Bums on Seats

by Tom Davies

  He transferred, coffee cup in hand, from computer chair to fireside recliner, emptied his mind of money matters, played a CD and thought instead about the immediate hours to come. Since he’d first entered his landlady’s bed, nine months ago, they’d drifted into a comfortable, tacit, understanding. Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday morning were free of lectures for him. As for Janet, one day’s routine was pretty much the same as another. So when Simon felt the need he made contact. This was particularly so when the Zombek students were proving hard going.

  Simon liked Janet very much. She was a staunch friend and valuable ally in life. She provided counsel when needed. She assumed the role of equal partner in bed and was a considerate and intelligent lover. She neither expected nor demanded the extravagant protestations of exclusive love, which seemed essential to her younger counterparts. And one always knew she’d be in a good mood. He recognised his good fortune and was profoundly grateful.

  In usual male fashion, Simon was able to separate friendship and sex from romance when he chose. He turned his mind to Chloe. His hoped for relationship was not going at all smoothly. They’d had a number of dates, usually out for a meal. She was always good company. They got on well. Sometimes she invited him home for coffee. They’d sit on her couch and be quite amorous. But he’d never got near being invited into her bedroom. She always held back and made it clear.

  Why? It was disappointing and confusing. Perhaps it was this partial rejection that made him all the keener. She’d obviously been trained in the ‘treat ‘em mean keep ‘em keen’ mould. He would have liked them to become ‘an item’. He sighed, sat up, switched off the hi-fi and headed for the shower. Time to prepare for dinner!

  “Beautiful flowers, Simon! Thank you. If you carry on at this rate, perhaps you should invest in the shares of “Flying Flowers”, or some such.”

  “Hey, that’s a thought, Janet.” Simon pushed the door shut with his foot, cupped her face with his hands and kissed her warmly. She gave a little sigh, stepped back and preceded him to the kitchen.

  “The stroganoff’s at a crucial stage, Simon. Will you deal with the wine, please?”

  He uncorked the bottle and placed it on the laid table. Janet stood at the cooker briskly stirring cream into the contents of the large skillet. He stepped in close behind her, wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. “I want you, Janet!” She leaned back against him and turned her face to his. He kissed her, undid the lower buttons on her blouse and slipped his hands inside her bra. She made a small groan as his fingertips found her nipples…

  “Simon, stop!” she gasped, “save it for later – we’ve got all night. This cream will separate if I don’t attend to it; then we’ll have to have beans on toast,” she added with a light laugh, to divert his disappointment. A few more seconds of that level of pleasure, she thought, and she wouldn’t give a bugger if the cream separated, or even divorced! She’d be dragging him off to bed. Discipline Janet, discipline, as she’d been told enough times as a child! Still, he’d obviously had a terrible day. She sympathised, but wasn’t too unhappy about it. She’d make quite sure he had a pleasurable night!

  They had an agreeable evening with a lot of wine and a delicious meal. Simon started to relax; Janet organised the music. For half an hour before moving to the bedroom they sat companionably holding hands, on her sofa, listening to Beethoven’s Eroica.

  When the clock struck eleven, Simon said, “Bed?”

  Janet, who’d not lived all these years without learning a thing or two, said, “Let’s just hear this through for a quarter of an hour. I like this bit best.” Simon patiently complied. Nevertheless, she sat up straighter, moved in very close next to him and draped her arm across the back of the settee. She moved her fingers across the nape of his neck and rested her other hand lightly on his thigh. The response was instantaneous. But he just lay back with his eyes closed. She rested her head against him and kissed his neck. A pulse throbbed away and his face reddened. In a while he started a series of restless little fidgets. The music swelled towards its grand conclusion. When it was done, he had to restrain himself from running to the bathroom and then on to bed to wait for her.

  *************

  “Janet. Wake up! Breakfast.”

  “What … what … whatever time is it?”

  “Nine o’clock. You looked so peaceful; I just slipped away and read your morning paper for an hour. I’ve made us boiled eggs, toast and coffee. Move over!”

  “But I never sleep until nine. I always get up at seven!”

  “Well, perhaps this is the exception that proves the rule!”

  “That’s a nonsensical saying, Simon. If there’s a rule, how can an exception be said to prove it. Surely an exception disproves a rule?”

  “Rubbish, Janet! Without a rule there could be no exception; the very fact of an exception proves there must be a rule. Move over!”

  She laughed at the pleasurable little intellectual joust. “Oh all right. You’re a dear kind man anyway, despite being an illogical twit! Just give me a minute in the bathroom and I’ll be back.”

  She would normally have died before letting anyone see her before she’d had a chance to repair the ravages of such a night. But, a couple of minutes later, face perked up by icy cold water, hair vigorously brushed into order, she re-joined him for the sybaritic ritual of a shared breakfast in bed.

  “Those are three of my winter pansies you’ve picked. Don’t go thinking I wouldn’t recognise them!”

  “I know, Janet. But I wanted to give you a present. Last night was wonderful. You were wonderful.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She put down her toast and gave him a marmalade-flavoured kiss. “You weren’t so bad yourself!”

  *************

  “Good to see you Luke. I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Great to be here, Simon. I brought a six-pack. Talking’s thirsty work! I like your Grand Prix prints.”

  “Thanks. Great. When I moved in here, Janet, my landlady downstairs, agreed that I could decorate as I wished. Those prints were in the window of a local gallery. I think they exactly catch the drama of Formula One racing. And they’re certainly colourful, like the drivers! Come and sit. Tell me about your plans now you’ve finished your doctorate.”

  “I’m going to The States for a few weeks. I’ve a friend on the west coast. Then I’m coming back to work in London for a while. I’m seconded by our Ministry of Education to your Department for Education and Employment.”

  “What do you think about that, then?”

  “I’m pleased to serve my country. It’s invested enough in me. I’ll make sure the experience counts, anyway. And I’ll work hard at developing the right sort of contacts for later!”

  Simon looked again at his friend and saw a successful future. He thought this would have been so even without his father and relatives being who they were.

  “I wanted to update you on our project, Luke. Particularly since you’re leaving Pucklebridge. Hence the invitation.”

  “Good idea! So, how’s it going?”

  “Well, on the plus side, last year’s intake is holding up well. Two hundred and five of them are still with us. This year, coincidentally, we’ve still got two hundred and five new students. So, over four hundred of your best are getting the most we can do for them.”

  “And on the minus side, Simon?”

  “Overall, about eighty, i.e. twenty per cent of them, are really struggling. We had to be a bit imaginative over the end-of-year exams for last year’s lot. We’ll have to do the same again this year, for both years’ intakes.”

  Luke looked thoughtful, drained his can, and snapped open another ring top. “My father and uncle are extremely pleased with the way you’re holding it all together, Simon. Over four hundred Zombekians going through an English university fits very well with our social and economic aims. It will be six hundred next year. Is there anything else on the downside?”

  Simon took a long swi
g from the can. “It’s a big advantage that their studies are confined to just two faculties. It means that Chloe and I can manage the situation between us, if you see what I mean.” Luke nodded. “And we’ve reached a useful arrangement with the External Examiners.” Luke nodded again. “However, when it comes to final examinations, things will be much more difficult, The External Examiners dare not be as accommodating as before. And, of course, there’s a much higher chance of a snap audit visit and attention by the Quality Assurance Agency.”

  They both sat back whilst Luke mulled this over. Simon bit off half a sausage roll in one go and munched away.

  Luke attacked a scotch egg. Eventually he said, “When I saw you before your summer holiday, you looked knackered. I’d guess that Chloe was similarly worn. So, you’re doing your best. Just keep going. I’ll make a note in my Filofax about Final Examinations and Audit visits. You never know, I may be able to help in some way.”

  Simon thought it unlikely, but was too polite to say so. But then, all things considered, he was an innocent soul, relatively untouched by politics and similar high-level skulduggery.

  There didn’t seem too much else to say on their project. They sat and listened to a CD and finished the lager.

  “Look Simon, you’re doing a great job for us. Nobody expected your task to be easy. Just make sure that you spread the load as much as possible. You can always reach me in the States. I check my e-mail twice every day. When I’m back, we’ll meet again, in early spring. If you need any more resources, be sure to let me know, OK?”

  *************

  “I think we should start a series of special tutorials for those having most difficulties, Chloe. I can manage to fund an Assistant Lecturer to help on my side of the syllabus. How about you?”

  “I think it’s a good idea, Simon. But I’d need more budget to do it.”

  “OK, let’s go for it then. I’ll e-mail Luke and set the ball rolling. We’ll start after the Xmas break. Agreed?”

  “Agreed!”

  CHAPTER 26

  “Welcome to my department, Luke. I’m very pleased you’ve joined us.”

  “Thank you, Sir William. I’m grateful to be here. I hope I can contribute.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will. Tea? Lapsang suit you?”

  “Fine, sir. Thank you.”

  “Now then, how’s your father? I’ve not seen him in twenty years.”

  “He’s fine, sir. I didn’t realise you knew him.”

  ‘Well, he still sounds the same, then, playing his cards close! Yes, I was with our Embassy in Zombek in the run up to secession. I was very much involved in your father’s inauguration as President. So we saw a good deal of each other for a time.”

  Luke sipped his tea and pondered. What, exactly, were his father’s aims in this secondment to an English civil service department? His uncle Joshua, Minister of State for Education, had given him the most general of briefs. He was to develop a thorough understanding of Sir William Fairhurst’s allocation of priorities in educational links with overseas countries, particularly African countries. In the course of whatever Sir William gave him to do, he was to master all budgetary aspects and to develop as many useful contacts as possible, the higher the level the better.

  Sir William spoke again. “Initially, I’ve assigned you to one of my Principals, Catherine Hammond. She’s mostly concerned with educational liaison with African countries. She also has a watching brief on emerging employment trends. I’m sure you’ll both benefit greatly from your collaboration.” He looked at his watch, obviously signalling and end to the meeting. “I fear I must press on now. Today is rather fraught for me. Is there anything else you need to know?”

  Preparing to leave, but on the spur of the moment, Luke asked, “As you were in Zombek in 1971, at the time I was born, I wonder if you knew my mother?”

  Sir William, a long time civil servant and before that trained diplomat, paused before answering with an oblique question of his own. “You obviously know James Ngunda?”

  “He died last year, sir. The last of our officially recognised witchdoctors. My father misses his friendship.”

  “I didn’t know of his death, Luke. I’m sorry to hear of it. Do you by any chance know his widow, Mamuna?”

  “Yes I do, slightly. But, as she’s a different generation and I’m only infrequently in Zombek, social contact between us is rare.”

  “She would have known your mother…”

  At that point there was a discreet knock and Luke’s temporary boss to be, Catherine Hammond, entered. A couple of minutes later, introductions made, Luke was on his way to the office that would be his workplace for the next fifteen months.

  *************

  “Sorry I’m a bit late, Simon. I’ve just finished a tutorial with Mary Ebuja and Betty Kalanga. They try hard, but its heavy going!”

  “Hi Chloe! Good to see you anyway. You’ve brightened my day already. I covered your cup to keep it warm.”

  “Thanks, Simon. You start off, then.”

  ‘Well, my analysis more or less confirms yours. This year’s intake is brighter than last. Even so, thirty of them need extra tuition. That’s on top of the fifty poorest from last year. We’ve instituted special tutorials and they definitely help. We need somehow to do more, Chloe.”

  Chloe lobbed the empty Styrofoam cup at the rubbish bin. “Agreed. I’m afraid we must bring the external examiners into it again, Simon.”

  “Yeah. Shame that, Chloe. I hoped we could keep them in reserve, so to speak. Luke’s already agreed to recommend a bit of consultancy for them, when necessary. Let’s get them here next week and ask for end-of-year exam papers with annotated reading lists by the end of March, for both years’ Zombek project input. Agreed?”

  “Agreed, Simon. Since this time it’s for two years’ courses, we’ll have to up the price. How about seven and a half thousand pounds per examiner?”

  “I’m sure the budget will be OK for that. What reaction will we get from the examiners?”

  “Well, that’s quite a useful sum, Simon. And they get prompt payment. They might agonise privately over what’s going on, but in the end they’ll do it. At least, they’ll do it this year. I’m not sure about next, though.”

  “Let’s worry about next year when it comes, Chloe. After all, when you’re drowning, you don’t spend much time worrying about crocodiles, as they say!”

  “How did your lot do in their mock exams, Simon?”

  “There are still too many struggling for my liking, Chloe. How about yours?”

  “The same, I’m afraid, Simon. What should we do, do you think?”

  There could only be one answer but he needed to be asked the question. He sipped his coffee, avoided her eyes, and said, “We may need to be more directive in our revision sessions before end-of-year exams.”

  Chloe delayed her response, nibbling a digestive biscuit. At length she said, “That’s probably the most expedient solution,” and then surprised him by adding, “Have you considered the possibility of a ‘whistle-blower’ amongst the Zombek students?”

  The notion had never occurred to Simon. “Good Lord, Chloe, I guess I’m a bit naive. I never would have thought any such thing possible!”

  They mulled over the unpleasant but realistic possibility and its implications and then came to the view that it was a necessary risk. “Look, Simon, if we don’t give them a bit more guidance as you suggest, we’ll have an unacceptably high failure rate. I guess we’re committed, really.”

  “Agreed! I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Chloe. I’ll share the problem with Luke Nweewe and pose the whistle-blower question to him. He’s always got something useful to contribute, right?”

  The office phone intruded.

  “Simon McGuire speaking. Oh, hello, Janet … how was it? … Good … you did? That’s great! Thanks very much. I’ll pay you when I see you … Yes, yes; I’m in a meeting at the moment … No, that’s fine … OK, thanks for calling and thanks for helping. ’By
e, Janet.

  “So, where were we, Chloe. Ah yes, let’s start being more directive, particularly in tutorials, that would make it harder for anyone to report on general practices. What do you say?”

  “Agreed. Let’s go for it, then, may as well be fired and disgraced for something really out of line, not just nicking Biro! It’s a good job I like you so much, Simon!”

  He felt ridiculously pleased at these last words and responded in kind. “Chloe, after almost two academic years of the trials and tribulations of the Zombek students, I think I might have packed it in without you. You’ve been absolutely great. Thank you!”

  It was Chloe’s turn to experience high pleasure at an expression of affection. She flushed slightly and said, “I feel together we’re doing something special.”

  Simon decided to conclude and change tack. “I’ll report back after speaking with Luke. Turning to something different, Chloe, as you heard, that was Janet on the phone. She’s just been to the Monet exhibition at the Royal Academy. I asked her to get two tickets, for a week on Saturday. Will you come?”

  “Err, I’d love to Simon. What a nice thought. Thank you!”

  “Wonderful, Chloe. That’s wonderful. Look, the tickets are for twelve o’clock; We could catch the ten-thirty-five train, jump in a taxi and go straight to the Academy. Then we could lunch at our leisure. How about that?”

  Surprisingly, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, she replied, “Agreed, if I can make a further suggestion: let’s take overnight bags!”

  Simon all but fell off his seat. During the last twelve months he’d become attached to her. This, despite her hot-and-cold responses to him. Or perhaps it was because of them, he thought. They’d had need of frequent meetings at work. They’d been out socially on lots of occasions, where they’d mixed business with pleasure. But she’d always stayed in control and had decided when to pull down the shutters. In short, they’d not been to bed and, to his disappointment, had not become ‘an item’. Now she was taking the initiative, or was she? Perhaps she was just suggesting a weekend sightseeing break in London? What exactly was she proposing?