In a Class of His Own (4 page)

“This
is Joyce Carter,” Mum said. “She’s just moved in next door.”

The
bungalow next to Mum and Dad’s had been empty
for some time, with a sold sign hanging at a drunken angle. I knew it
had worried Mum to have it empty but that she’d also been fretting
about who was going to move in.

The
stranger stood up,
“I only popped in to introduce myself and ask what day the rubbish
was collected. Your Mum and Dad asked me in for a drink and I’ve
been here ever since!”

Joyce Carter had kind
eyes and a set of chins which wobbled as she spoke. She was wearing a
kaftan of some description, in a lurid crimson. She made quite a
contrast to my neatly dressed and frail looking mother.

“Joyce
has been telling us that her granddaughter goes to your school,
Nicola.” Dad was topping up his guest’s glass as he spoke. “What
was her name again, Joyce?”

“Katy,”
she answered and sat back on the sofa. “She’s in Mr. Sexton’s
class. Soon be going to big school. Doesn’t time fly? I can
remember her when she was just a bump. She loves that Mr. Sexton,
he’s ever such a card she says, telling jokes and what not.”

I
shook my head at Dad’s offer of a drink and perched on the arm of a
chair. “He’s certainly very popular with his pupils,”
I agreed. I knew Katy. A tall girl, who struggled with her maths.

“We
don’t have any grandchildren,” sighed my mother. I raised my
eyebrows at Dad who grinned back in sympathy. This was a familiar
refrain. “Nicola is too busy with her career and our son Andrew is
in Spain. I don’t know when we’ll see him again.”

“You
should go there for a holiday, Betty.” Joyce patted my mother’s
arm. “It’s hardly a difficult journey nowadays. Go for the
winter; do you the world of good.”

As Joyce said this, an
echo of exactly the sort of thing I’d been suggesting, I realised
that Mum had hardly been out of the house, even to the local shops,
for weeks now. The shadow of a thought passed through my mind – was
she ill? I frowned, thinking back over the last few weeks, Mum’s
behaviour had been getting quite strange. Dad and I were forever
switching off lights and turning off taps that she had left on and,
more worryingly, she’d once left the iron switched on and face
down. It had burned a hole in my new trousers. She’d also got very
agitated when I’d moved things around in the room I used as a study
and insisted I moved them all back to their original places. She’d
been shouting at Dad too, for no reason that I could see.

Joyce glanced at the
clock on the wall. “Oh goodness me, look at the time! I must be
going,” She rose with an effort from the low sofa. “It’s been
really lovely to meet you all.”

“I’ll
see you home,” said Dad, picking up his torch. “That’s the
trouble with living in the country. No street lights!”

Joyce beamed with
pleasure. “Well, that’s very kind of you and no mistake. I do
find it dark here at night. You know, something tells me we’re
going to get on famously!”

Joyce’s chatter faded
as she and my father went into the hall. I turned to Mum and said
brightly, “You’ll have to make Joyce one of your famous lemon
meringues and take it round.”

“I
can’t remember the recipe.” Mum blustered and drummed her fingers
nervously on the arm of the sofa.

I was about to argue
back, after all it was a recipe she’d made countless times before,
when I noticed the look of panic my suggestion had created. I had a
lot on my mind as I cleared up their glasses and made my way to bed.

The following Monday
found me trying to inspire Year Six with narrative poetry. It wasn’t
working. I thought hard and rapidly revised the morning’s plan in
my head.

“Look,
it’s a bit like a soap opera. Here’s this woman imprisoned in a
tower.” I began again, trying a different approach.

“Why’s
she in there then, Miss?” interrupted Emily.

“We
don’t know exactly why The Lady of Shalott is imprisoned.” I
continued.

“Then
this geezer comes along don’t he?”

“That’s
right Spencer, Lancelot comes riding past the tower and …”

“And
he’s got all his bling on like, don’t he Miss?”

“Yes
Spencer,” I replied, fervently hoping Tennyson wasn’t turning in
his grave. “I suppose you could put it like that.”

“And
Lady Whatsit looks out of the tower and thinks ‘Blimey, I don’t
half fancy him’!” exclaimed Emily in triumph.

As the
entire class fell into helpless giggles, there was a knock on the
door. It opened and Jack stood there. “Glad to see you all enjoying
your English lesson Class Six H,” he said, effectively quashing the
hysteria. “Miss Hathaway, could I have a quick word with you
outside?”

I
nodded at him, “Certainly Mr. Thorpe.” Then I turned to the
children. “Year Six,
please read the rest of the poem and find out what happened when Lady
Whatsit I mean when the Lady of Shalott looked out of the window at
Sir Lancelot.”

I ignored the low but
audible wolf-whistle which followed me out and shut the door firmly
behind me. “Problem?” I looked up at him, recognising tension in
his features.

“You
could put it like that.” He gave a tight smile. “You know Tony
didn’t put in an appearance this morning?”

I
nodded. I glanced
into his classroom where Mona was presiding over some group reading.
I was slowly adjusting my opinion of her. Grim faced and monosyllabic
she might be but she had stepped into the breach this morning while
Jack had rung around trying to find supply cover. She was the
foundation on which the school existed. Every school had a character
like this and Mona was our rock.

“His
wife has just rung to say he’s gone on indefinite sick leave.
Stress apparently.” Jack’s face indicated precisely what he
thought and it wasn’t in Tony’s favour.

“Oh,
poor Tony!” I said, genuinely. Then another thought occurred. “Oh
Lord, we’ve got another two weeks until his replacement starts. Any
chance of Rupert Lawrence starting sooner?”

Jack shook his head.
“None whatsoever, he can’t be released from his school.”

“What
are we going to do then?”

“Well,
it looks like you’ve got yourself a colleague. I’ll have to fill
in until half term.” He grimaced sourly.

I had to laugh at his
expression. I wondered how long it had been since he’d been in a
classroom – teaching.

Uncannily he read my
thoughts. “And the answer to that question is too long!”

“Well
Mr. Thorpe, I suggest you begin with a little Tennyson,” I said
tartly. “It seems to be going down well with my class.” We both
looked at my pupils, all bent over their texts with apparent
enthusiasm. I gave him a cheeky grin as I turned on my heel and
returned to the classroom. “Well, Year Six what have you found
out?”

“Miss
it’s terrible – I think she dies!”

“It’s
so unfair – we don’t even know why she was cursed in the first
place!”

“Blinkin’
men, they’re always causing trouble!”

I
smiled in relief. I had them. Good old Tennyson had once
again worked his magic. I gave a cheery wave to Jack, still standing
for some reason, outside my class.

A few days later, at the
end of the school day, I walked into the staff room to find a gaggle
of teachers crowded at the window looking out into the playground. As
I got nearer I could hear their fevered whispers.

“Say
what you like about the man, he’s got an arse to die for!” said
Emma, the normally very restrained Year Three

teacher.

“I
like his eyes, I’ve never seen anyone who can pin you down with one
glance like that!” said Irene, the normally very reticent Year Two
teacher.

“He
can pin me down anytime!” said Janice, the rarely silent Year Five
teacher and mother of four grown up daughters. “Either I’m having
a hot flush or he’s having an effect on my hormones that no-one
else has had in a long time!” She fanned herself frantically. The
women laughed as only women can when discussing an attractive man.

As I
joined them at the window I could see the object of their lust.
In Tony’s absence Jack Thorpe was taking football club. Dressed in
a snug tracksuit he was bending over to retrieve a ball. And boy, did
he look good! The navy jogging trousers made his lean legs look even
longer – and they certainly emphasised one or two features usually
hidden under the conservative grey suit which was his daily wear.

Janice
became aware of my presence. Expecting the normal brush off, I was
surprised when she turned to me
and winked. “He’s certainly making my day a lot brighter. What do
you think Nicola?”

“Well
he’s having a definite effect on some of the parents.” I replied,
with a laugh. “Why are all those mums here when football club
doesn’t finish for another thirty minutes?”

As one we strained to
look at the benches around the perimeter of the playground. There,
sat along them, was a group of mothers waiting to pick up their
children.

“Ooh!
Mrs. Butcher really shouldn’t wear skirts that short.” I said,
very unprofessionally and without thinking. There was the slightest
pause and then the raucous laughter caused by my remark made Jack to
look over to where we were still shamefully ogling him. We fled from
the window and flopped down in the chairs, giggling.

“Cup
of tea, Nicola?” asked Janice. “I’m just making a pot.”

“It’s
Nicky – and yes I’d love a cup,” I answered with a grin. “Ooh
and I’ve got some choccie biscuits in my locker. Does anyone want
one?”

Everyone naturally said
no as they were on diets and then, as women do, demolished my entire
packet of digestives. I didn’t care. Was it too much to hope that I
was beginning to be accepted?

“Janice,”
I began cautiously. “What do you think about an in-school ironing
service?”

That
evening, Ann and I planned
on trying out the new yoga class starting in the school hall. For
some time Jack and I had been looking around to find ways of raising
revenue for the school – and of providing a service for the
community. When one of the parents had offered to run a beginners’
class, all proceeds to go to the school fund, we’d agreed
immediately. I hadn’t a clue as to what yoga was all about but
thought I’d show some support and welcomed Ann’s invitation to
join her. Perhaps a tentative friendship was being forged? I didn’t
have time to go home and change so had brought with me some old
clothes I thought might be suitable for the class. When I changed
into my leggings I realised Dad’s huge packed lunches had taken
their toll. The leggings were tight and very revealing and worse
still, had a hole in the thigh. I tugged my baggy T-shirt
self-consciously over my bottom and went to meet the others in the
hall. As I hurried past Jack’s office he rushed out and we ran slap
bang into one another.

His hands came up to my
arms to steady me. “Nicky,” he said a little breathlessly. “You
going to yoga too?”

I
stared at him in amazement. “
You
are going to a yoga class?” It came out as a squeak.

He shrugged. “Not sure
if it’s my thing but seeing as Mrs. Homer has organised it I
thought I’d put in an appearance.” He gave one of his all too
rare grins and added, “And I’m dressed for it,” he gestured to
his clothing.

He was
still wearing his navy tracksuit. The colour made his strange
greeny-blue eyes look even more vivid.
I blushed. I could feel the heat spread over my face. Why hadn’t I
brought something more attractive to wear? My hair needed washing and
I’d tied it up hurriedly. And I knew the stains of a busy day were
on me. I backed away sharply, aware that I might not smell all that
fragrant. “I didn’t know you were going.” I pushed at my fringe
and said without thinking: “I look such a mess.” God I was
babbling. The man was making me babble.

He looked me up and down
leisurely and raised his eyebrows. “You look fine to me. In fact
...”

Whatever
he was about to say was interrupted by the incongruous sight of Mona
coming out of her office, dressed in an immaculate pale grey
tracksuit. “Mr. Thorpe, Miss Hathaway,” she nodded to us coolly.
“Hadn’t we better go if we’re not to be late? We don’t want
to keep everyone waiting, do we?”

Like two naughty children
Jack and I followed her along the corridor.

“I
think I’ve just about seen everything now,” he whispered to me.
“The sight of Mona Thompson doing a yoga class will be the crowning
moment of my glorious career.”

I stifled a giggle and
made sure Jack went in front. There was no way he was getting a look
at my bottom in these leggings. At least yoga was all about lying
around, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

The
hall was full; Mrs. Homer had done the school proud. To my surprise I
spied Joyce Carter at the back who waved to
me cheerfully, her face nearly as pink as the tracksuit she was
wearing.

Ann
had obviously found time to go home and had changed into a pale blue
leotard and matching footless tights. She looked long and toned as
she bounced over to where Jack and I were standing
and exclaimed in a jolly hockey sticks sort of a voice, “I’m so
looking forward to this. I love yoga, don’t you?” She then
proceeded to get into an eye-popping stretch right in front of us.

I felt rather than saw
Jack’s mouth twitch and his shoulders begin to shake. I took a deep
breath to prevent myself from laughing out loud and began to unroll
my mat on the floor. To my alarm he took the space to my left. We
were, due to the large numbers, a bit too close together for my
liking. Ann, seeing where he’d decided to settle himself, unrolled
her mat and matching rug on his other side. We sat self-consciously
waiting for the class to start.

I soon
had cause to reflect on my misconceptions about yoga. Of all the
embarrassing things I had ever been asked to do this was the worst.
Far from lying around half-asleep,
I was expected to stretch muscles I hadn’t known existed and to get
into positions no human being in a pair of too-tight black leggings
ever should. At one point I had my bottom stuck up in the air as I
tried desperately to reach the fingers of my left hand over to the
toes of my right foot.