by Mandy Baggot
‘Rashid, I’m sure Mr Stone doesn’t want to tell you what his Christmas plans are.’
‘Are you singing for the Queen again?’ a girl with a crop of ginger hair asked.
‘Do you eat meat?’ Nathan inquired.
‘Do you believe in Jesus?’
Ray shifted in his seat. It was very small, making him a little hunched. He had been interviewed by almost every journalist the UK had to offer, and some from the States, but none of them had made him feel this uncomfortable. Even having his private life on breakfast television was dropping in the significance ranks a bit.
‘Year Six…’ Emily said.
‘No,’ Ray called out. ‘It’s OK.’ He cleared his throat and undid a button on his coat as he finally began to thaw. ‘I don’t know what I’ll be doing this Christmas.’ He looked at Nathan. ‘I do eat meat. Love the stuff. Love turkey.’ He looked at the boy who had asked if he believed in Jesus. ‘I’ve never been 100 per cent sure about Jesus.’
There was a collective intake of breath he hadn’t expected.
Emily cut through it. ‘Year Six, please, remember one of our fundamental rules of the class. We don’t judge anyone. We are all entitled to speak freely and we are all accepting of everyone’s opinion.’
‘Fun and mental. Fun and mental.’ He remembered from the playground this boy being called Felix. He seemed to like repetition.
‘Sorry, Mr Stone.’ Emily was addressing him. ‘Despite accepting all faiths at Stretton Park, we are a Church of England school, which means it’s kind of at the backbone of everything because of the financial support from the diocese.’
‘I believe in Father Christmas though,’ Ray said quickly. ‘Obviously.’
Rashid snorted. A few other children laughed.
‘What?’ Ray asked, all innocent, spreading his arms out. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t believe in Santa.’
‘I believe in Santa,’ Cherry said, chewing on her pencil. ‘He has to be real because when I asked my mum and dad for a Barbie Dreamhouse for Christmas they said there was no way they could afford that. And then on Christmas morning there it was, next to the Christmas tree.’ She grinned. ‘It was that big it couldn’t even fit under the actual Christmas tree.’
‘What are you going to ask Santa for then?’ Rashid asked. ‘A new career?’
‘Don’t be so rude, Rashid,’ Frema ordered. She smiled at Ray. ‘I think you’re a very good singer.’
‘Thank you,’ Ray replied.
‘Will you sing for us now?’ Cherry asked. ‘Please.’
He didn’t want to sing. He wasn’t even allowed to sing.
‘How about a Christmas song? I love “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”.’
‘Me too!’
‘I like “Jingle Bells”.’
‘Year Six, that’s enough,’ Emily interrupted.
He should go. He had almost finished his coffee. He was warmer. Someone was going to come for the hedgehog. He should call Deborah, organise somewhere to stay from tonight, find out what she had managed to achieve with regard to picking his career out of the gutter…
He stood up, ready to make his exit.
‘Mrs Clark is coming! Mrs Clark is coming!’ It was Felix again, the boy’s voice like a wailing siren.
Within a split-second Emily had made it down the room towards him and was grabbing hold of his arm, pulling him into the corner of the room.
‘Get in the cupboard,’ she whispered, eyes wide with what appeared to be fright. ‘God, I know how that sounds but please, please, just get in the cupboard.’
Ray opened his mouth to appeal this idea as a door was opened and all manner of stationery was revealed along with a couple of brooms, a dustpan and brush and what looked like a very old vacuum cleaner. ‘I…’
‘Please,’ Emily begged again. ‘I did give you coffee.’
What could he say? She looked positively desperate. He stepped into the space and before he could offer up anything else Emily was closing the door and plunging him into darkness.
Thirteen
‘Listen everyone,’ Emily said as quickly as she could get the words out, rushing back to her position at the front of the classroom. ‘No one mention Mr Stone… or the hedgehog.’
‘Why?’ Rashid asked, a glint in his eye. ‘Will you get in trouble?’
‘I just think that… Mrs Clark has enough to worry about with running the school. She doesn’t need to worry about a hedgehog or—’
‘An actual pop star,’ Cherry remarked.
‘Jayden,’ Emily addressed. ‘Why don’t you tell the class what you’re going to be doing for Christmas this year.’
The classroom door banged open without a knock of courtesy and in walked Susan, a man in a dark blue uniform following. Of course Susan was already going to know about the hedgehog. Emily had phoned the RSPCA from her mobile. The first port of call for their officer would be reception and reception would ask the Head if she knew about an injured animal…
‘I’ve been to all the other classes and they all looked at me like I was a clown at a funeral so please, Miss Parker, tell me you know something about a hurt hedgehog.’
‘I do,’ Emily said, forcing a smile she hoped spoke of utter professionalism and control. ‘It’s just back here.’ She walked towards the rear of the room, shimmying between the children’s tables.
‘It’s a she, Mrs Clark,’ Frema informed her as the headteacher and the man from the RSPCA came into the middle of the room.
‘How do you know?’ Makenzie asked. ‘It might not have decided its gender yet. We should say “they” if we’re unsure.’ Makenzie had been a surrogate baby and had two dads who were both amazing supporters of the school fundraising initiatives.
‘It doesn’t have a willy though, does it?’ Nathan announced loudly. The class descended into laughter and red faces.
‘Thank you, Nathan,’ Susan replied. ‘The man from the RSPCA is here now and I’m sure he’s going to look after it no matter what body parts it owns.’
‘A hedgehog’s willy comes out of its belly button. I drew it on my picture,’ Charlie announced, holding aloft his piece of paper.
Emily swallowed as her cheeks flamed. What was she doing with a man in the stationery cupboard? She couldn’t ask her children to lie about it. She’d never asked them to lie about anything… apart from the one time she hadn’t read them something the diocese had sent through on modern day Christianity before the special assembly. She just had to hope that Susan left with the RSPCA man and the hedgehog quickly and she could then get Ray off the school grounds as fast and stealth-like as possible.
‘Her name’s Olivia Colman,’ Alice announced, getting up from her seat and rushing to the cardboard box. Emily eyes caught on the coffee mug Ray had left on the table. She sauntered forward rapidly, hoping to remove it before Susan could make comment.
‘When she’s fixed can we keep her?’ Matthew inquired, joining the group of children who were all rushing to crowd around the animal’s temporary home.
‘We talked about that, Matthew, didn’t we? How hedgehogs are much better in their own, natural environment. They aren’t pets,’ Emily said.
‘We don’t have a class pet anymore though, do we?’ Cherry said.
‘I loved the stick insects,’ Alice replied.
‘Say goodbye to Olivia Colman, Year Six. She’s going to be in good hands now with the RSPCA,’ Emily offered loudly.
‘Will you make a splint for her leg?’ Lucas wanted to know as the RSPCA officer picked up the box and observed the animal. ‘That’s what Ray was going to do.’
Emily felt sick. Like Jonah’s Thai from last night was going to make a rapid reappearance all over Olivia Colman’s box. Lucas did have slight hearing difficulties, but since he’d had grommets put in, he’d been much better. He couldn’t have not heard her say ‘don’t mention the singer in the cupboard’.
‘Ray is Lucas’s uncle,’ Jayden said quickly. ‘He messaged him when we found Olivia
Colman by the bushes in the playground. He asked what to do to make her leg better and Ray said a splint. Right, Lucas?’ Jayden jabbed an elbow into the other boy’s side.
Lucas looked completely bewildered while Jayden had proved he was extremely accomplished in telling lies. Emily wanted the day to be over and it wasn’t even half past ten. She picked up the coffee cup and set it down on the windowsill out of sight.
‘Does your Uncle Ray like singing, Lucas?’ Rashid asked.
‘She wasn’t in the bushes,’ Charlie stated. ‘She was in the shed.’
‘Children,’ Susan interrupted. ‘I think this hedgehog has had more than enough attention for one morning. Let’s let the man take him now and…’
‘It’s a she!’ Frema insisted.
‘We’re calling they they,’ Makenzie reminded everyone.
‘Bye, Olivia Colman. I hope your leg gets actual better soon!’ Cherry called as the RSPCA officer headed towards the door with the hedgehog.
‘Miss Parker,’ Susan said, looking Emily up and down. ‘In all my years of teaching, I’ve never been called to meet with the RSPCA about a hedgehog.’
‘Oh, really?’ Emily asked. ‘I mean, I’m surprised. The children are very interested in all inner-city wildlife and they were worried about the little thing.’
‘It’s a hedgehog, Miss Parker, not a natterjack toad.’
‘And did you know there used to be thirty million hedgehogs in Britain in the 1950s and now there are less than one million?’ Emily informed.
‘We’re adding our sighting of Olivia Colman to a map on the internet,’ Nathan explained.
‘Hedgehogs won’t win favour with the diocese at Christmas, Emily,’ Susan said through gritted teeth. ‘Your focus should be with the show, as discussed last night.’
‘About that,’ Emily started. Now was as good a time as any to remind Susan about her lack of musical ability and perhaps suggest the task was given to someone else. Dennis seemed more than keen… and he could whistle in tune.
‘The Christmas show could literally make or break this school, Emily. Do I need to make myself any clearer than that?’
It wasn’t clear. What exactly did she mean? That the school itself was in jeopardy? She understood there needed to be budget restraint but was the Head hinting at possible closure?
‘It’s a headache I could do without,’ Susan continued in whispered tones. ‘There’s only so much Nurofen one can take…’ She sighed and adjusted another too-tight blouson. ‘With Beaujolais Nouveau.’
‘OK,’ Emily said on an out breath. ‘What else could she say? If she wanted the chance to be thought of for Deputy Head after Mr Simms’s retirement, then she needed to keep Susan sweet. Mr Simms was currently on long-term sick leave… again. It was getting towards a case of ‘if’ he came back rather than ‘when’.
‘Right, thank you, I’ll let you get back to drinking that coffee you’re hiding on the windowsill, shall I?’
Before Emily could say anything in her defence – not that she had a defence – there was an almighty crash from the stationery cupboard that had some of the children screaming in alarm.
‘What on earth is that?’ Susan exclaimed, beginning a march towards the doors.
Emily suddenly had all the symptoms of a stroke come on at once. Tingling in her hands, numbness in her face, panic in her chest. She couldn’t let Susan open the cupboard doors and find Ray in there.
‘It’s…’ Emily started, darting ahead of Susan and backing up to the doors, defending them like she was an ancient warrior protecting castle fortifications.
‘A rabbit!’ It was Jayden coming to her rescue, but she really wished he hadn’t. She wasn’t sure suggesting there was a second animal in the classroom was going to stop Susan from opening the doors. Even the RSPCA man was showing significant interest.
‘Did you say a rabbit?’ Susan asked, staring at Jayden.
‘No,’ Emily said. ‘He actually said “bracket”, didn’t you, Jayden?’ She nodded extensively, trying to force his opinion like a suggestion technique from a mind-reader.
‘Yeah,’ Jayden answered. ‘I said “bracket”.’
‘I noticed it was loose yesterday and I meant to do something about it, but we got very invested in our projects and… I forgot about it. But, I’ll get someone to sort it out,’ Emily said, back flush against the doors, fingers winding around the metal handles.
Susan rolled her eyes and thankfully took a step back. ‘Please, if it’s going to cost a fortune, I’ll get Malcolm to come in and look at it. Let me know before the end of the day though or he’ll have arranged a golf session.’ She took a breath and looked at the man from the RSPCA. ‘Right, let’s leave before a protected species of pigeon comes down the chimney.’
Emily held her breath, body still against the door, watching and waiting for her boss to leave the room. Finally, Susan departed and she breathed the biggest sigh of relief. Turning around she opened up the cupboard doors to find Ray with two of the once-fixed-to-the-wall shelves in his hands, the floor covered with paint pots, brushes, art sponges and all the easels.
‘There’s good news and there’s bad news,’ he said looking at her with those rather attractive brown eyes. ‘The bad news is the bracket needs fixing. The good news is you weren’t lying about it to your boss.’
Fourteen
The Breakfast Club, Camden Passage
Ray basically inhaled the giant full English breakfast he was tucking into. There might be festive Shakin’ Stevens playing – a song he particularly loathed – and there were even tiny elves on strings ‘climbing’ up the yellow-painted window panes, but nothing was going to distract him from the plate of food in front of him. He was still cold from his hours overnight in Stretton Park Primary’s shed and he was starving. He was glad the caff hadn’t decided to ‘festive-up’ the all-day bacon, eggs and sausage.
‘So, let me get this straight,’ Deborah stated, sipping on her flat white. ‘Since I left you yesterday you’ve been made homeless, you’ve been photographed looking like you’re having a heated argument with a woman in a purple sequinned dress and a Deliveroo rider – that was in The Sun this morning by the way – and…’ Deborah leaned over the table. ‘What was the other thing you said?’
‘I rescued a hedgehog,’ Ray informed between chewing on a sausage. The breakfast really was top notch here and he’d always found a fry-up the best hangover cure there was. Never mind the cholesterol effects… It hadn’t, after all, been a full-fat diet that had killed his mother. She’d never been one for breakfast at all and that probably should have spoken volumes at the time.
‘Well,’ Deborah stated. ‘No one got a photo of that. Which is a shame, because that’s the sort of good news story you need. I mean, imagine you on Loose Women then, photos of you cradling Sonic playing on a loop to some sentimental music. The Great British public love an upbeat animal story much more than they love a half-story about a celebrity’s fall from grace.’
‘Olivia Colman,’ he said through a mouth full of beans.
‘What?’
‘The hedgehog. It’s called Olivia Colman not Sonic.’
Being homeless and almost broke did make you appreciate the simple things in life. Like this plate of hot food and saving the hedgehog with the class of ten-year-olds. When was the last time he had had time to do something like that?
‘Ray,’ Deborah said softly, dipping her head as if she was trying to look deep into his eyes. ‘I have to ask. Are you on drugs?’
He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his mouth and he had to reach for a serviette and dab at the corners before bean juice met with his beard. The truth was he had never felt so high on normality before. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.’
‘Ray, seriously,’ Deborah said. ‘You’re making my job impossible. I don’t want to have to abandon you, but you have to understand that I have a family to feed and Tucker’s obedience classes do not come cheap.’ She sighed. ‘And I have a reputat
ion to uphold. There’s only so much damage limitation one agent can handle and…’
Now Ray was listening. He couldn’t lose Deborah as his agent. She had been there from the start when the talent show had hooked them up together. Yes, she was a little bit more middle-class than he was sometimes completely comfortable with, but she understood him and she was excellent at her job. ‘Debs, you know I can’t do any of this without you.’
God, that sounded so pathetically unmanly. But he knew it was true. He hadn’t handled the fame well. He still didn’t know how to handle it. Deborah had always made him feel as OK as he could be with it. She presented everything methodically, reminding him this was a job like any other with tick-lists of things to complete. She had even bullet-pointed his last album launch so he didn’t feel overwhelmed. In short, Deborah had always calmed the chaos. He swallowed at her lack of immediate reply, fork poised over his plate, fingers shaking a little. His throat was scratchy again. He needed to tell her about Dr Crichton and the possibility of an operation. Surely, she couldn’t leave him if he was sick…
‘But you’re not doing it with me, Ray,’ Deborah reminded him. ‘You’re not taking my advice. You’re burying your head in the sand… or snow if the Met Office is right about next week.’ She sighed, putting down her cup of coffee. ‘I believe in you. You know I believe in you. I’m not the kind of agent who fills clients up with platitudes I don’t mean. That isn’t my style at all. I love your music. I love your voice. I think there’s a whole lot more to come from you, but you have to do something about Ida… and your drinking.’
Ray put down his knife and fork, the fried foods suddenly no longer appealing. He felt uncomfortable because he knew that she was right. The echoes of his mother’s voice were ringing in his ears already. He picked up his cup of tea, then, realising there was nothing in it, he put it down again.
‘You have to let me do my job, Ray. You have to let me manage this situation.’ Her tone was dead serious. ‘And you have to do what I tell you to do.’