t’moment of my birth, Mr Sheffield, the sun, moon and planets were in a special position in the sky,’ said Dorothy thoughtfully.

‘That’s very interesting, Dorothy,’ I said. ‘It’s just a coffee and a scone, please.’

‘Aquarius is an air sign, Mr Sheffield. So ah’m likely t’get on wi’ other air signs like Gemini and Libra, an’ Malcolm ’ere is a Gemini.’

I looked down at Little Malcolm, who was blushing furiously and casting nervous glances in the direction of his giant cousin. Fortunately, Big Dave was deep in conversation with Old Tommy Piercy about the price of fish.

Dorothy was now in full flow. ‘Not many people know that the Aquarian body area is the ankles, so dancing is important t’me,’ recited Dorothy. ‘An’, jus’ by chance, it’s t’Valentine’s Dance in t’village ’all tonight, Mr Sheffield.’

‘Actually, I’m going to another dance in York tonight, Dorothy,’ I said. ‘So it’s just a coffee and a scone, please.’

‘What’s your star sign, Mr Sheffield?’

‘I’m a Leo,’ I replied.

‘Best girl for you, Mr Sheffield, will be a Sagittarian and t’next best sign is Aries.’

For a moment I was encouraged. Beth’s star sign was Aries.

‘Thanks, Dorothy. So how about the coffee and scone?’

‘Do you know, Mr Sheffield,’ said Dorothy, fingering her signs of the zodiac charm bracelet. ‘My Aquarius sun-sign will work wi’ someone wi’ Leo rising because they’re t’opposite sign of t’zodiac. But ah’m better off wi’ a Gemini.’

I was beginning to lose the will to live.

Dorothy flickered her false eyelashes in the direction of Little Malcolm, who realized it was now or never.

‘Mebbe ah could take you,’ gulped Little Malcolm. His hand was shaking so much that hot tea spilled down his council donkey jacket.

‘Oooh, that’s a lovely s’prise, Malcolm,’ gushed Dorothy.

‘Ah’ll call ’bout ’alf seven,’ mumbled Little Malcolm, staring up at the vivacious coffee-bar attendant, who was seven inches taller than he was – and eleven inches taller in her high heels.

The queue behind me lengthened as Dorothy stared into the eyes of her perfectly matched, astrological bin man. Then she glanced back at me. ‘Now, what did y’want, Mr Sheffield?’ said Dorothy. ‘We’ve got some scones that were fresh yesterday.’

I joined Timothy Pratt at a vacant table and attempted to cut my scone in half with a plastic knife. Tidy Tim had brought one of his cricket record books with him. The sixth and final cricket Test Match between Australia and England at the Sydney Cricket Ground had just finished with another win for England. He nodded to
me
, sipped his hot chocolate and then began to write in his tiny, neat script that both captains, Yallop and Brearley, had each scored their one-thousandth run in Test matches.

Tidy Tim punched some numbers on his brand-new Casio calculator. I had not seen one before. ‘Wonderful invention, this, Mr Sheffield,’ said Timothy, staring at his new toy. ‘I hardly use my slide-rule now.’ Then he looked up as if he had just discovered penicillin. ‘Do you know, Mr Sheffield,’ said Timothy, ‘Yallop’s innings of one hundred and twenty-one runs represents sixty-one-point-one per cent of the Australian total and, according to my records, only four other batsmen in the history of Test cricket have scored a higher proportion.’

I bit into my scone and thought to myself that it takes all sorts to make a world.

Tidy Tim firmly believed that, outside the ordered perimeter of Pratt’s Hardware Emporium, the world was in chaos and records such as these brought a semblance of order. So he added yet another neat column of statistics to his cricket almanac. Tidy Tim liked statistics.

At seven-thirty, I stood outside the Assembly Rooms in Blake Street wearing my 1950s-style dinner jacket and looking as though I was about to audition for Glenn Miller’s band. The huge entrance porch around me was magnificent and I was captivated by the sheer drama of the soaring colonnade supporting the massive portico of grey stone. Vera had waxed lyrical that it was an
architectural
innovation of the eighteenth century and one of the earliest neoclassical buildings in Europe. I felt as if I was walking into a Roman forum.

I handed my ticket to the doorman and walked into the Great Assembly Room, where I had agreed to meet Beth and Laura. On either side of me, the tall Corinthian columns bordered a huge, polished dance floor that reflected the lights of the sparkling chandeliers. It was a majestic setting that demanded a regal partner and mine had just arrived.

I noticed that, when Beth and Laura walked in, every head turned. They both looked stunning. Beth wore a long black dress straight out of Audrey Hepburn’s wardrobe in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
. I could see the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders, and her hair was tied back in a bun with stray curls framing her face. Laura wore a full-length, crimson halter-neck dress and her long hair hung loosely round her shoulders.

‘You look beautiful,’ I said to Beth and kissed her on the cheek. ‘And so do you, Laura.’

Laura stepped closer and her green eyes looked me up and down. ‘You scrub up quite well for a village school headmaster,’ she joked.

I leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Thank you for the ticket and for the invitation. I’m sorry your friend couldn’t come.’

‘Are you?’ teased Laura.

‘Let’s find a table,’ said Beth quickly.

Around the perimeter of the dance floor, hidden behind the columns, were a series of alternate rectangular
and
semicircular niches decorated with mouldings and hand-carved scallop shells. We found an alcove that was empty and sat down together round an ornate circular table. It was a grand setting with the royal arms of Queen Victoria above our heads.

Laura saw me taking in the surroundings. ‘Better than the village hall, Jack?’ said Laura.

‘Definitely,’ I said.

The cocktail of perfumes was intoxicating.

‘Can I get you ladies a drink?’

‘Martini and lemonade, please,’ said Beth.

‘Just a Britvic Orange for me, please, Jack,’ said Laura.

I set off for the bar, pondering Laura’s choice of drink. It wasn’t what I thought a London businesswoman would drink. At the bar, a familiar figure appeared to be trying to wrench off his collar. It was Dan Hunter.

‘Hello, Jack. This collar’s too bloody tight,’ he said. ‘It was the biggest one I could borrow.’

‘Hello, Dan,’ I said, and shook his hand. ‘What would you like to drink?’

‘No, not tonight, Jack,’ said Dan. ‘I’m buying. Jo and I are celebrating.’

‘Celebrating?’

‘We got engaged this morning. I’m a lucky man.’

‘This calls for champagne,’ I said, pulling out my wallet. ‘And I insist.’

Dan relented and, as I placed my order, we both looked across to our table, where Jo – who had joined Beth and
Laura
– dressed in a full-length, figure-hugging green gown, looked very different from the young schoolteacher in her familiar tracksuit.