Teacher's Dead

by Benjamin Zephaniah

  ‘If you have any problems with Terry Stock and his friends let me know immediately. I will not tolerate any bullying in this school. You can go to your lesson now.’

  I said, ‘Goodbye.’

  She said, ‘Goodbye.’ But she didn’t even turn round.

  Chapter 23

  On the Home Front

  After school I thought it was time for me to report in to Mrs Joseph. I called my mother to tell her I’d be a bit late and then I called Mrs Joseph to arrange a meeting at the sports centre but she insisted that this time I should go to her house. From the outside Mrs Joseph’s house looked like our house – all houses look the same in our area – but inside it was like a library. From the moment the door was open all I could see was books. The hallway was full of shelves that were full of books, the front door couldn’t fully open because of them, and so it was up the staircase.

  ‘Hello, Jackson. Come in,’ said Mrs Joseph.

  ‘Wow. So many books. Have you read them all?

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I like reading but I’m not this mad about books. These were Edgar’s, he was crazy about books. He used to say that he never read all of them but he knew what they were all about, and he knew where to look if he needed to find something out. I didn’t believe him though.’

  ‘What, you thought he was lying?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You mean they were just for show?’

  ‘No,’ she said, waving her arms about. ‘I mean I think he read all of them.’

  ‘Wow,’ I said again as she led me into the front room.

  The front room was so full of books the walls could barely be seen. The seats were like museum pieces, old looking, with cloth upholstery with flowered patterns on them, and an oak table in the centre of the room had a large vase full of flowers on it. As I sat down though I noticed something was wrong, something was different. It was the arrangement of the chairs. One was pointing towards a bookshelf, the one I sat on was placed straight in front of another one, and one just looked out into the street. Mrs Joseph sat on the one in front of me and I couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘Why are your chairs in these positions?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ she replied. ‘I’m so used to them it’s just normal for me. It’s not so much about why the seats are like this. There’s something else, haven’t you noticed?’

  I looked around the room, then I got it.

  ‘No television. You’ve got no television.’

  ‘That’s right. Most living rooms are arranged around the television, all the chairs face the box, but when you take away the box you have the freedom to arrange the room to suit yourself. It’s really liberating.’

  ‘So you don’t have a telly?’

  ‘There is one, it’s under the stairs somewhere. It’s only small, so if I want to watch a programme I drag it out. I’m not really interested in most of the things on television nowadays. I listen to radio, classical music or talk radio, and it doesn’t really matter where I sit to listen to that. I just make sure I have a radio in every room.’

  That impressed me, I stored it somewhere in my mind as I did with many of the things that I planned to consider once I had my own place, then I began to tell her about my encounters with Terry Stock and his crew, and my visits to Mrs Martel.

  ‘You did the right thing,’ she said. ‘You must report bullying as soon as you can. But why did they just pick on you like that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some kids are like that. They just want to show off in front of their friends, or they just want to humiliate others.’

  ‘So what happened when you went back to school? Did they bother you again?’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I saw them and they saw me but they stayed far away from me.’

  ‘There you go. Hopefully they’ve learnt their lesson. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m OK. I want to ask you something.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Mrs Joseph said.

  ‘What do you think now that you’ve met Miss Ferrier?’

  ‘I thought she was a rather nice woman who has had a very sad life.’

  ‘And you felt absolutely no anger towards her?’

  ‘Absolutely none. I wouldn’t mind meeting up with her again.’

  Mrs Joseph’s response was impressive, I thought.

  ‘So what did you think of my mum?’

  ‘She’s great, you suit each other.’

  ‘Don’t tell her that,’ I said. ‘She thinks that we suit each other, me and you. We had a joke about you adopting me, or me having two mothers or something like that.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m not anti-kids but if I wanted any I would have had them a long time ago, and as nice as you are I don’t think I would pass the test to adopt you. I think you have to like the idea of being a parent, and neither I nor Edgar ever did.’

  Just then my mobile phone rang. I went to turn it off but I could see by the display that it was my mother. I apologised and answered it.

  ‘Hello, Mum.’

  She sounded tearful. ‘Jackson, come here as quickly as you can. Something’s happened.’

  A shudder went through my body. ‘What’s happened, Mum? What is it?’

  ‘Just come.’

  ‘Tell me, Mum, what is it?’

  ‘Someone’s thrown bricks through the front window and there’s paint all over the front garden. I’ve called the police.’

  ‘I’m coming,’ I said.

  I told Mrs Joseph what my mother said. She called a taxi and she insisted on going with me. When we arrived there was a police car outside the house with a few onlookers. The main front window was smashed and there was paint all over the front door and in the front garden. We ran inside, where my mother was just finishing an interview with a policewoman.

  ‘Mum, are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m OK. Come here.’

  I went to her and she put her arms around me and hugged me.

  ‘What happened?’ said Mrs Joseph.

  ‘I was in the kitchen when I heard something, I didn’t know what it was, it wasn’t very loud, so I came into the front room, but I couldn’t see anything. I was just walking over to the window to have a look outside and a brick came right through and just missed me. I couldn’t believe it. I screamed and got down and lay on the floor but nothing else happened. Then one of the neighbours knocked on the door to see if I was all right. There’s the brick there.’ She pointed to a brick that was still on the carpet. The policewoman bent down and picked it up.

  ‘I’ll take this, she said.’ She handed a piece of paper to my mother. ‘Your crime report number is on there. You’ll need that for your insurance company, and my phone number’s underneath it if you need me. Are you sure you have no idea who may have done it?’

  ‘No,’ said my mother.

  ‘Let me know if you come up with any ideas.’

  I had an idea who it was but I stayed silent.

  ‘I’ll see myself out,’ said the officer.

  ‘This is disgusting,’ said Mrs Joseph to my mother. ‘So what was the first noise you heard?’

  ‘I didn’t realise it at the time but it was the paint hitting the front door and landing in the front garden.’

  ‘Disgusting,’ said Mrs Joseph again.

  Mrs Joseph stayed for a while. She made my mother sit down whilst she made her tea followed by a few glasses of something alcoholic, which I thought was very good of her. I didn’t know how to act under these circumstances, so it took some of the pressure off me, and I think it helped my mother having another woman around. Mrs Joseph didn’t leave until the double glazers had come and fitted a new window and the small group of people outside had gone. She offered to stay for the night but Mum thought she had done enough.

  That night I slept very badly. I heard every time my mother turned in bed. I felt as if I was looking after a delicate child. I was also feeling guilty because I had pretty strong ideas about who had thrown that brick, but I kept my cool. I wanted to stay hom
e the next day but my mother thought that I had already missed too many days off and ordered me to go to school. So I went, and the first thing I did when I got there was go to see Mrs Martel.

  ‘Come in, Jackson,’ she said from the other side of the door. She was sitting at her desk behind large stacks of papers. She pushed some of the papers aside to make room to rest her arms.

  ‘I think I know why you’re here. I told you that I wouldn’t tolerate any bullying in this school and I meant it. Tell me what happened?’

  ‘It’s not just about bullying, miss, it’s worse than that. Terry and his idiot friends attacked our house last night.’

  I could see by the look on her face she hadn’t heard about the attack.

  ‘What do you mean, attacked your house?’

  ‘They put a brick through our window and it just missed my mum.’

  ‘Did you call the police?’

  ‘Yes, my mum did.’

  ‘So why weren’t they arrested?’

  ‘Because no one saw their faces. They were dressed in hoodies and they got away, but I know it was them.’

  ‘Did you run after them?’

  ‘I wasn’t there. I got a call after it happened and I went straight home.’

  I was beginning to know her well. I predicted what she would do next, and I was right. She stood up and walked over to the window.

  ‘Did they do anything or say anything to you in or, for that matter, out of school?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, then there’s not much that I can do. They’re no angels, we know that, but it may not have been them. If I don’t have any evidence, then I can’t do anything about it. You must know that, Jackson.’

  ‘But they did it, miss.’

  Mrs Martel continued to look out of the window. ‘Get the evidence, give it to me or the police, and I promise you we’ll nail them, but until then there’s nothing I can do.’

  I began to get that feeling again, my body temperature rising from the tips of my toes and the pit of my stomach, and I could feel tears coming again, but I wasn’t going to cry in front of Mrs Martel.

  ‘Can I go? I said.

  ‘You came of your own free will, you can leave of your own free will, but be careful. Stay out of the way of Terry Stock and if you do come across them turn and go in another direction.’

  I had no time for that teacher’s speak.

  ‘Can I go?’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  As I walked out, I was getting hotter. The school secretary said goodbye but I ignored her. I walked into the playground. By this time I was burning up, and when I saw Terry Stock hanging with his friends I just jumped on his back and put my right arm around his neck.

  ‘You smashed our window,’ I shouted as I tried to strangle him and kick him at the same time, but all his friends just laughed. At this point I realised that I had forgotten something; I couldn’t fight and I was probably the weakest boy in the school. Terry just walked in circles with me on his back as if I wasn’t there.

  ‘Has anyone seen that Jackson Jones by any chance?’ he said sarcastically. ‘He’s around here somewhere.’

  I used all the strength I had to try to strangle him but he just raised his shoulder, causing me pain, and continued to speak.

  ‘Someone help me, I’ve got to find that Jackson Jones,’ he said.

  I flapped around on his back like a fish out of water until he just shook me off and I fell to the ground like a rucksack.

  I was no fighter but I was angry.

  ‘I hate you. You came round our house last night and smashed our windows, didn’t you, didn’t you? I’m going to get you.’

  His friends were dancing with laughter. He stood over me like a giant.

  ‘You can’t even fight me from behind when I’m not looking, how do you plan to get me?’

  I wasn’t very tough, and I wasn’t very good at sounding tough.

  ‘I’m going to learn some moves,’ I said.

  The laughter grew as more people gathered round.

  ‘He’s gonna learn some moves,’ said his girlfriend.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Terry. ‘There’s some judo lessons happening in town, sign up.’

  I don’t know what came over me. I jumped up and threw what felt like hundreds of kicks and punches to his body but they just seemed to bounce off, and the laughter got even louder. I decided to go for his face but fearing that I would hurt myself if I punched him I slapped him. He was unmoved. He laughed, clenched his fist, and brought his arm right back behind his head. I saw the punch coming towards me, so I closed my eyes and prepared myself to be knocked out, but the punch didn’t come. I opened my eyes to see Mrs Cartwright the history teacher holding his arm back.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘That’s enough of that. Who started it?’

  ‘It was him,’ said Terry.

  ‘Was it?’ asked Mrs Cartwright.

  I saw no reason to deny it.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Are you going to apologise?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Right. Report to Mrs Martel,’ said Mrs Cartwright.

  I took the blame for starting the fight, so I was the only one to face Mrs Martel. She told me that she knew that I would get myself in trouble after I left her office and that I had to think before I acted. She said I was a thoughtful young man who used to be a model student but she thought I may be losing my way. I wasn’t very happy with her view of things, after all I was the victim, but I listened to her, told her I was sorry, and then left and went to my lesson.

  Chapter 24

  A Screen Test

  For the rest of that day I was the laughing stock of the school, but it didn’t bother me too much. Seeing my mother upset affected me much more, and I was feeling this urgent need to do something about it. Terry Stock and his gang were free to mock me and I wanted some revenge. It was a macho thing; the problem was I wasn’t very macho. But it was the last day of the school week so I had the weekend to think things over.

  My plan was to not let my mother out of my sight that weekend; her plan was to behave as normally as possible to get me out of the house, but there wasn’t much to go out for. I had come to a dead end on the case and I wasn’t making new friends. Then my mother gave me a job; I was to strip both the old and the unwanted new paint off the front door and repaint it, but first I had to clean the paving in the front garden. I was happy to do this. I got a broom for the broken glass and some turpentine for the paving and set to work. Although there was still a light stain on the paving where the paint had been I did a pretty good job with some moral support from passing neighbours. Then I started to strip the paint off the door with some paint stripper. I reached the point where my mind was willing but my arms were not, so I stopped. The paint from the door was stripped off but repainting would have to wait.

  Turpentine and paint stripper is strange stuff; even after I showered I still smelt of the stuff, like a newly painted hospital ward. It wasn’t nice, but it was slightly better than smelling like a toilet. I decided to go for a walk in the hope that the breeze would remove the offending odour. I walked a route that took me past my school and was surprised to see lots of activity there. The gates were open and there were four large trucks in the playground. I walked towards the gate and into the playground.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked a woman holding a clipboard.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I go to this school. What’s happening here?’

  ‘We’re from Alpha Beta Films, an independent film company that specialises in taking on tough subjects, and we’re making a documentary about the teacher who was murdered here.’

  I was shocked. ‘You’re making a documentary? Who said you can?’

  ‘Oh, we have permission,’ she said, smiling. ‘It’s what we call a docudrama, a documentary with some acting in it to illustrate various events.’

  ‘You can’t make a silly docudrama,’ I said. ‘You don’t know anything. You don’t kn
ow anything about this school and you don’t know anything about the people in it.’

  The woman was still trying to hang on to her smile.

  ‘You’re taking it a bit personally.’

  ‘Of course I am, because I know that you don’t know anything. I know more about this case than you.’

  ‘So what do you know?’

  I saw Mrs Martel walking across the far end of the playground.

  ‘I’m not telling you,’ I said, heading off towards Mrs Martel. ‘Mrs Martel,’ I shouted. She was walking away from me. ‘Mrs Martel.’

  Then I heard someone shout from one of the school doorways, ‘Cut. Cut. Can someone get that boy out of shot?’

  ‘Mrs Martel, what’s happening?’

  ‘They’re making a documentary, and I think you just walked right into their shot. I’m supposed to be wandering around the school grounds thinking about life and looking very serious.’

  I felt more heat building up inside me.

  ‘Miss, you didn’t tell me about this.’

  ‘You didn’t ask me. I know you have an interest in what happened but it’s really none of your business.’

  The man shouted from the doorway again.

  ‘Alice, get that boy out of shot, will you? And Mrs Martel, I’m sorry about this, but could you come back and do that walk again?’

  ‘OK,’ she shouted back, and Alice, the woman I first spoke to when I entered the playground, came and asked me if could stay out of shot.

  ‘I’m going now,’ I said, but before I left I let Mrs Martel know that I thought what she was doing was wrong, and she told me that I was getting above my station. I didn’t know that I had a station.

  As Alice walked with me to the gate she told me that she had worked out who I was.

  ‘Who am I?’ I asked.

  ‘I can’t remember your name, but you’re one of the lads who was nearby when Mr Joseph was stabbed, and you also became friends with Mrs Joseph afterwards. I was told that you became a right little private investigator. Would you come on the programme and tell us some of your experiences?’

  ‘No way.’