More Than Just Mom

by Rebecca Smith

  I shrug. ‘And I specifically haven’t been to the shops yet. I’ll get some tomorrow.’

  Scarlet’s face starts to redden. ‘But I wanted cucumber sandwiches today,’ she moans. ‘My friends and I all agreed that we’d bring in cucumber sandwiches for lunch.’

  I nod at Nick and gratefully accept the cup of coffee that he is holding out to me. ‘Well, you’ve got two choices,’ I tell her. ‘You can take regular old cheese sandwiches or you can go to the shop yourself.’

  ‘There’s no time.’ Her voice is sulky and I can feel myself starting to get cross. ‘All I wanted was a cucumber sandwich.’

  ‘Well you’re not the Queen,’ I snap. ‘So you’re just going to have to cope without cucumber today.’

  ‘Did you know that sea cucumbers can shoot out their innards to put off anything that’s trying to eat them?’ adds Benji, stepping off the chair. ‘How cool is that? If there’s any danger then they just pop out their intestines and whatever is trying to attack them is so grossed out that they run away.’ He pauses. ‘Or swim away.’

  ‘You are disgusting,’ snaps Scarlet, turning to me. ‘Why do we have to let him speak when we’re eating? He should be banned.’

  ‘That is an excellent idea, darling,’ I tell her. ‘I think we need a new house rule that says anyone under the age of nineteen must be mute during mealtimes.’

  ‘I concur,’ agrees Nick, raising his coffee cup towards me. ‘Starting from now.’

  ‘If I can’t have cucumber then can I—’ starts Scarlet.

  I hold my hand up to silence her. ‘No speaking, remember?’ I whisper. ‘Just lovely, cucumber-free peace while I drink the rest of my coffee.’

  ‘You people are ridiculous.’ She slams her plate into the dishwasher and shoots me a glare. ‘When I’m an adult, I’m not going to behave like you both do. I’m going to treat my children with respect and courtesy and I’m going to give them names that are properly spelt.’ She stomps towards the door before turning to deliver her parting shot. ‘And there will always be cucumber in my fridge.’

  ‘That sounds like an ancient proverb,’ Nick calls after her. ‘May your fridge be forever well-stocked with cucumber.’

  The muffled sound of her frustrated scream goes a little way towards thawing my cold, miserable heart. But not much.

  *

  I trudge into the staffroom. The first thing I see is the white envelope sticking out of my pigeonhole and I know instantly what it is. Of course it is. I couldn’t be feeling much worse right now so obviously, today is the day that Miriam informs me that my contract will not be renewed. Part of me considers turning around and heading straight back out of the door, but I have nowhere to go unless I’m planning to visit the local Jobcentre, and I don’t think it’s open on Wednesdays. Or Mondays. Or Thursdays.

  ‘All right?’ Cassie approaches from the other side of the room. We haven’t spoken much since the day that I received the rejection email but she’s sent me a few texts and I’ve replied. I don’t blame her for going along with Nick’s plan, but I’m still feeling embarrassed that she read the book and despite my protestations, the rejection is stinging.

  I nod back at her. ‘Looks like Miriam has left me a missive.’ I pick up the envelope and turn it over in my hands. ‘Guess I’m going to be looking for another job for September.’

  ‘You can join me at Pizza Parade if you like.’ Kurt comes up behind Cassie. ‘I’m going to need reliable members of staff to work the phone and the till. I think you’d be great, Hannah.’

  I smile at him, momentarily warmed by this display of friendship. ‘I might take you up on that,’ I tell him. ‘But I’ll need a lot of shifts. Dylan’s student loan isn’t going to go very far when he goes to uni.’

  Kurt beams at me. ‘No problem. And you’ll get the staff discount on pizza, obviously. Twenty-five per cent off, Hannah! That’s not to be sniffed at is it? Not when a family-size Americano costs twelve pounds. That means you’d only be paying …’ He falters and Cassie and I watch as he tries to work out the amount. ‘You’d only be paying … ermm, well – it’s a big deduction, I know that!’

  I take pity on him. ‘I think it would be three pounds off, Kurt. So the pizza would cost me nine pounds, which is indeed a bargain.’

  Kurt looks at me admiringly. ‘That’s why I need you on the till,’ he tells me. ‘You’re very quick with tricky sums.’

  He wanders off and I turn to Cassie.

  ‘Bloody hell! I knew he was a bit rubbish but seriously?’

  Cassie grins. ‘I think Miriam’s doing him a favour actually, getting him out on incompetency. He’s going to be a whole lot happier running Pizza Parade than he is here, teaching Maths and doing “tricky sums”!’

  I look back at the envelope. ‘Which is what she probably thinks about me. Best to put me out of my misery and get rid of me, before I actually do some real damage.’

  Cassie puts her hand on my arm. ‘You’re not like Kurt,’ she says quietly. ‘You’ve been thrown in the deep end and made to teach a subject that you knew nothing about. It’s been a hell of a year, Hannah – but look at what you’ve achieved.’

  Oh yes. My list of successes is quite astounding. I managed to get an entire class to write the rudest word of all time in their English books. I have traumatised the same class by exposing them to the plot of the most notorious and foul hardcore porn film that exists in the history of the universe. And unbeknownst to anyone here except Cassie, I have written an abysmal book that was supposed to be raunchy and provocative but has ended up being a tragically unsexy version of a Carry On film.

  I cannot think of anyone less qualified to inspire the next generation about the joys of the English language.

  ‘Are you going to open that, then?’ Cassie’s face is concerned.

  I shake my head. ‘No. Why bother? Miriam hates me and she hates what I’ve done to her beloved English class. I know she’ll have leapt at the chance to finally get shot of me. She’s probably going to replace me now and make me teach something truly lame like PE for the rest of the year.’

  And then the bell rings and I walk away.

  Because the world obviously despises me, I am teaching Year Nine first lesson. We’re part way through reading Lord of the Flies, a book I have always found to be engrossing and thought-provoking. That is, until I had the pleasure of sharing it with the members of Year Nine, Class C.

  ‘Piggy is a loser’; ‘Jack sounds like a proper boss’; ‘why don’t they just phone for help when they get stranded on the island’? Just some of the more intelligent comments that I have been forced to deal with. I have tried to convey the horror of the boys’ situation, but my attempts have fallen on deaf ears.

  I wait for most of the class to be sitting down before I embark on my usual, futile questioning. ‘Who has read chapter nine?’

  Brandon Hopkins pulls back Brody’s chair, just as Brody is about to lower himself into it. There is a crash as Brody’s backside hits the floor, followed by a howl of rage.

  ‘You fucking dick!’ he yells at Brandon, who is sitting back in his own seat looking smug. ‘I’m gonna kill you for that.’

  Brody struggles to his feet and makes a move towards Brandon, but I get there before him. If nothing else, teaching this class has improved my reflexes.

  ‘Enough!’ I shout, holding out my arm to keep Brody out of striking distance. ‘There will be no unsanctioned killing in this classroom today.’

  ‘But he pulled my chair!’ screams Brody, his eyes wide. ‘I’m not gonna let him get away with that.’

  ‘Annihilate him, Brody!’ whoops Vincent from across the room. ‘Do it!’

  I am too tired and too furious to put up with this crap for another second. Whipping my head around, I fix Vincent with a steely gaze.

  ‘Do not push me, Vincent. I am not in the mood today. Understood?’

  Vincent gives me a nod and sinks back into his seat. He obviously has just enough sense to recognise a woman on th
e edge.

  I turn back to Brody. ‘Sit. Down,’ I mutter. ‘I will deal with this, but if you make one more sound I will not be held accountable for what happens next.’

  Not my most professional moment, but it works. With a last snarl at Brandon Hopkins, Brody wrenches away from me and grabs his chair before lowering himself cautiously onto it.

  ‘It was an accident, miss,’ smarms Brandon Hopkins. My fury runneth over.

  Leaning over, I place both hands on his desk and move forward until I am right in front of his face.

  ‘If you ever pull a stupid stunt like that again, I will make sure that it’s the last thing you do,’ I hiss at him. ‘I will end your time at this school and you will have no choice but to go cap in hand to Mr Jenkins and beg him for a job at Pizza Parade. And he will give you a job because he is a nice man, who happens to believe in second and third and fourth chances. But because of your lack of a decent reference and the fact that you are a bully and a coward, he will offer you the position of toilet-cleaner and floor-mopper and you won’t even be given the staff discount of twenty-five per cent off all pizza until you have proved your worth.’

  I pause for breath. ‘What you just did was cruel and infantile and dangerous. You could have given Brody an injury that lasted for months and I speak from experience, Brandon Hopkins, because when I was sixteen years old, a horrid little bully called Jason Jones did exactly the same to me. I landed smack down on my coccyx bone and I was in agony for over a year.’

  I pause, to allow for inevitable sniggering at the word ‘coccyx’, but the room remains silent. I am clearly more terrifying than I thought.

  ‘One year, Brandon Hopkins! And where is that little scumbag Jason now?’

  Brandon Hopkins shakes his head. ‘I don’t know, miss. Is he in prison?’

  I scowl back at him. ‘More than likely. More. Than. Likely.’

  I’m lying. Last time I Facebook-stalked Jason Jones, he was in the Bahamas, honeymooning on his yacht with his third and incredibly beautiful wife. But Brandon Hopkins does not need to know that.

  ‘Consider this your final warning,’ I tell Brandon Hopkins. ‘And unlike Mr Jenkins, I do not believe in second chances.’ I turn and glare around the room. ‘One more incident involving any of you and I’ll be forced to ask someone else to teach you English.’

  Might as well get ahead of the inevitable. For all I know, my replacement is on their way down here as I speak.

  I walk back to the front of the class. ‘Although no doubt that would give you all great pleasure.’

  It was supposed to be a subtle aside to myself but the words come out louder than I’d intended and they hear me.

  ‘I’m sorry, miss.’ Brandon’s voice stops me in my tracks. ‘And I’m sorry, Brody. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I don’t want us to have another teacher. I like your lessons, miss.’

  ‘Me too,’ adds Brody and then there is a half-hearted murmuring from the rest of the class as they add their agreement.

  I turn and stare suspiciously at Brandon Hopkins, but his face is remarkably smirkless. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that the boy almost appears genuine. It’s obviously time that I leave this job – I’m clearly losing all sense of reality.

  ‘Right, let’s try again.’ I pick up my copy of Lord of the Flies. ‘Who has read chapter nine?’

  The room goes still. I learnt a while ago that the quickest way to gain silence is to ask them a question.

  ‘It was set as homework at the end of last lesson,’ I remind them. ‘You should all have read it. Elise? How about you?’

  ‘I had to visit my nan in hospital,’ she tells me, her face flushing red. ‘There wasn’t time.’

  ‘Well, what about you, Vincent?’ I turn to look at him. ‘What’s your excuse?’

  Vincent looks awkward. ‘I was going to read it,’ he says quietly. ‘But my mum needed me to help her and then it got late and—’

  ‘Okay, that’s fine,’ I say, remembering too late that Vincent’s mother is often to be seen coming out of the off-licence in the middle of the day. ‘Well, perhaps we’ll start this lesson with me reading the chapter to you.’

  The shuffling of bodies and the contented sigh that ripples around the room take me by surprise.

  ‘I used to love it when teachers read to us,’ says Wayne and there isn’t even a hint of sarcasm in his voice. ‘You know, when we were little. Nobody does that anymore.’

  For some reason, this makes my throat constrict. I look around the room as Year Nine, Class C make themselves comfortable and I think about the bedtime stories that I used to read to my children. Maybe I’ve been going about this in the wrong way, treating these kids like they’re mini-adults when all they really want is to be looked after.

  At the back of the room, Brandon Hopkins has kicked off his shoes and in the row in front of him Brody is leaning back in his chair as if he’s sunbathing at the beach. And instead of doing what I would usually do and yelling at them to look like they’re paying attention, I open the book and I start to read.

  *

  The silence when I finish is unlike any silence that I have heard in this classroom before. It isn’t awkward and it isn’t empty. This silence isn’t because nobody has anything to say – instead it is humming with the thoughts and questions of twenty-six fourteen-year-olds.

  ‘They killed him,’ whispers Elise, eventually. ‘They actually killed Simon.’

  Her words unlock everyone else and the classroom is suddenly filled with raised voices and exclamations. I hold my hand up.

  ‘One at a time,’ I say, pointing at Brody. ‘What did you want to say?’

  Brody is looking at me with an expression of disbelief on his face. ‘Why did they do that?’ he asks. ‘They didn’t have to kill him, did they?’

  ‘That is an excellent question. Who’s got any ideas about why the boys killed Simon? Yes – Brandon Hopkins?’

  ‘They were scared?’ he offers, sounding unsure. ‘They thought he was the beast?’

  ‘No way!’ calls Vincent from across the room. ‘They knew he wasn’t the beast. They just wanted to make themselves feel better.’

  I walk across to his desk. ‘Okay, that’s an interesting point of view. How could killing a person make you feel better?

  ‘It made them powerful!’ calls someone from the back.

  ‘It made them part of a team,’ shouts someone else. ‘Them against the beast.’

  ‘But why kill Simon?’ I push, heading back to my desk. ‘What had he done to deserve that?’

  ‘He knew who the beast really was,’ says Elise quietly. The rest of the class stop talking and turn to look at her. She flushes a little but continues. ‘Simon knew that the beast was them. The boys. The evil was inside them and not some scary creature lurking on the mountain. That’s why they had to kill him.’

  I have been trying to get them to see that William Golding was telling a story about much more than some stranded private school boys on a remote island. In just a few sentences, Elise has done what I have failed to do in weeks.

  I have never felt prouder as a teacher in my whole life.

  ‘Man, that’s dark,’ mutters Brody, shaking his head. ‘People can be bloody horrible.’

  ‘How does it finish, miss?’ Wayne’s voice has a tinge of concern. ‘Does it all work out at the end? Will you read us the rest, miss?’

  I think of the rest of the story. The death of Piggy and the hunting of Ralph. The unsatisfactory ending where the boys are rescued but nothing will ever be the same again. And then I look around the room, at this group of disorganised, disrespectful kids who are all looking at me and waiting for my answer.

  I can’t leave them yet, not when there’s still so much pain to come.

  I just can’t.

  No matter how much I hate this job.

  Chapter 34

  I open the front door and step inside the empty house. The white envelope from Miriam is lying on the kitchen table but I sti
ll can’t bring myself to open it. I need to plan next week’s lessons and I want to find a way to engage Year Nine, Class C. I’m not going to be able to do that if I’ve read Miriam’s letter.

  Pushing it to one side, I open up my laptop and open a new file. I had an idea at about three o’clock this morning for a lesson using drama techniques to get inside the minds of Piggy and Jack and Ralph and I actually think the kids will love it. It’s not the kind of thing I’d have even contemplated doing before but right now it feels like I’ve got nothing to lose. I know in my heart that I won’t be teaching these kids in September so I might as well enjoy the final few months of term.

  When the doorbell rings, I’ve finished planning the first lesson and I’m partway through the second. For a moment I consider ignoring the door. Maybe whoever it is will go away and leave me in peace. But then I hear the letterbox flap open and my mother’s voice booming down the hallway.

  ‘Hannah! Coo-ee! I know you’re home, darling!’

  Reluctantly, I close the laptop lid and heave myself out of the chair. I am not especially in the mood for my mother’s enthusiasm today but even I can’t leave her standing out there on the doorstep. And with any luck she’ll have brought cake with her.

  ‘I knew you were in!’ Mum breezes past me, throwing me an air-kiss as she marches towards the kitchen.

  ‘Out of interest, how could you be so sure?’ I ask, trailing behind her. ‘I could have been out.’

  Mum laughs. ‘Darling, you’re never out! Unless you’re at work, of course. Or at the supermarket.’

  She isn’t saying it to be unkind but it still irritates me.

  ‘I go out all the time,’ I mutter, taking the flowers that she is proffering and dumping them in a vase. ‘I do things.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ My mother is oblivious to my sullen tone. ‘Now I’m not stopping – I’ve got a hair appointment in half an hour and if I’m late that new man at the salon punishes me by giving me a very severe style. Tell me quickly about what’s going on with you.’