Jenny Wainwright walked down the staircase with me. ‘I hear you’re the present headteacher of Ragley,’ she said.
‘That’s right, for the past nine years.’
‘Well, I wish you luck.’
‘And you,’ I replied.
She walked briskly and with a natural confidence towards her car, apparently unconcerned, and I remembered the words of the Doncaster headteacher, who had described her as one of the rising stars of education in South Yorkshire.
Rufus caught me up in the car park. ‘That was strange,’ he said. ‘I wonder what caused the delay.’
‘No idea,’ I said. I had no wish to talk.
He pointed towards Jenny Wainwright, who was starting up her Vauxhall Nova. ‘She was in there a long time.’
I nodded, but said nothing.
He pressed on regardless, eager to impart more information. ‘While you were being interviewed I discovered that she and I had both been shortlisted next week for the headship of a large primary school in Bridlington.’
‘You have another interview?’
‘Two more,’ he said with a smug smile. ‘The second is in Cumbria two days later.’
‘Well, I hope it works out for you,’ I said.
He set off across the car park, then paused and called over his shoulder, ‘But of course I may get the Ragley and Morton headship.’
Beth had arrived home early and John’s birthday party was in full swing. He had started to attend the local nursery class, two mornings each week, and four of his friends had arrived to share his special day. Two of the mothers had stayed to help, along with Mrs Roberts and Natasha Smith, who were in the kitchen clearing away the party food.
Beth had kept John’s birthday cake on top of the fridge, waiting for me to share the moment. She looked up at me expectantly as I walked in and I kissed her on her cheek and whispered, ‘They’re ringing the candidates tonight with the decision.’
There was momentary surprise, but her composure was excellent. She recognized my concern and squeezed my hand. ‘Time for John’s cake,’ she said.
We sang ‘Happy Birthday to You’ and John blew out his candles. ‘Again, Mummy,’ he cried. Blowing out candles was fun. Natasha lit them again and his friends joined in.
By 6.30 everyone had gone home and the house was quiet. I got John ready for bed while Beth prepared an evening meal. The minutes ticked by and I kept looking up at the clock on the kitchen wall.
Eventually Beth said, ‘Jack, why don’t you take John into the garden?’
The early-evening sunshine was welcome and I sat on the bench with John on my knee in his pyjamas. Next to me the ‘Peace’ roses were in full bloom and their fragrance filled the air. I was reading a colourful book, The Gingerbread Man, and John was repeating the words. He loved to turn the thick cardboard pages with his strong little fingers. It was one of his favourite stories and he regularly repeated, ‘Run, run, said the gingerbread man.’ Our hero, the Seb Coe of the biscuit world, escaped the clutches of everyone until finally he met his nemesis – namely, the wily fox who swallowed him up on the last page. It always struck me as a particularly unfortunate and violent end to the tale, but John was entirely unconcerned and merely said, ‘Again, please, Daddy.’
The salivating fox had just devoured the distinctly naive gingerbread man for the second time when I heard the telephone ring. I picked up John, hurried inside and sat him in the hallway next to his pile of Lego bricks.
Beth held out the receiver. ‘It’s Miss Barrington-Huntley,’ she said simply.
I knew the next conversation would determine my future career.
Over the years my happiest days had been at Ragley School and I prayed they would continue.
I took a deep breath and listened to her words. They were calm and precise. She spoke at length.
Finally I knew.
And in a heartbeat … I began a new journey.
About the Author
Jack Sheffield was born in 1945 and grew up in the tough environment of Gipton Estate, in north-east Leeds. After a job as ‘pitch boy’, repairing roofs, he became a Corona pop man before going to St John’s College, York, and training to be a teacher. In the late seventies and eighties, he was a headteacher of two schools in North Yorkshire before becoming Senior Lecturer in Primary Education at Bretton Hall College at the University of Leeds. It was at this time that he began to record his many amusing stories of village life, as portrayed in Teacher, Teacher!, Mister Teacher, Dear Teacher, Village Teacher, Please Sir!, Educating Jack, School’s Out! and Silent Night.
Star Teacher is his ninth novel in the Teacher series and continues the story of life in the fictional village of Ragley-on-the-Forest. He lives with his wife in Hampshire.
Visit his website at www.jacksheffield.com
Also by Jack Sheffield
Teacher, Teacher!
Mister Teacher
Dear Teacher
Village Teacher
Please Sir!
Educating Jack
School’s Out!
Silent Night
For more information on Jack Sheffield and his books, see his website at www.jacksheffield.com
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First published in Great Britain by Bantam Press
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Copyright © Jack Sheffield 2015
Jack Sheffield has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9780593075074
ISBN 9780593075067
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