by Georgia Hill
Rupert had the answer it seemed. He outlined an idea that the pupils could prepare a presentation on a subject of their choice and that some of them could give their talks during the Ofsted week. He’d been encouraging the children to use the computers and some of the presentations were in PowerPoint. It aimed to simultaneously show off our use of computers and the children’s knowledge. It seemed a good idea - at the time.
Ann had calmed down her approach to Rupert and, some time ago, I’d suggested to them both that they work on a project designed to integrate computer technology more fully into the curriculum. I’d tactfully suggested that it would be excellent evidence for Rupert’s NQT evidence folder if he had experience working in another year group and on a project such as this. He’d taken the bait and my plan seemed to be working. The school was benefiting from a useful project which would hopefully impress the inspectors and Ann and Rupert were getting on a whole lot better. I smiled in satisfaction at my cunning when I heard they’d been spotted sitting close together in the local pub one Saturday night. Perhaps Ann was finally to get her man!
Spencer, true to form, wanted to push the boundaries with the idea for his presentation. He wanted to bring in the family pet, a mynah bird, as a visual aid for his talk on birds.
Since the hamster debacle I’d put my foot down on having any live creatures in school. I’d had strong words with Spencer and then had to endure a lengthy ‘phone call from his father explaining why I did not think it a good idea to bring in the bird. After slamming down the receiver I reflected that it was no wonder that Spencer was difficult when he had such an abusive father at home. I’d learned several choice phrases to add to my
vocabulary during that call. But I’d held firm to my decision and felt quite proud of myself.
When I ‘phoned Jack that night he’d been adamant that Spencer would defy me over this and I’d got indignant and then cross. Lately, we had begun to argue over very minor things like this, more and more. We were both getting frustrated by his still being in Manchester. I knew he wanted to be with me and the school during this vital time. I simply wanted him.
The week of Ofsted passed in a blur. Our preparations for the previous inspection stood us in good stead. I was especially glad of the support I received from Huw, the patch inspector, who came into school every day to see how it was going. He explained that, if I was interested, the governors were keen for me to be appointed as acting head in the Autumn term. I knew that if the inspection was a success, then the job would be mine. It was an added pressure.
We were nearly there - it was the last day of the inspection and few lessons were expected to be observed. The team was led by a larger than life figure called Iris Steen. She was an astute woman who knew exactly what to look for and missed little. We’d been told to expect the inspectors to drop in and out of lessons and to ignore them as best we could. Some hope.
Spencer was dropped off in style in his father’s white van and arrived at school carrying an enormous birdcage. My heart sank.
“Spencer, take that thing back outside and give it to your father to take home,” I scolded, when I intercepted him in the corridor.
“Can’t miss. He’s gone to work.” The boy smirked knowingly at me. “Can I put Gerald in the class miss? He don’t like to get cold.”
I bit back what I’d really like him to do with Gerald and, seeing Iris striding down the corridor towards us, resplendent in a red and gold tailored suit, hissed a yes.
During an inspection of any kind you get used to keeping an eye on the door just in case an inspector should decide to grace you with their presence. Of course, the minute the class gets noisy or you find yourself remonstrating with a child, that’s when the visitor arrives. It’s the sod’s law of any inspection.
We managed to get through maths without incident or an observation. Gerald had been put on the cupboard at the back of the classroom, near the radiator. He appeared to have gone back to sleep after the inevitable curious poking and staring his arrival had caused. Spencer seemed genuinely fond of the bird and was extremely proud of his ‘visual aid.’ I was reluctantly warming to the idea. What harm could it do?
I’d included some of the Year Six presentations in the English planning for the week - it was good evidence of speaking and listening after all. It was soon time for Spencer’s turn and I had vague misgivings as, when he took off the cloth which was covering the cage, the bird began to wake up. I sat at the side of the classroom facing the door and accepted it as fate when Iris, her bright suit still immaculate, walked in.
“I’ll just sit at the back,” she whispered dramatically. “Just carry on as normal.”
I tensed as Spencer began his talk. To be fair he’d done a lot of research and, as well as preparing his PowerPoint, had brought in other visual aids to help explain what was involved in looking after a mynah bird. Gerald though, began to get a little agitated. He really was an ugly bird and stared balefully out at the class.
Just as Spencer was explaining how he and his father had taught Gerald to talk, Iris squeezed her way from the back of the classroom. “Thank you very much,” she trilled as she opened the door. As she did so, her stiletto heel caught on a metal rubbish bin with a clang.
Whether it was this or the sight of her colourful costume I’m not sure, but Gerald, now fully alert, shrieked out:“’Allo me darlin’. Fancy a quickie? Go on, you know you want it!” He then rounded off this stirring performance with a shrill wolf whistle.
Iris stopped in her tracks. My heart stopped in my breast. The class were held in rapt attention. Even Spencer, never usually lost for words, didn’t utter a sound.
“Why, thank you. Gerald is it? I’ll have to think about your kind offer.” Iris looked at Spencer, with a wicked twinkle in her eye. “Thank you for your talk, young man. Most interesting.” She glanced my way. “And thank you Miss Hathaway. A most memorable lesson!”
And then she was gone to resounding cheers from Year Six and a cackling “Tarra me beauty,” from Gerald.
“I didn’t know where to look, Jack!” I said to him, on the ‘phone that night, after returning from a celebratory drink with the others. “I really thought I’d blown it. But I was wrong - she loved us!” It had indeed been a successful inspection. We’d done it. We’d managed to turn the school round.
Jack had laughed long and hard and genuinely.
The sound made me yearn to see him. “I wish you were here,” I whispered, alcohol making me maudlin. “There’s a big gap in my bed and it should be filled with you.”
Jack sighed volubly. “Don’t Nicky. Not long now. I’m trying to get away as soon as I can. I love you.”
“I love you too. I want you.”
“Soon,” he whispered. “Soon, my love.”
Chapter Eighteen.
The Summer term trundled on interminably. As the weather improved and my stress levels dropped I got into the habit of going for a walk in the evenings. I’d discovered some beautiful countryside around my flat and the gentle evening air often soothed my over full brain. If, for some reason it didn't, it did at least give me a few hours to myself. This particular evening seemed special. It was stiflingly hot. There was something in the air - the promise of a sticky Summer night or perhaps a thunder storm. The atmosphere crackled with electricity. I could almost see it darting around the trees.
It was dusk when I turned round and headed for home. When I approached the courtyard I could see a halo of light surrounding the barn. As I walked faster, curious and more than a little alarmed, I could see someone had put hundreds of tiny tea lights all along the steps, leading up to the flat and along the driveway and edges of the small lawn. Garden flares had been placed among the trees and they gave off a magical light which scented the air. It made the garden look surreal and dreamy. I walked, trancelike, towards it.
Someone was lying in my old childhood hammock which Dad had strung up between the two old apple trees at the far end of the garden.
Jack.
He wore chinos rolled up to his calves and a loose white shirt which was undone. One long leg was hanging over the side of the hammock and every now and again his bare foot pushed against the ground to make the hammock swing. My heart thumped painfully in recognition and love made tears spring to my eyes.
The French doors to the kitchen were open wide and from the house came the desolate sobbing of a Puccini aria. Even my uneducated ears recognised Madam Butterfly crying out in the hope that one fine day her beloved husband would return. The sound rose into the heavy night and charged the atmosphere with raw emotion.
I stood there, watching him. It struck me that this was the first time I had ever seen him so still. Doing nothing. It also struck me that I had never seen anyone who looked so completely at peace. Whatever had happened in Manchester must have given him some sort of closure. I felt giddy with love and longing.
That same second he became aware of me. With one elegant move he slipped from the hammock and walked towards me. He didn’t say a word but his blue-green eyes were eloquent. He held my face in his hands and breathed “Nicky!” before kissing me. It was a kiss of such tenderness, such sweetness.
When it was over he rested his forehead on mine and again breathed “Nicky.” Around us the opera soared into the still air, taking my heart with it. “I thought I owed you a little romance,” he whispered and I sighed.
A little later, as we lay in the hammock close together, we finally began to talk, openly and honestly and freely. As I lay resting against him I listened to what he had to say in amazement. He told me that he had loved me from almost the first moment of seeing me.
“It was when I walked into that first awful training day,” he began, in that beguiling voice of his. “I could feel the resentment hit me as soon as I walked in. Nothing unusual there.” He sighed. “But then I saw you, bent over your diary. I thought you were the
loneliest person I'd ever seen. Later on I realised you were the bravest person I'd ever come across. There was nothing you wouldn't fight me on was there?”
I giggled a little and let my fingers roam over the seductive muscles on his chest.
“I was in such a mess trying to fight the attraction but, at the same time, making sure I kept you as close to me as I could. There I was convincing myself I was doing you such a big favour by offering you the flat and all the time it was just a desperate attempt to see you. It was torture.”
Jack laughed and the sound vibrated delightfully. “The morning you walked in on me when I was in the shower,” he groaned, “I just wanted to snatch you up and take you right back in there with me!”
“Perhaps we should try that later?” I suggested, in a coy whisper. Jack laughed again but I felt his physical reaction. My own desire coiled like quicksilver.
“Stop distracting me. I'm trying to be sincere.” He kissed my temple and his hand snuck up my T-shirt and began to caress my back. It was a delicious feeling so I snuggled in further.
“Carry on,” I murmured, determined to hear more flattery. “So when did you realise you couldn't fight against my delectable charms. The night of the gala?”
Jack gave an enormous sigh. “Long before that. But you minx - making me undress you! Do you have any idea of the amount of self-control I had to exercise that night? I was so angry with myself for loving you.” His voice deepened. “I wanted you so badly
that night.
“You could have had your wicked way with me. I'd have been very willing. I did tell you I loved you as I recall. Three times.” I closed my eyes and inhaled the wonderful aroma of his maleness, mixing exotically with the night air.
Jack went very still. “I thought you were joking,” he said in a tight voice. “I thought you were drunk.”
“I was drunk but I wasn't joking,” I laughed, still absorbed in my task of feeling every muscle and sinew on his beautiful, smooth torso.
Jack took my chin in his hand and gave it a little shake. “What time we've wasted,” he said throatily, stroking my face tenderly and running a light finger over my lips. “I ran away from you on the day afterwards. I ran off to go skiing because I couldn't face you. And then as soon as I was back I had to see you. I couldn't keep away. You're like a drug, Nicky. My father was addicted to alcohol and you're my addiction.”
We kissed again wonderingly, staring into each other’s eyes. We were overcome at this amazing thing which we had created between us.
Long promised thunder began to rumble around the courtyard, echoing off the old, red brick walls.
“I think we ought to take this conversation indoors, don't you?” he said, as a single hot drop of rain fell on us.
I thought of the designer bed with its sumptuous coverings and sighed in pure happiness.
“I thought you'd never ask.” Then I giggled through the resulting kiss.
Jack lifted his head and raised an eyebrow in enquiry. “What is it now?”
“Well,” I began thoughtfully. “It's just occurred to me. You've met my father and looked after me when I was drunk ...”
Jack looked puzzled and then caught on, quick as ever at reading my mind. “You’ve met my sister and I've nursed you when you were ill,” he replied, joining in with the game.
“I've seen you naked!” I giggled suggestively and received a dig in the ribs from a long finger.
“And I've undressed you and seen what God-awful things you wear in bed!” he growled.
I laughed again. “So we've done most of the things couples do.” I paused and said, only half jokingly this time, “So if we get the sex thing right ...”
“... then we may make a go of this relationship,” he finished. “Something tells me we'll get the sex thing right.” And he kissed me so hard I saw stars - and they weren’t the ones in the sky. But I wasn't about to let him have the final word.
“I’m not too sure.” I pouted. In the flickering light cast from the candles I saw Jack frown.
“I think we should practice - a lot. To get it absolutely right.” I finished decisively.
“Do you think we ought to start now?” His glorious hands tightened on my body.
“Agreed,” I sighed.
But any further response on my part was firmly quashed by Jack's mouth against mine and the fact that he swept me into his arms and carried me into the house.
Epilogue.
Training Day – September Term.
I parked my trusty old Fiat in the car park overlooking the school, killed the engine and spent some time staring at my place of employment. Jack’s car wasn’t parked in its usual place and wouldn’t be again – he’d moved on. Exactly one year ago I had parked, just in this position and had appreciatively eyed up his curvy, old-fashioned sports car. Today it was nowhere to be seen. I was on my own this time. With a sigh I collected my things
and began the walk to the next stage of my life…
I screwed up my courage and straightened my shoulders. This was the first day of the rest of my life. The Summer break had been a crazy, love filled, hectic sorting out of practicalities and passionate nights. Today it was back to reality. Jack was now working in London and we were splitting our weekends between here and the tiny flat he'd organised in Highgate. It wasn't ideal but in some ways it worked - we could concentrate on our onerous commitments during the week, leaving the weekends free for us.
We had managed to regularise our relationship in the Summer in a brief ceremony that had appalled our relatives but had pleased us with its business like efficiency. I did not underestimate the difficulties Jack faced in carving out an intimate and trusting relationship but I was prepared to do battle with him, as always, to get what I wanted. But I had never been so happy. I was completely his at last.
I walked into the now sweetly familiar entrance to school and was greeted by Mona who gave me a hug.
"Good morning Mrs. Thorpe. How lovely to see you again!" She smiled broadly. “And may I add my congratulations!” As she retreated back to her office she called o
ver her shoulder, “I’ve put them in water. I hope you don’t mind.”
I walked into the head teacher's office and stopped dead. On the desk stood an enormous bouquet of roses, yellow of course. I opened the accompanying card and my eyes misted over as I read Jack’s ridiculously romantic message. For someone not practised in the art of romance he had been doing remarkably well with mushy gestures like this.
I looked around the office. Once Jack's, it was now mine. I’d been offered, and had accepted, the acting headship. I flipped through the post with a secret smile and then fingered the simple gold ring on my left hand.
The first day of the rest of my life - and it was starting here.
The End.