by Kate Bradley
He hated being reminded about the emergency surgery last year. Everything about it was horrible. The pain had been intense. He’d collapsed at work, the ambulance carrying him off site. He’d passed out and didn’t remember anything until he’d come round in intensive care. It had been the middle of the night and the smooth white walls and the wires attached to him scared him. No doubt high on drugs, he’d been confused, afraid he was in a space ship. He’d never confessed that fear to anyone. That moment of intense pure fear. Only the nurse who answered his cries knew how he felt. He never wanted to go back there again.
He’d had three weeks off work and the academy management had started to circle like crows around carrion. They smelt the opportunity to get rid of him, so he’d come back before he was ready. Sal had cried more from frustration than fear. But there had been fear in it too, he knew. Her own father had died at sixty and Sal feared the early widowhood that had curdled her own mother into bitterness.
Caitlin moaning on just heaped more and more pressure on him. Everyone needed him to do something. ‘I can’t help it if I give a damn,’ he’d said, uncharacteristically snapping at his daughter. And although much of what she’d said, he’d heard from Sal’s own mouth, Caitlin’s parting words spat with frustration continued to resonate: ‘Then what will be the change that will set you free?’ George had never thought of it like that, but now he couldn’t help think, what would be the change that would set him free? What would stop him from caring, so much – too much? No one ever told him when he trained how much each and every child would mean to him. And he knew it wasn’t just him who felt like that: almost every single one of his colleagues felt the same. That’s why they all ended up working so damn hard: it was because they cared so damn much.
And that was never going to change.
Nor would his student demographic, nor would the academy company and nor would any future government find meaningful differences in cash, whatever their rhetoric.
Nothing was going to change ever.
Ever.
This was it.
His indigestion burned in his chest. He clutched at it; it felt so painful, it often felt like a heart attack. Sal was right: his misplaced paternalism would see him into an early grave.
He drove towards the railway crossing with his earlier feeling of lightness now completely gone.
He pressed his foot down; he decided it would be better to speed up before the gates came down. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could say he was going home.
The urge to turn his car around came across him as quick and as powerful as an electric current. Fuck Steve Wichard. He could imagine Sal’s face lighting up as he walked in the door, early and unexpected. He’d kick his shoes off at the door and leave his worries there too. The image was so clear, the urge to go home so powerful.
‘For fuck’s sake, George,’ he told himself angrily, ‘it’s only a meeting. A meeting you’ve done loads of times.’
What would be the change?
He grated the gearstick into second as he approached the train crossing, angry he could feel the cold trail of a tear ease its way down his cheek. He swiped at it. It shouldn’t be getting to him. He wasn’t old. He was only fifty-six. He should have years left in him. Fighting years; years of being at the top of his game.
Then why did he feel so bloody old?
The lights of the crossing first flashed red before the warning alarm that the gates would be closing sounded. He thought of Sal’s father. He thought of his own dear dad dying three years ago.
George pulled up, the first car to reach the crossing as the gates came down.
What would be the change?
The ulcer his GP still chided about?
His wife’s happiness? Surely Sal was what mattered?
His daughter’s slammed doors of frustration?
I can’t help it if I give a damn, he reminded himself, digging in.
‘Bloody, hell,’ he said, something breaking his line of thought. His eyes widened at the sight of the oncoming car on the other side of the railway crossing still going even though the gate was coming down. ‘Poor sod must be late for a meeting with Steve Wichard,’ he said with a bolt of humour.
His eyes narrowed and the laughter died as he watched the car stop in the yellow box, right across the train tracks. Horns from nearby cars started sounding and George pulled on his handbrake as the queue of traffic stopped for the crossing. Expecting the car to reverse, he watched goggle-eyed as two taxi drivers legged it over from the nearby rank and started to hold up the gates. What the hell had happened? Had the car broken down at the wrong time?
George deliberated: should he get out and help? Why wasn’t the driver getting out?
Nearby people excitedly gestured at the car; it was crazy behaviour. A train would be along any moment and would slam into the side of such a small car and kill the passengers. Then, finally, the car drove forwards.
The gates scraped the top of the roof.
What the heck was going on? Were they nuts? He leant closer, keen to get a sight of who it was.
The car was travelling in the opposite direction to him but in anticipation of wanting to see who was driving, he wound down the window to lean out and get a better view.
‘I don’t believe—’ He faltered, feeling a squeeze of urine escape, a hangover from his prostate troubles. Normally he would’ve grabbed his groin, a reflex of shame and alarm, but instead his hands simply gripped his steering wheel even tighter.
‘Bloody, bloody,’ he said in his soft Yorkshire tone, ‘idiot.’ The driver was Jenni Wales. And, next to her, was Destiny Mills.
Friday
15:38
George
The railway gate stayed down and the crossing alarm continued to sound. George sat staring at the flashing lights.
Why was Destiny in Jenni’s car? Why? His knuckles were white. His breathing that of an exhausted runner.
Instead of the usual nothingness of waiting for the train to pass through, the pedestrians who had gathered at the gates were animated. Mothers had let go of the hands of young children and dogs fussed each other unchecked. George vaguely noticed the confused looks and the questions on their lips. But he couldn’t take it in. All he could do was desperately think, his mind speeding through the options, what was Destiny doing in Jenni’s car?
There had to be a good explanation.
Had to be.
George sat, jaw clenched, breathing still rapid, turning it over in his mind, trying to figure it out. It kept coming back to the same thing: pupils never got in the cars of teachers. Never. Even on school trips, there were mini-buses or coaches. Risk assessments and common sense protected them all. If a child needed a lift somewhere, no matter how urgent, careful consideration had to be made, and two adults would always accompany a minor. And there had been no one in the back seat. His eyes flicked to the dashboard clock: because it was after three, was there any way this could be nothing to do with school? Rubbish, you snake George, he told himself. Accept it: this has everything to do with the school.
Jenni had decided to take the matter into her own hands. She was driving Destiny somewhere – but where? The train thundered out of the station. The gates rose. George stared at them dispassionately as he tried to remember exactly what it was that he saw. Destiny had looked anguished; Jenni determined.
His bladder twitched and his hands suddenly ached. He released the handbrake.
As he pressed the accelerator, he was still moving towards his meeting with Steve Wichard, but somewhere between that decision to go forward and realising that he couldn’t – no, mustn’t – do anything else other than check on Destiny to make sure she was all right.
He decided to turn round.
The gates were half up and moving upwards still. Before the oncoming traffic made it across the crossing, he yanked hard on his steering wheel. Doing a U-turn in the middle of the road, he found himself almost surprised to be travelling in the opposite directio
n. Now he was going after Destiny.
What would Steve Wichard say?
Fuck Steve Wichard.
George Danvers still gave a damn.
Friday
15:45
George
George kept to thirty-three miles an hour, which was as fast as he dared. He wanted to catch Jenni, needed to, but he didn’t want to be stopped for speeding.
He scanned the road ahead, trying to spot her car. He felt sick. This was no good, he knew it. Why did Jenni have to do this? His shoulders ached as he hunched forward trying to spot her.
There she was!
Her blue Peugeot was up ahead.
He kept one hand on the steering wheel and, without taking his focus off the road, he patted around the passenger seat for his mobile phone. He would never normally consider making a phone call when he was driving, but what should he do? His fingers closed on his phone. Now, should he call the police or would that seem a touch hysterical?
George paused. No crime had been committed. This was a huge breach in protocol, but it was just a school matter. And if he didn’t handle it right, he knew that Steve Wichard would see it as a damning indictment of his leadership.
Yes, George decided, better to assess the situation and take his time, before doing anything rash.
He followed the Peugeot through town. Perhaps Jenni was simply doing Destiny a favour. Perhaps the incident with the crossing was simply because she was a terrible driver or there was something wrong with her car. Perhaps Destiny wanted to get somewhere in town. Perhaps she’d hurt her leg or something and Jenni, being typical Jenni, had decided to do what she wanted in the way she wanted and this meant driving Destiny somewhere. But it would be harmless – very unprofessional and clearly unwise – but ultimately harmless. Perhaps this was nothing to do with the man who Jenni had claimed had a gun.
George glanced into his rear-view mirror. Could he see a white van anywhere?
No. He relaxed; this was clearly Jenni being her typical gung-ho self again.
George drove, waiting for the car to pull over and Destiny to get out. But as the seconds and minutes past, he felt his irritation rise. His hands tightened against the steering wheel. Jenni better have bloody good union representation, because after this little episode, she was going to need it.
In fact he decided, so outrageous was this, that he’d personally instigate the grievance against her today. Enough was enough; he would send this all the way up. And when he did, Steve Wichard would want to know how he, George, had contained the situation. George knew he had to consider very carefully how best to handle it.
He thought about it. He’d follow her for as long as necessary and then, as soon as he could safely pull over without losing her, phone it in either to the police (which surely wouldn’t be needed?) and to Steve. For now, he should see where she was going, stay with the car, so Destiny was safe. Yes, it wouldn’t do to say he’d let them drive off without keeping an eye on them.
Jenni indicated right at the roundabout – George realised that she was heading onto the bypass.
Jenni was taking Destiny out of town.
He watched her pick up speed. This was not a lift up the road – this was something else. His temper flared from a simmer to a rolling boil. Enough was enough: she was out of her job. ‘Jenni!’ he yelled, leaning over his steering wheel. ‘What are you doing?’ And then he banged it in frustration. ‘You’re not—’ bang ‘—the only one—’ bang ‘who cares about the ruddy students.’
George imagined news headlines if he handled this wrong; he imagined having to prepare a report for the board of governors. He imagined the humiliation of briefing Steve Wichard.
He needed to get this right. He would have to stay on her tail for as long as it took. He had a full fuel tank, he just hoped he didn’t need it.
George had had many dark moments as a headmaster, not least dealing with the nasty sink hole that had developed in his budget. Two years earlier, there was the stabbing of a year-ten boy by another boy in year eleven. The victim had made a full recovery but the incident had reputationally hurt the school, and someone – probably the parents – had leaked photos of the victim when he was in intensive care. George had been very rigorously looked at and he’d come very close to resigning, thinking he was about to be pushed. But somehow he’d survived.
But now he had the nightmare situation of a rogue teacher – one he’d never been fully confident of but at the time filled a desperate recruitment need – with arguably the school’s most vulnerable pupil in her car after school hours.
His eyes momentarily squeezed shut. He wished he could keep them closed. He didn’t want this. Self pity ached and a tear leaked out again. He felt ancient. If only he’d not filled up his tank at the petrol station. If only he’d taken another route to his meeting. If only he’d left a minute before, he would have been under the crossing gate and away and would’ve been unaware of Jenni’s crazy driving happening behind him.
He didn’t have the capacity for a crisis. He knew he couldn’t come back from another one. He wouldn’t have the fight and he knew there was no one who would want him to, not his bosses, nor Sal, not even himself. He was so tired – when did it get so hard?
The phone lay on his lap with the weight of a stone.
When he got the chance, he would have to use it, and when he did, the situation would catch like compost in the August sun.
A thought occurred to him: he’d already taken the same turning off the roundabout. He had already started to follow Jenni onto the bypass. But he could fall behind. He could take the first turning off and head back towards his meeting.
Suddenly, he wanted to be in Steve’s office. He wanted to be drinking the mug of weak Earl Grey he was always served. He wanted the dull lecture on improved performance.
And he could go there now.
He could pretend that he had never seen Destiny in Jenni’s car.
He could.
Friday
15:50
Jenni
We drove in silence, Destiny slumped in her seat while I concentrated on getting out of town as soon as I could. I took the nearest turn onto the bypass and drove as fast as I could without breaking any speed limits.
As we drove, I thought about what had happened, what it meant. My noisy reversing up the road by the school may have drawn looks in such a quiet neighbourhood and I had to accept that I might’ve been seen. More so now after the railway-crossing incident. I realised that my options were narrowing. But inside, when I thought about what I had done, what I had achieved, a small ember glowed.
I was pleased with my choice, of standing up for what I believed. I was used to standing alone with my opinions. I am not the same as other people. In staff meetings I often thought differently to others. I realised that my colleagues might cast me adrift when they found out I had taken Destiny. But if I stood apart, it was because I had dared to do the right thing.
They would not risk themselves for Destiny.
I would.
I lifted my chin. I decided then that I wouldn’t lie about taking Destiny if asked. For starters, I was sure about what I had done. The fact that armed men were trying to take her in a van only backed up that I was right to do what I did. Of course, it would’ve been so much better if social services could’ve acted, but with the cuts going on in public services I was like any other teacher, nurse, or police officer. With reducing resources, how could they do anything but fail to do everything required of them, when the everything was so overwhelming? Who could forget those poor girls who suffered at the hands of gangs in the north of England? Who wouldn’t go back and take strong action against those men, if they could?
In my heart, I am still a solider: I can do what others can’t.
I cast a sideways glance at Destiny. She had pulled her knees up to her chin, making herself even smaller than she was. Her hair fell across her face. It was a shame that I’d had to scare her in order to keep her safe. ‘Destiny, I nee
d your aunt’s address in Battle.’
Destiny jumped as if stung by a wasp. She sat forward, covering her face and moaned again.
I felt a flutter in my chest. ‘Destiny, what is it?’
Her shoulders were shaking and I wasn’t sure, but thought that she might be crying. This went on for a while and I realised we had a problem. ‘Destiny, you can tell me anything. But you do need to tell me, so I can help you.’
Finally, pale faced, she looked at me. ‘I don’t want to go to Battle.’
‘Where do you want to go to then?’
She bit her lip and started rummaging in her bag. She got out her phone and flicked through it. ‘Hull.’
‘Hull? Are you joking?’ I took several deep breaths before I spoke. ‘Hull? Please tell me you’re joking?’ Silence. ‘Look at me, Destiny. Look at me!’
Big blue eyes looked at me and I could see the tremble in her mouth.
‘You know what you’ve done, don’t you?’
Destiny didn’t say anything.
‘You’ve purposefully misled me, haven’t you?’
Destiny mumbled something I didn’t catch and turned away.
I banged the steering wheel in frustration. ‘You said Battle,’ I said to myself more than anything. I didn’t need to say it to her, because she knew exactly what she was doing, I was glad she didn’t deny it. I gripped the wheel. ‘You realise that is a four-hour drive each way? It’s Saturday tomorrow, I’m supposed to be up and training at first light.’
Destiny tipped her face forward, her shoulders shaking again. When she spoke, I could barely hear what she said through the curtain of her hair. I only caught no choice.
She stared out of the window and told me that she didn’t think I would’ve taken her to her aunt’s if I had known it was so far away. I’m ashamed that I nearly told her, that no, I wouldn’t have done, but I didn’t and I’m glad. I thought it through as Destiny lapsed into an uneasy silence, her face still turned away.