Fay

by Dulcie M. Stone

  A moment later, he reiterated. ‘No one else speaks for Fay. Fay speaks for herself. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Mark.’

  The chorus of assent was immediate, even though he had to wonder about their actual comprehension of what Trixie, for sure, would perceive as a cruel edict. Except that wasn’t really what it was about anyway. What it was actually about was making sure that Fay understood the significance of this new order.

  Using the same authoritative tone, because that was what she’d become accustomed to, he asked: ‘Do you understand, Fay?’

  The ponytail bobbed assent, and the hunched shoulders trembled.

  ‘That really won’t do, Fay. I need to hear you.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The faintest whisper barely reached his ears.

  ‘Mark. My students call me Mark.’

  ‘Yes, Mark….,’ the whisper expired on his name.

  He smiled, gently and without triumph. ‘Thank you, Fay.’

  ‘She won’t talk no more.’

  ‘Trixie!’

  The group turned on her. ‘Trixie! Be quiet!’

  Step one achieved, he decided to maintain the pressure. It was a risk. He knew it, but there was some subtle change in her which convinced him she wanted him to. ‘All right, Fay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go back to our first question – would you like to join our makeup classes?’

  Curious as to what she would do and anxious that the risk was warranted, he observed first the cessation of the trembling then an intensifying of the stillness, before she quietly answered: ‘Yes Mark.’

  So far so good. She’d decided to cooperate. ‘Will you ask your mother to come sometimes?’

  No answer. Obviously the wrong question. He wondered where persistence would lead.

  ‘Fay?’ His hand automatically waved to silence a restive movement from Trixie. ‘Do you think she’ll come? Your mother. Do you think she’ll come to the classes?’

  ‘No.’ Still a whisper, but a response.

  ‘Why not?’

  Again no answer. It couldn’t be stubbornness, or militancy, or misbehaviour as such. These were not supposed to be in her nature. Not according to anything he had been told or read. She was accustomed to obeying the teacher. Surely if he persisted, she’d eventually answer.

  ‘Fay, why don’t you think your mother will come?’ He waited. The class was justifiably restless. Again he motioned for silence. ‘Fay? About your mother?’

  ‘She’s busy.’

  ‘Too busy to meet your new teacher? Too busy to meet my wife?’ Maybe talk of closely personal matters would reassure her. ‘Did they tell you Jenny’s pregnant? I’m to be a father again soon.’

  Once more he waited, then continued: ‘No? Do you know what pregnant is?’

  ‘P-p-pregnant is….’

  ‘Meryl! Please! Fay and I are talking.’

  ‘You’re talking.’ Trixie giggled.

  ‘You shouldn’t sling off at your teacher.’ Lengthy silence being an impossibility, Clem finally entered the arena.

  Mark chuckled. ‘I don’t think Trixie’s slinging off. Actually, she’s right. I am talking too much. I’m very excited about the new baby.’ To maintain group interest, the discussion needed to be expanded.

  ‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ Carol asked.

  ‘He don’t know yet, stupid.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘He wants a girl. Robin’s a boy.’

  ‘Robin’s our first child. He’s three. I sometimes bring him to school. How about it Fay? Would you like Jenny to bring him along one day?’

  ‘No!!!” Head raised, Fay’s voice was strong and forceful.

  A hiss of disbelief rocked the room. He felt an uncomfortable pang of doubt. What was going on with this girl? What was he stirring up? Should he stir it up? Trixie and Meryl and Clem were confused. Had they never seen this side of her either?

  He’d left himself no choice. He must, for all sorts of reason, go on. ‘Wouldn’t you like to meet Robin?’

  ‘No.’ The steady blue eyes, expressionless, held his.

  ‘Don’t you like small children, Fay?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I’ll bring Robin. You’ll like him too.’

  Again she withdrew, again not physically. As earlier, there was the almost visible closing down of her self, so that she seemed smaller, paler and even more fragile. Yet, paradoxically, the unexpected aura of inner strength had not dissipated. Almost palpable in its power, it was evident in her abnormal stillness and in her unsettling silence.

  ‘Fay?’

  A white border circling her tightened lips was the only sign she’d heard him.

  ‘Miss Turner gave her lollies.’

  ‘She let her go to cooking.’

  ‘ ’Cause she’s shy.’

  ‘She’s not shy.’ Once more trusting gut feeling rather than logic or even common sense, Mark hardened his voice. ‘You’re not shy at all, are you, Fay?’

  ‘That’s stupid!’ Peter cried. ‘Everybody knows she’s shy.’

  He ignored them. ‘Why don’t you want me to bring Robin, Fay?’

  Someone started to speak, again he gestured for silence.

  Distantly the morning playtime bell rang. The group began to move. His raised hands stopped them. ‘There’ll be no play for anyone until you answer me, Fay.’

  Although she looked up, the blue eyes were staring past him.

  ‘I’m not going to fall for that, either.’

  The group muttered. From outside came the sounds of young laughter as the other classes rushed into the quadrangle.

  ‘You’ll see,’ he explained, ‘this is our very first class of our very first day. Fay and I are going to have a lot of time together. So we must learn to work together. Everyone in this group is a friend of everyone else. That’s me and you and Carol and Laura and Peter everyone. Otherwise we’ll have an unhappy group. I like happy groups. Okay?’

  Fay focused on him.

  He waited, scarcely breathing. Had he overdone it? He was in deep water, deeper than teacher training had prepared him for. Except he had an additional advantage. He was where he’d been for most of his life and for all of Jason’s. If he could not trust the intuition honed by a lifetime of experience with his difficult brother, where was he?

  The group, shuffling impatiently, did not intervene. With the exception of Laura, whose snoring was the room’s single sound, the others were now acutely sensitive to the moment’s importance.

  ‘That’s it, Fay,’ he reiterated. ‘No play for anyone unless you tell me what you think about visitors.’

  Stalemate. He’d dug himself into a hole. He was going to have to back down. He hated it. It wouldn’t be the first time and for sure it wouldn’t be the last. The students who’d worked with him knew he could, and would, if he had to. If Fay’s wall was so vital to her, so be it. He’d try again another day. Whatever was going on, he had time, plenty of it. Did she? Each second she buried herself behind that wall she was hurting herself.

  About to release his class, and Fay, he pointed to the door.

  Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the blue eyes came to fiery life. ‘It’s her.’

  He lowered his hand. ‘Who, Fay?’

  ‘That one.’ She pointed to Laura.

  ‘Laura’s….’ Peter began.

  ‘It’s okay, Peter. What about Laura, Fay?’

  ‘I don’t want her here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I…’

  ‘I don’t want her here! Take her away! Take her away!’ She screamed.

  ‘Fay! Stop this!’

  ‘Take her away! Take her away!’ Shoving aside chairs, elbowing students, tripping over equipment, Fay was trying to get to the exit door.

  ‘Stop her! Stop her!’

  ‘She hit me!’

  ‘Fay! Fay!’ Peter begged. ‘Please stop! You’ll hurt yourself.’

  Roused by the affray, Laura was sobbing.

  ‘Take her away!’ Fay pushed Peter
aside.

  Who was this? Where was the quiet obedient mouse? ‘Look after Laura!’ he called. Carol went to comfort Laura.

  ‘Fay! Stop!’ He reached the door ahead of her.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ She shoved him out of the way.

  Caught off balance, he was powerless.

  ‘I’ve got her!’ Peter grabbed Fay.

  Clem came to his aid. ‘I’ve got her too!’

  She struggled, kicking and screaming. The class was in uproar. While Jamie and Harry and their mates were wringing frantic hands, Trixie was calming Meryl, Carol was hugging the weeping Laura and Peter and Clem were struggling to subdue Fay.

  ‘Clem! Peter! Let her go!’ Mark’s roar rose above the racket.

  Peter obeyed. Clem glared, and hung on to Fay.

  ‘Now!!!’

  ‘Shit!’ Clem released his prisoner.

  Fay was out the door and away across the quadrangle, the ponytail flying and the plump legs pounding.

  A breakthrough! He’d pressed some interior button and Fay Margaret Clark, the cowed mouse, had shown something of herself no one had even begun to suspect. A breakthrough!

  But to what?

  Chapter Five

  ‘Come in, if you please.’

  Adele Turner and Mark Withers had been summonsed to yet another late meeting in the principal’s office. The call had come mid-afternoon. No explanation. Could it have to do with Fay?

  After she’d left his room this morning, Mrs Ryan had allowed her to wait in sick bay before sending her home at lunch time. Surely the incident didn’t warrant another late meeting? Coming so soon after their last meeting, it had to be about something very important. She’d even left them to cool their apprehensive heels in the staff room for ten minutes before she’d called them to the office. Adele Turner had imbibed strong coffee. He’d chain smoked. He was apprehensive, yes. Though not fearful, as Adele Turner seemed to be. Was this undignified wait a deliberate ruse to unnerve them? The principal was certainly capable of it, particularly if she was unhappy about something.

  She waited in silence until they filed in, and in silence took their seats. Still she did not speak. The unnatural, discomforting and deliberately unnerving silence reached the point of excruciating anxiety before, without expression of any kind, she selected a file from the stack on her desk, and shoved it across to Mark. ‘Open it. It’s Fay Clark’s.’

  ‘May I ask…..?’ Miss Turner began.

  ‘You may not.’ The principal silenced the cowed Miss Turner. ‘Mr Withers?’

  What the hell was this about? The woman was like a cat with a mouse. If there was cause for anxiety it was in her enjoyment of his supposed discomfort. Miss Turner might be easily intimidated, he was not. If this was how it was to be, he needed his principal to understand that he was not going to bow to bullying tactics. Therefore it would be wise to set the ground rules on this opening gambit, to make the point clearly and quickly right now. Leave it, and he’d risk later confrontation from a position of weakness.

  He did not open the file.

  ‘No?’ Totally unfazed, Mrs Ryan’s manicured nails sharply tapped the green cover. ‘We’ll see if you change your mind. I have to tell you. You’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest.’

  ‘Oh?’ He fed her the line she was waiting for. ‘In what way?’

  ‘I had a phone call. Thanks to you, Fay Clark refuses to attend the Centre!’ Her voice was raised, her face flushed.

  It was uncharacteristic. Fair enough, she was the boss. She was also uneasy. Whatever had happened, it was not usual. Meanwhile, Adele Turner was shuffling uncomfortable feet. Rightly so. If this was aimed at him, why was the poor woman here?

  ‘Cat got your tongue, Mr Withers?’

  Actually, it had. What was he supposed to say? This had to be about Fay’s dramatic reaction to Laura. So why was Adele Turner here? It was a place to start. ‘Whatever is going on, it’s down to me. So why is Miss Turner here? What’s so urgent?’

  ‘Fay’s behaviour is quite out of character.’ Miss Turner sighed. ‘I really can’t begin to guess what happened to her.’

  ‘Right this minute,’ Mrs Ryan reprimanded, ‘what happened to her is not the main issue. The point is, this has to be fixed. Quickly. If the public ever hears of it, it gives us a bad name. As for the Board! If the Board even hears a whisper, the consequences don’t bear thinking about.’

  The Board. The mysterious body that ruled everything. He knew that. He hadn’t comprehended just how dominant it was. It explained Mrs Ryan’s bullying, and her anxiety. It didn’t explain her insistence on opening that damned file. Except…?

  Of course, this wasn’t about Fay’s refusal to attend. Even though she was fearful of the Board, and had shut Miss Turner up, the real reason they were here had to do with his management of Fay. Did she want him to manage Fay the same way Miss Turner had - as in the file?

  ‘I was thinking….’ His hesitation was deliberate. He needed her to ask about his doubts.

  ‘Thinking? Precisely what were you thinking, Mr Withers?’ Though still impatient, Mrs Ryan responded on cue.

  ‘I was thinking - what if we’d never seen Fay’s file?’

  ‘What!’ Miss Turner was the first to react.

  ‘If you don’t mind?’ He tapped the file. ‘I need a few minutes.’

  ‘Miss Turner?’ The principal’s response was oblique. ‘How do you feel about this?’

  Adele Turner consulted her watch. ‘I really am pressed for time, Mrs Ryan.’

  ‘A couple of minutes only, Mr Withers.’

  So okay. He’d not given in to her bullying. He’d won the battle he needed to win. He now needed her to understand his priority was Fay, not winning for the sake of winning. He needed to find out all he could about Fay, to read those faded yellowing handwritten notes at the back of the file. Opening it, he quickly scanned last year’s report, flipped through the copious notes in Adele Turner’s stilted handwriting, and finally arrived at the yellowing red-inked pages at the back.

  ‘Really, Mr Withers,’ Mrs Ryan chided. ‘We don’t need to go so far back. Miss Turner has…’

  ‘I haven’t,’ he was blunt. Last time he’d viewed the file she’d been so tired he’d missed out on the yellowing back pages. Not today.

  ‘I assure you,’ she insisted. ‘Those old notes are quite irrelevant. Our time is limited.’

  ‘I should leave,’ Miss Turner begged.

  ‘Another minute….’ He pored over the faded script.

  Until Mrs Ryan protested. ‘Mr Withers, we must move on.’

  ‘Another minute!’ He held up a cautionary hand. ‘Please! It’s important!’ Miss Turner reddened. Mrs Ryan clamped clenched teeth.

  Eventually, finger marking the entry that had held his prolonged interest, he looked up. ‘You have seen this?’

  ‘Really, Mr Withers! Is this necessary? That’s a very old entry. It’s not relevant.’

  ‘As you said, it’s an old entry. As for relevance, I don’t agree.’

  ‘We are not here to chew over old bones. Whatever that says, it has nothing to do with why we’re here.’

  ‘You think not?’ Inviting their reaction, he maneuvered the file into a central position, so that the barely legible handwritten notes became visible to all three of them. ‘I thought there was nothing important in this section?’

  ‘You’re referring to this?’ Adele Turner was the first to react. ‘Fay’s I.Q. was once estimated to be in the low sixties?’

  ‘As you both should have learned by now, it’s a figure. It tells us nothing about her behaviour. Especially this new development.’ Mrs Ryan’s angular finger, flipping through the pages from aged yellow to recent white, stabbed at the ongoing reports. ‘Look at it! She’s a slow learner. She’s no trouble. She was no trouble! Today she is trouble! The assessment’s not relevant, Mr Withers.’

  ‘How can we know that? Why was it done? Why did you…?’ He stopped. ‘It’s not important.’

  �
��Do go on,’ Mrs Ryan invited.

  He hesitated. Questions about the old assessment could wait. Fay might never come back.

  Anticipating confrontation, Miss Turner hastened to keep the peace. ‘I must say, I did know about that test. I spent many hours familiarising myself with those early notes.’

  ‘Your question was, Mr Withers?’

  Dammit! She was like a dog with a bone. Why couldn’t she let well alone? He’d backed off. And still she wouldn’t let it rest.

  He turned his attention to Adele Turner. ‘You go along with this?’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘That Fay’s significantly retarded.’

  ‘As Mrs Ryan says. It’s outdated.’

  ‘Oh? So let’s be kind. Let’s place her above this arbitrary figure. Let’s say her I.Q. may be as high as in the borderline range.’

  ‘Kind indeed.’ Mrs Ryan’s thin lips curled. ‘With the best will in the world we would have to place her intelligence at a level somewhat lower than that.’

  Miss Turner fidgeted with the yellowing rear pages. ‘I do believe there was originally a suggestion … if you read the attached note … someone recommended remedial education while Fay was still in the mainstream system.’

  ‘I read it. It’s a teacher’s comment. There’s no later reference to it. Obviously it wasn’t followed up. Why would that be?’

  ‘I remember the principal at the time. Frank Johnson.’ Mrs Ryan reflected. ‘He was a gentleman. Of the old school. The school grew at such a rate. It did get rather too big for him. I would presume Fay was just one of the children who became lost in his workload.’

  ‘It could be what happened,’ Miss Turner agreed. ‘I remember him. He was such a nice man. When I was at the Kindy….’

  ‘I don’t believe this! Some silly old fool can’t handle a job too big for him. And Fay gets a raw deal. That assessment is not irrelevant at all! After they read it her teachers would have taken the damned thing as gospel!’

  ‘Mr Withers!’

  ‘Sorry! Sorry! It makes me so….’

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Withers,’ Adele Turner, blushing, interrupted. ‘Perhaps we should not be so quick to lay blame. After all, it’s evident the Centre is the right place for Fay now.’