“Thanks Sir.”
“Hey, don’t thank me. Thank the Colonel.”
“Come on Sir, I’m not a total nugget. Thanks a lot, it’s nice of you.”
Mr Pollard made eye contact with Darren and smiled. “I bet you won’t remember this, but I’ve owed you lunch for about four years now.” Mr Pollard opened the tub of gravy and gestured Darren to help himself.
“No. What do you mean?” Darren looked puzzled by the statement.
“You were in year seven, and I had you for maths, it was period before dinner and I’d let it slip that I’d forgotten my lunch. You stayed behind after class and offered me half of your sandwich. Do you remember?”
Darren laughed. “God, yeah, I do now.”
“Do you remember what I said to you?”
“No. Not really, Sir.”
“I said that it was very kind of you and I said that out of thirty-two kids in the class, you were the only one who stayed back to offer me some lunch.”
Darren bit into his huge chicken burger and smiled as he chewed.
“Can you not remember? I told you that you’ve got a
very kind heart, and that you should never lose that quality. And as I’ve watched you growing up, I’ve seen you acting like a right pain the backside. But you’ve still got a heart of gold.”
Darren looked a bit embarrassed. He wasn’t comfortable with receiving praise. It didn’t happen very often.
“So, thanks for sharing your sandwich with me that day. It was horrible, though.”
Darren laughed and a bit of his bun flew out of his mouth, which made him laugh again.
“I hate cheese! I was gutted when I bit into it! I thought ‘oh no, what have I accepted for my lunch!”
Darren was laughing loudly and Mr Pollard joined in. Eventually, they calmed down and got on with their meals.
“Anyway, I owe you an apology, about this morning…”
“No, Sir, forget it. Doesn’t matter now.”
“Yes, it does matter. I was NGAB.”
Darren looked completely thrown.
“Bang out of order, I should have seen how much it meant to you. I could have just sat down and read it. But I was being an arsehole.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. It’s far from fine mate. You’re facing loads of trouble now, for breaking that door and running off from school. We’re probably talking about expulsion, and it will be my fault. It’s totally out of order, and I’m really sorry.”
“Shit happens, Sir.”
Mr Pollard bit into his burger and nodded. He spent a few moments chewing, and he looked lost in thought.
“Yes, that’s true. Shit does happen. I’m going through my own difficulties at the moment. I think that’s why I was being such a toe-rag this morning.”
Darren looked a little embarrassed. He wasn’t sure how to respond to his teacher talking about real life stuff. It wasn’t normal to have a window into a teacher’s world.
“Thing is, we’ve got a lot in common. You’re not the only one who wants to leave Astley High. Obviously, don’t say nowt to any of your mates. That Michael Donnelly you go around with has got a right mouth on him!”
Darren laughed. It was true, but it just sounded weird hearing Well’ard saying it.
“But yeah, I tried to leave, at the end of this year. But the education authority wouldn’t let me. So, I’m stuck there, and if I have to stay, you can bloody well stay with me!”
A silence filled the space between the two people. It felt uncomfortable for them both. Darren thought of a question to ask, just to plug the awkward silence.
“Why do you want to leave?” he asked.
“Well, that’s a good question! You should ask my wife that. She’s the one who wants me to leave. Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“No, go on, Sir.”
Mr Pollard ate some of his fries as he considered the question. Darren had opened up to him, so he decided to reward that openness, and share a little from his own private life.
“Well, our kids have grown up now. And, well, she says I care more about my job than I do about her. It’s funny really, because she’s always been proud of how hard I worked. Anyway, we’ve separated. But she said she’ll have me back if I take early retirement. I went round there last night to open the letter from the education. I gave it to her and she read it out. It said that I’d been unsuccessful in my application for redundancy. So, she slung me out!”
“No way. Bad times.”
“Yes, you’re right there. And, I suppose I was still angry about it this morning and took it all out on you. I’m really sorry, Darren.”
“Like I say Sir. Doesn’t matter. I’ll become a comedian!”
“You probably will mate. You probably will. But now I’m worried about your dad.”
“My dad?” Darren suddenly looked stressed.
“Yes. I’m afraid I had to go round to your house…”
“He’s a knob-head, Sir.”
Mr Pollard laughed loudly at the young lad’s cutting remark, it had come from nowhere.
“Seriously, he is. He doesn’t give a toss about me. He hates me. That’s why I’m…”
Suddenly Mr Pollard was the one who looked stressed.
“That’s why you’re what?”
Darren shrugged.
“Talk to me, Darren. What were you about to say?”
The difficult silence descended again. Eventually, Darren thought of his options and decided that there was no point holding back. He just came out with it.
“I’m running away.”
Mr Pollard put the last piece of his tower burger into his mouth and started chewing. He used the time to process the information and to think of something constructive to say. It took him a while to think of the words, but once he did, he came straight to the point.
“Do you know what, under the circumstances, I can totally understand you arriving at this decision.”
That wasn’t the statement that Darren had expected to hear from Well’ard, his face made it obvious.
“However, it is possibly the worst idea you could have had.”
This dismissive remark put Darren on the defensive.
“Why, what choice have I got? Go home and get battered off my dad, then get kicked out of school, and get battered again? Then be stuck in the house with that bastard every day? Seriously, Sir. You don’t know what it’s like.” Darren looked angry, and sad. All of the light-hearted fun from the past few minutes was long forgotten as Darren faced the bleak reality of his situation.
“Listen, mate, I’m not disagreeing with you.” Mr Pollard desperately wanted to share his views about Darren’s dad and talk about his experiences, both historical, and more recently, an hour or so ago. But he had to be professional. He needed to neutralise Darren’s mood first. There would be no point talking to him whilst he was feeling like this.
Mr Pollard thought he had a great diversion. “Have you ever heard of the eighteenth-century saying “softly softly catchee monkey.”
Darren shook his head sombrely.
“In modern language, I imagine that it translates as ‘chillax blud, get out of my grill, and everything will be sick, you get me?”
Darren tried to laugh, but it was borne from politeness rather than genuine humour. Mr Pollard read the signs and continued.
“The thing is, half of the problems that you have come from making quick decisions. As you get older, you’ll realise that you need to slow that impulsiveness down. You’ll get that eventually. But I need you to trust me on this, just running off and hoping for the best might seem like a good idea now. But after a couple of days of sleeping in doorways, and old blokes offering you a bit of money for sex, you’ll realise that you’ve made a mistake.”
“I’ll tell them to fuck off, Sir!”
“Yes, I’m sure you will Darren. I have no doubt about that. I’m just saying, you don’t need to find out. We can work out a better plan than just setting
off and hoping things will work out.”
Darren looked at Mr Pollard and maintained eye contact. “Sir, I appreciate what you’re saying. But I’ve got to go. I just don’t know why you’re being so nice. I’ve been nothing but a pain in your arse since I started at Astley High.”
“Listen, you’ve not…”
“Sir, I know I have been a pain. But I’ve never meant to. None of it, I don’t walk to school in the morning thinking ‘oh I know, I’ll try and annoy the teachers today and end up in Well’a… in Mr Pollard’s office. I just can’t help it. I can’t behave, I can’t sit still, I can’t learn anything. I just want to get off Sir, I’ve had enough of everything.”
Mr Pollard stayed quiet. He had listened and now he was considering the words that his pupil had shared. He remained silent for a minute, looking out of the window and watched as one of the big yellow trams went past, heading towards the town-centre.
Finally, Mr Pollard spoke. “Tell you what, let’s talk this over properly, later. If you don’t want to go home, or come back to school, then I can let you chill at my flat for a few hours. Then, when I’ve finished school, I’ll come home and we can talk this thing through properly. It will give me a few hours to think things over and look into what options we have.”
Darren didn’t look too impressed. It was obvious to Mr Pollard that he just wanted to get going with his loaf of bread and start this exciting adventure.
“Come on Darren, please, do this for me. What time is it now?” The teacher checked his watch. It was 11.30. “Right, by the time I drop you off at mine, then get myself back to school, we’ll be talking about three hours, and I’ll be back, and I’ll have a few ideas. And if you really want to do it, just get away from everything, at least I’ll know that I’ve tried my best to talk to you about things first.”
“There’s no point, though…”
“Well lets just wait and see. I might be able to sort you out with a place to stay through Social Services, or through the council. At least let me try, let me see what options are open.”
In the back of Mr Pollard’s mind were two unsatisfactory outcomes to this. First was the prospect of Darren going home, and taking a beating off his dad, if not something far worse. As far as the teacher could read the situation, Darren’s other option was to head off to a life on the streets. For all the shit that Darren had given Mr Pollard through the years, he liked the kid, always had, and if he was honest, he liked Darren Jenkins even more now that he knew what kind of a nasty bastard he lived with.
“Like you said in your essay, Darren. No matter what you try to do, it all seems to go wrong. There’s no reason to believe that this trend is going to alter now when you head off into the night with nothing. So, will you come and sit at mine for a few hours? And I promise you, I’ll have some good news for you when I get back.”
Darren smiled warily. He didn’t like feeling as though he was taking advantage, and he hated feeling as though he owed a favour. As far as he was concerned, Mr Pollard had every right to just laugh at him and the latest stupid position he found himself in. After all, this wasn’t Well’ard’s fault. It was his, and his alone.
“Come on mate, don’t turn down a good offer. I’ve got Netflix on my telly.”
Darren smiled. Seemingly, Netflix had swung the deal. “Right, nice one Sir. Cheers.”
“Good lad. Right, come on, finish your Coke and let’s make a move.”
Darren drained the cup, making a loud slurping sound as he sucked up the last of the pop.
A few minutes later they were heading back towards Stalybridge.
“Can you remember some of those people I mentioned earlier? The ones who got expelled?”
“Yes.” Said Darren.
“Go on then, what were they called?”
“Well, there was Amy Winehouse, Lily Allen. That guy who sings Three Lions, Ed Sheeran, Richard Branson. Oh aye, Eric Clapton. Einstein!”
“Not bad. Can you remember any of the others?”
“Kevin Bridges!” said Darren. He seemed pleased with himself.
“Good. And if you managed to learn that piece of useless information today, then that proves your theory wrong that you can’t learn anything. Doesn’t it?”
“Sir.”
“You see, it’s not that you can’t learn. You just learn differently from everybody else in the class. Just try and remember that.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What can you tell me about this supermarket we’re going to go past in a few minutes?”
“It used to be a mill.”
“How many staff worked there?
“A thousand.”
“See! You can learn. Oh Lord above us! Thank you for this gift! It’s a miracle!” Mr Pollard raised his hands to heaven, leaving the steering wheel unattended.
Darren laughed. Mr Pollard had completely lost the plot, and it was genuinely funny. He’d never seen Well’ard acting stupid like this, and it really tickled him.
“You’re worse than me for acting the goat, Sir!”
As Mr Pollard’s car approached Stalybridge, the mood inside calmed down a little, as the seriousness of this bizarre situation caught up on the teacher.
“Okay, let’s get something clear. I’m going to tell Mrs Houghton that I haven’t been able to find you. It will buy us a bit of time to sort this mess out. But you must stay at my flat, don’t go out or anything, it’s vitally important. There’s some stuff to make a brew, and there’s stuff to make a butty.”
“I’m totally stuffed, Sir! Won’t want anything more to eat until tomoz.”
“Yes, I must admit I could do with a nap after all that KFC! Just promise me that you’ll stay inside?”
“Scout’s honour, Sir.”
“And don’t be putting it about on Facebook that you’re chilling at Well’ard’s on your phone.”
“I haven’t got one.”
“Well, if you just stay at mine for a few hours, and keep your nose clean, I might sort you out with my old i-phone, I got upgraded to the latest one a few months ago. I’m only going to throw the old one. Seems a waste as it works fine.”
“No way. Thanks Sir.”
“If you do as I say!”
“I will.”
“Good lad.”
Mr Pollard arrived at his flat and stepped out of the car quickly. Darren was right behind him and followed as his teacher walked speedily around the back of a row of houses, through a gate, and up a metal staircase. Mr Pollard opened the door and waved Darren inside.
“Right,” said Mr Pollard as he closed the door behind himself. “Kitchen, front-room, my bedroom’s through there and the bathroom is through that door. The TV remote is on the bookcase. See you in a few hours.”
*****
Mr Pollard arrived home at 4pm. Although he had told Darren that he was going back to school, he’d had second thoughts and had stayed in his car at the end of the street, keeping an eye out for Darren running off again. He’d been concerned that Darren would give in to his impulsive nature and go off to start his running away adventure. Mr Pollard had felt that it was a big risk, especially as Darren’s mood had been so volatile earlier. He wanted to be on hand and try and stop him if he did try and make a run for it. Work could sod off, as far as the teacher was concerned.
The teacher had spent the time in his car productively, ringing around the council, the Citizen’s Advice Bureau, the local homeless charities and social services. Although his calls had been fruitless, he was in a great mood, mainly because the youngster had kept his word, and stayed put in the flat.
“Alright Darren?”
“Sir!”
“Not been rooting have you?”
“No Sir.”
“Really? You can’t beat a good root in somebody else’s house! I’d have been in all the drawers at your age.” Mr Pollard laughed as he filled the kettle with water.
“Do you want a brew?”
“Yeah, go on then. Cheers.”
“What do you have?”
“Tea two, ta.”
Mr Pollard made the drinks and went through into the front room and placed them down on the coffee table. Darren took the remote control off the table and muted the programme he’d been watching. He was sat upright, his hands clasped on his lap, looking quite tense. Mr Pollard smiled, imagining how he would have been sprawled out all over the settee just minutes earlier. He had very good manners, for all of his academic faults.
“So…” said Mr Pollard, “we’ve got a situation here. I’ve phoned Social Services, don’t worry I haven’t named you, or identified you in any way. But I asked them what options there are for a fifteen-year-old lad who is facing permanent exclusion from school and the potential for a beating off his dad. Do you know what they said?” Mr Pollard looked serious. He had very kind, gentle eyes when he was being nice, and very scary, intimidating eyes when he was being horrible. Today, he was being nice.
“Don’t know Sir. Did they say it’s my own fault?”
“No, not quite. They said that due to your age, they have no powers of intervention until a crime has been reported. What that basically means is that they won’t be able to do anything until after your dad has beaten you up.”
Darren didn’t look particularly shocked or surprised. “Nah, I didn’t think they’d do out. They don’t care about teenagers. It’s all about the little kids. That’s the way it should be, anyway.”
“I asked them what the situation would be if your dad did beat you up. They said that they would take advice from the police and do their own assessments. Whilst all this was going on, they’d secure you accommodation in a kid’s home, or in temporary foster-care.”
Darren didn’t say anything.
“What do you think about that?”
“Not a lot.”
“You don’t think that’s an option?”
“What, get battered off my dad so I can get put in a home full of knob-heads? I’m good, thanks.” Darren smiled, he wasn’t being ungrateful, he really appreciated Mr Pollard going to all this trouble on his behalf. But it was apparent that he thought that this was a shit idea.
Proof of Life Page 24