by Peter Martin
Mostly the morning had gone well, apart from the odd student pushing their luck, and he controlled his classes. He put it down to his determination to succeed whatever the cost.
Some of the pupils amazed him, imagining they could go through life without working. They held a debate during his weekly pastoral period about the pros and cons of either going to university or finding a job with enough prospects to get on. Everything went fine, albeit for a few, intent on getting a laugh. With the discussions over, Billy asked if they’d write a synopsis of the points mentioned. That’s when the disturbance occurred, and all hell broke loose. It started with paper aeroplanes and pens thrown across the room. The ring leader threw an object, an egg, which splattered against the wall, the shell dropping to the floor. But all the furore came to an abrupt stop when Billy said, ‘Right, that’s enough.’ In a flash he took the wooden board rubber and flung it to land on the desk in front of the culprit. And pointing, he said, ‘You, it’s Neil Watson, isn’t it? Get straight down to the Head NOW! And when you come back, clean this mess up too.’
On Monday, Vinnie came straight up to him in the staff room. ‘I gather you had a spot of bother on Friday?’
‘Er … yeah, you could say that.’
‘From what I hear, Neil Watson got his comeuppance.’ He lowered his voice before going on, ‘Between me and you, everyone has had enough of that young man, and were all singing your praises about how you handled the situation. These year eleven pupils can be really difficult – you did well. It reminded me of when I was at school, and all the teachers were strict, but that’s changed.’ He shook his head. ‘But I remember our geography teacher, Mr Cox, throwing the blackboard rubber like you did, oh yes, he’d got it to a fine art. When you came out of his class you were well and truly awake. You need to carry on keeping them under control from now on. Let them get the upper hand and you’ll never get them back. Understand what I’m saying?’
‘I do. It’s done wonders for my confidence, but I was scared. Years ago the deterrent to the student was the cane or ruler. Now you have to exert your authority in more subtle ways.’
Vinnie laughed and slapped him on the back.
Billy smiled. ‘I was annoyed with the lad, but it is difficult to deal with.’
He omitted the bit where he wanted to shake the living daylights out of him. He’d had enough to contend with in his life, no way would the likes of Watson prevent him from being successful.
‘Well, I’m standing here dishing out advice, and it seems you don’t need it. Although I’m always around should you want someone to talk to,’ Vinnie said.
Billy walked into the classroom, apprehensive of how the kids would react, but he needn’t have worried as a different atmosphere prevailed. They were humble in his presence, and he no longer faced dissent, instead they were falling over themselves to do what he told them. A turning point perhaps? Well, time would tell, but he was ready to meet every eventuality.
<><><>
Two years passed. Billy’s resolve had paid off, and he now held the position of Deputy Head of the English Department.
But, while he enjoyed socialising with colleagues and had made a few friends at the gym he attended, he still experienced a sense of loneliness. The need to build a lasting relationship with someone he trusted and could confide in was an ache that refused to go away. But where would he meet such a person? Most of the single women he knew were part of the teaching staff at Wood Green. Maybe he ought to join a dating agency, he thought, smiling to himself.
One morning he passed a pupil in the corridor. She looked vaguely familiar. He thought her name was Sarah Baker. She always sat at the back of the class, never saying or contributing much. Yet her standard of work outshone her peers’, which puzzled him.
Sarah glanced at him, looking flustered and in her haste, dropped some of the books she was carrying. Billy stopped to help pick them up, saying, ‘We’re both late for class.’
‘Oh, yes.’ She laughed. ‘Thanks.’
‘No problem. It’s Sarah, isn’t it? Something of a dark horse, aren’t you? I’m impressed with your homework, but it would be even better if you’d contribute more in class, you have so much to offer.’
‘Yes, well, I don’t like drawing attention to myself, Mr Price. Don’t want everyone thinking I’m a big-head. I’d rather let my writing do the talking. But my dream is to be a novelist, so I spend a lot of my spare time writing.’
‘Good for you. That’s a great ambition. Hope you make it.’
‘Thank you, sir. I must get to my next class now.’
‘Let me see something you’ve written that’s not in the syllabus. I’ll do an appraisal, if you don’t mind criticism, that is.’
‘Wow, you mean that?’
He nodded, and with a grin she’d gone.
Then one dank afternoon a week later, after school, he sat busily marking. She breezed in wearing a woolly hat, a thick scarf wrapped around her neck, and her blue eyes were puffy, her nose red.
He stood up at once. ‘Oh dear – you don’t look as though you’ve been well at all!’
‘Yes, I’ve had two days off this week, I felt too ill to come into school. But I’m much better now.’ She placed two folders on the desk in front of him. One marked ‘Poems’, the other unmarked. ‘These are the poems and stories I was telling you about.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Has anyone else ever read any of your work?’
‘No, sir. Except for Mum and she said they’re good, but she would, wouldn’t she?’ She pointed to the folders. ‘The first folder contains my poems, the second has two or three short stories.’
‘Oh, that’s great. I enjoy reading both. Most people struggle to do the one.’
‘I’d love to write a novel one day, sir. I’ve got plenty of ideas, but I have to work for my A Levels. I need to get good grades, so I can go to university. So that’s on the back burner for now.’
‘Not to worry, Sarah; it’s best to concentrate on getting your A Levels at present, they’re the most important thing.’
‘Better get going, I don’t want to hang about,’ – she pointed to her red nose and started to laugh – ‘especially with this cold.’
Billy thought her a breath of fresh air. He couldn’t wait to read her work, flattered that she’d entrusted it to him.
By the time he got home that evening he was up-to-date with his marking. Most nights he ate what his aunt termed ‘a microwave dinner’ and tonight was no different. After eating the shepherd’s pie and veg from the plastic container, he sat down to review Sarah’s work. He admired her ambition to become a writer.
Now sitting comfortably in front of the fire, he opened the folder marked ‘Poems’; there were twelve of them. The first one, entitled Feathered Friends, were her observations of the birds she’d seen through her bedroom window. He found it captivating, and despite the few rough edges, she had something: the work was fresh and original. An underlying talent which, if nurtured, couldn’t fail to lead her to a successful career – if not as a novelist, maybe a journalist or even a university lecturer.
The other poems were equally good, encompassing subjects including first love, parents, grandparents, and her dog.
Of the two short stories, one was a love story about a young girl who had been left brain-damaged following a car crash, and developed into a story of rekindled love that brought a tear to his eye.
Her work had potential, her imagination was vivid, and she had a way with words that kept the reader enthralled.
After he’d finished reading, Billy sat back in amazement, excited at the natural ability she possessed. Had she started to write a novel as she intimated was her ambition? If so, he wanted to see it.
Two days later, at the end of her next English lesson, she hung about waiting until everyone had gone. Then, sheepishly approached his desk and smiling, she said, ‘Dare I ask what you thought of my work?’
‘Well, Sarah, let me start off by saying thank you for lett
ing me read your work. I feel privileged. The poems are so good, and the short stories too; the one about the car accident was so touching. One day, your work will be in print, believe me.’ There was a quiet moment before he continued, ‘If you don’t mind me saying … one minor criticism: keep your eye on your spelling and grammar, it might be your undoing. Otherwise – brilliant!’
‘Really!’
‘Yes. From your classwork to now these,’ – he thumbed through the folders on the desk – ‘I see no reason why you shouldn’t pass your A levels with flying colours.’
She flushed with delight, emphasising the deep blue of her eyes. Billy knew his contact should be limited to the school with his students, but her work intrigued him. ‘Let me see more of your work. Tell me, do you still wish to write a novel?’
She seemed to warm to this question as if it was the one question she wanted him to ask above all others.
‘Yes, and now you’ve given me some encouragement, sir, I want to do it even more. I’ve already started a couple, but you could say I ran out of steam.’ She paused. ‘It’s so different writing short stories, it might sound silly, but you can get the whole storyline in your head and it’s easier to plot out. A novel is deeper, and at times throughout the book you forget little details.’
Billy smiled, glad he’d been able to help. ‘Good on you. If you want any help, just ask. I’m more than willing to help someone with your talent.’
‘Thank you, sir, that’s kind.’
Over the next two weeks Billy didn’t get to see much of Sarah, and during class she appeared to have retreated even further into her shell. He put her on the spot, asking her questions, but each time she shook her head, not wanting to answer. No matter how hard he tried, she wouldn’t take part in the discussions. Knowing she must have her own ideas, why did she choose not to voice them? He decided to challenge her before the day was out. But his resolve fizzled out when she hastily left the room without glancing in his direction.
Puzzled by the girl’s behaviour, he wondered if there was something other than schoolwork brewing. His only chance of finding out was to speak to her on her own and hope she might open up. In the meantime, he’d have to let it go. Her life was nothing to do with him, the only bugbear now being his desire to help her nurture her talent.
<><><>
It was two weeks later; the day hadn’t started well. He’d been rostered to take charge of a detention class until four-thirty.
He drove out of the car park towards home – it looked as if his only date, as usual, was with a microwave and a dreary weekend to follow. But as he turned onto the bypass, a girl dressed in the grey and the blue uniform colours of Wood Green caught his eye. Her head was down, and she walked slowly. She seemed distressed over something. He felt sure it was Sarah.
Instead of carrying straight on she took the alleyway which led through a new housing estate on to the old High Street. Without hesitation, he turned left at the island which would bring him back up the street towards the school.
And within a few minutes there she was, wiping the corners of her eyes with her fingers, walking towards him. He brought the car to a halt, wondering if he ought to approach her. Should he interfere in her life when this had nothing to do with him? But she looked really upset. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing. He got out and walked towards her and stopped right in front of her. ‘Sarah. Are you all right?’
She looked up, startled to see who’d called her. For a fleeting moment she stopped, and then scurried on.
‘Sarah. What’s wrong?’ he asked quickly catching up with her.
‘Please, go away, Mr Price. I … don’t want you involved,’ she told him between sobs.
‘Sarah, whatever it is, you need to tell someone. If you wish you can talk to me about it.’
She glanced at him, clearly unsure of what to do.
‘Hey, I’m sure once you’ve had time to think things through it won’t seem half as bad.’
She smiled, but much to his relief she followed him to the car.
Now sitting side by side with her in the front seats, Billy felt sure whatever her problem was he’d be able to sort it.
‘Right, do you want to talk here, or shall we have a cup of coffee?’ he suggested.
She dried her eyes. ‘Okay. The McDonalds is nearby.’
‘Sure, no worries.’
Within a few minutes they entered an almost empty McDonalds restaurant. As always Billy found the smell of the food tempting.
‘I don’t know about you, Sarah, but I’m a bit peckish.’ He smiled. ‘It’s the chips.’
‘Yes, I suppose I am too,’ came her reply.
‘Right then. What’ll it be?’
‘Only chips for me, please. I’m right off burgers. Oh, and orange juice, please.’
When he brought the food to the table, Sarah asked, ‘How much do I owe you, sir?’
‘Nothing, it’s my treat.’
‘You sure?’
‘The least I can do. Now come on, eat up, and when you’re ready, maybe we can talk – all right?’
When she didn’t reply he guessed she was reluctant to talk about it. They ate and drank in silence, with Billy unable to take his eyes off her. He desperately wanted to find out what was troubling her. Finally, he asked, ‘It’s to do with a lad, isn’t it?’
She was still unwilling to speak, and without looking up, she nodded.
‘So, what’s he done, this boy of yours?’
She burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. ‘He’s ditched me,’ she revealed, pulling a tissue from her pocket.
‘Whatever for? I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe you’re better off without him.’
‘It’s not that, sir,’ she replied between sobs. ‘It’s because I’m pregnant.’
CHAPTER 11
‘Does anyone else know about this?’ Billy said.
‘No, only me and him.’
‘What about your parents?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t tell them, Dad would go spare. He’s an ex-policeman and it’s all rules and regulations. He’s very strict, and I’m sure he’d throw me out.’
‘So, what will you do?’
This comment induced another bout of sobbing. ‘I’ve got no idea.’ She stopped, blew her nose and carried on. ‘I might as well leave school and get a job.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘By which time, in June, I won’t need to tell anyone, it’ll be clear, especially wearing summer clothes.’
‘And what about your boyfriend? There’s no chance of a reconciliation?’ She shook her head. ‘In that case the decision is yours.’
‘Don’t you think I realise that?’
‘It’ll be hard to bring up a baby on your own.’ When she didn’t comment, he continued, ‘You ought to talk it over with your parents.’
She looked horrified and said, ‘No. I can’t. They have such high hopes for me, it would destroy their dreams, but besides I don’t want them to know. I feel so ashamed.’
‘We all make mistakes. And if you’re going to decide on your own, it’ll be that much harder.’
She sighed. ‘Oh God. What would you do, sir?’
For a second or two he was thrown; she’d asked for his advice, but he was only her teacher. But if she wanted his opinion, he’d give it.
‘It’s nothing to do with me –’ he began.
‘Yes,’ she butted in, ‘but if you were in my shoes, what would you do?’
He smiled, hesitating before saying, ‘Well, that’s a difficult one, after all I’ll never be in your position, will I? But if you want my opinion, I’d say, reluctantly, you might need to consider a termination. Because if you don’t tell your parents, you’re on your own. It won’t be easy bringing up a baby alone. I presume you’d be able to get a small flat from the council, but the responsibility for the baby’s welfare rests with you. With only benefits to live on you’d have to watch every penny.’ Seeing the anguish on her face he paused before continuing. ‘Sarah, I�
�ve learnt how brutal life can be. You can start again. Most of your life is still ahead of you, plenty of time for babies when you’re older and in a stable relationship. But don’t do what I say. Speak to someone in your family, or perhaps your GP.’
As he spoke the words, he felt uncomfortable and uncertain. He was no counsellor. His advice was only common sense. She looked vulnerable and afraid, and her pleading eyes told him she had no one else to turn to. So what else could he do?
‘Would you help me if I chose to have an abortion, sir?’ she asked.
He didn’t exactly answer her question, but said, ‘You really should talk it over with your parents in confidence, or your doctor.’
‘Mum would go straight to Dad and he’ll go mad. Probably throw me out. But I’ve already decided what to do. So please will you help me?’
‘Let’s take it one step at time. Speak to your GP and listen to what he or she has to say.’ When she made to object, he put up his hand. ‘I don’t want to sound harsh, but I can’t sort this out for you. You need your doctor’s help. In the meantime, go away and think about your options, carefully. Make sure it’s what you want, because once it’s done, you can’t change your mind.’
Maybe he should have sat on the fence. Now it could be too late.
But if she had a child at such a young age, it could ruin her life before it had even started.
By mid-week Billy had neither seen nor heard from her. She’d missed the afternoon lesson yesterday. But after the last lesson, as he locked the drawers to his desk, he heard a faint knock on the classroom door.
‘Come in.’
The nervous figure of Sarah popped her head around the door. ‘Sir, could I have a word?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I went to the doctor’s after school. He didn’t give me any advice, just told me about the different options available. Matter of fact it was more or less what you said, that I have to decide myself. And after I told him I thought about nothing else and I knew I had only one option, he made me an appointment for next Friday. But that’s only an assessment. I’ll have to go through the rigmarole of a pregnancy test and an ultrasound scan, plus a few other tests, before I can be …’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘Booked in for the procedure, as they call it.’