by Gould, R J
“Maybe we can meet again, then I can be the judge?”
“Yes, I’d like to. Got a pen and paper?”
David walked across to the table and took a sheet of the hotel’s headed paper. He tore it in half, wrote down his name and number and handed it to Bridget together with the pen and other half. He watched as she jotted down her number and email address. Large swirls adorned her writing; she added a smiley face.
“I left my name off, I’m assuming you’ll remember who I am,” she said as she handed it over. “Well, I’d best be going home.”
“Where is home?”
“London. I live in Muswell Hill.”
“I’m London, too. Mill Hill.”
“Almost neighbours. OK, well you take care David, and I look forward to hearing from you.” She kissed him on each cheek French style then took a step back, lifted her hand for a small wave, picked up the lime green canvas bag on the floor beside her, then headed off down the corridor. David watched, hoping she would turn round for a final acknowledgment, but she didn’t.
It was gone 9.45, barely time to get downstairs before breakfast ended. The dining room was near deserted, the one reunion member there was the loud-mouthed woman who had made the announcements the night before. Her school uniform had been replaced by the much more appropriate jeans and blouse. She gave him a watery smile of acknowledgement as he entered so he had little choice but to join her.
“One of the few,” she commented as he sat down.
“What do you mean?”
“I think most people gave up on breakfast, too hung-over. I’m in the hung-over category too, but since I woke up ridiculously early I thought I might as well come down. How come you made it?”
“I probably didn’t drink as much as most.”
“You were with Bridget, weren’t you? She still upstairs?”
“No, she’s headed off home.”
“Us over-aged teenagers. You getting off with Bridget, me with Roger. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near him when I was at school and now I get so pissed I end up in bed with him. It was his snoring that woke me up. Panic and guilt too, my husband would kill me if he found out. Hopefully Roger’ll be gone by the time I get back upstairs.” She cut a piece of bacon, lifted it to her mouth and rather ungraciously chewed. “You or Bridget married?” she asked with her mouth still full.
“I am, though separated. I don’t know much about Bridget. But before any rumours start to fly, we didn’t spend the night together.”
The woman took a slurp of coffee. “Why not?”
“That’s a daft question. Why should we, we were chatting?”
“Oh,” she replied looking at David in puzzlement. “You seemed to be getting on well enough.”
“But that doesn’t mean we end up sleeping together,” David retorted with a degree of admiration for this woman’s black and white decision making process. No principles, just doing what you fancy at that moment. And of course he would have loved to have spent the night with Bridget. “There is such a thing as morality,” he stated with false conviction.
“Sor-ree,” she replied.
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lecture. And I’m afraid I don’t even know your name.”
“Penny Tratton. I know you’re David because I handled the bookings, but we were in different classes in school. I don’t think our paths crossed much.”
“Penny Tratton? No, I can’t say I remember your name.”
“The boys changed it, of course. Penny Tration they called me.”
“Penny Tration. Why?”
“Penny Tration, penetration. I lived up to the nickname a bit, I’m afraid. And I did it again last night so that’s going to do my reputation a power of good.”
She burst into tears. David stood, walked to the other side of the table and put an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, don’t be upset. You can walk away from today and forget all about it. And you did organise a great reunion.”
“Thank you, you’re very kind,” she said, the tears disappearing as quickly as they had arrived. “I’m going to wake Roger up and tell him to get to his own room if he’s still there, then I’ll pack and head off to my lovely family.” She stood, sobbing again as she dramatically strode out the room.
David stood, too, and walked to the buffet table. A disinterested waitress was clearing away the plates. “Sorry sir, it’s gone ten, we’re closed for breakfast.”
“Can I at least have a coffee?”
“Fraid not, but there is a Starbucks round the corner.”
The Reunion – R J Gould
Chapter 7
David decided against a Starbucks coffee and set off from the reunion immediately after his Sunday morning conversation with Penny Tratton. He was tired and irritable and had no enthusiasm about returning home. The very word ‘home’ had a cosy ring to it but any link with cosiness was shattered. The Tuesday after Jane left had been even worse than the Monday and David was glad he’d resisted Bridget’s wish to find out more about the sordid events.
Rachel had come downstairs for breakfast with a new song to insult her mother, this one based on the Queen hit ‘We Are the Champions’.
She is a fucking bitch
She is a fucking bitch
No time for losers
‘Cause she is the biggest bitch – in the world
It was a song David had always liked and he had to admit Rachel sang the updated version perfectly, she had a lovely voice. Half-heartedly he acted out the enraged parent, but for the rest of the day he couldn’t get the tune or words out of his head.
He was humming it as he entered the car park underneath the local authority offices. It had been constructed for tiny vehicles, the concrete columns demanding preposterously tight turns. David failed to negotiate carefully enough and the front passenger side of his car donated a Tornado Red streak to the multi-coloured assortment of scraped paints on the pillar. The parking bays were so small it was difficult to open a door without knocking against a neighbour’s car. His door no more than tapped against a Honda Civic, but it was enough to set off the alarm. He made a run for it.
Work began with a continuation of the meeting with Mary Dyer to discuss overspend on residential care home support. Today the office gossips had described her attire as Ms Footsie 100 CEO. She was wearing a tailored navy pinstripe suit with a crisp white blouse buttoned to the neck and shiny patent shoes with large black bows.
There was no welcoming smile, not even a greeting, as he entered her office. He was on time but she made a point of looking at her watch before gesturing for him to sit down opposite her. “I’m pushed for time this morning, David, but we need to get this done. We’re already £350,000 over budget and that’s with half the financial year to go. Before we start I want to make it clear that you’re the one who should be sorting it, it’s within your remit.”
David was prepared. At home the previous evening he had constructed water tight counter arguments. “A couple of points before you continue, Mary. Did you know that…?”
“Don’t interrupt David. Let me finish.” She paused and made steely eye contact before continuing. “Some questions. Are you double checking how many assets these old people have before we start dishing out money? Do we ask if their children can contribute? And are we pushing them to consider having their parents move in with them?”
“Yes to all those things. Applicants have to complete Form F43-H27/B and attach evidence and then…” He looked up. Mary was sifting through files and it was evident she wasn’t listening. She didn’t even notice that he’d stopped speaking mid-sentence.
“I’ve been doing some checking and I can tell you, this division is out of control.” She pulled out an invoice. “Even the stationery budget is way over. You spent £286 on post-its last month. Why on earth would you want £286-worth of post-its?”
“That was a mistake. Dorothy was asked to get 400 but she mistook the instruction and ordered 400 packs and there are ten sets of post-its
in each pack.”
“So now you’ve got 4,000 little booklets. How many pieces of paper in each, a hundred? That’s 400,000 post-its.”
“I don’t think there are a hundred in each booklet, I could get Dorothy to count.”
“Hardly the point, David. David? Are you listening?”
‘No time for losers, ‘cause she is the biggest bitch – in the world’ he was thinking, dividing his anger between Jane and Mary.
“Well, that’s an aside, I think we should get back to the main issue, don’t you?” Mary continued, her tone implying it was he who had raised the post-its controversy.
There was a timid knock on the door. It was Dorothy. “There’s a phone call for you, David.”
“Not now, Dorothy. I’ll call whoever it is after this meeting.”
“I think you should take this one.” Dorothy was frowning and nodding intently.
“Excuse me Mary, I’ll be back very soon.”
David returned a couple of minutes later. “Mary, I’m ever so sorry, I’m going to have to pop out. Something’s cropped up with one of my children at school. I’m sure it won’t take long, can we meet this afternoon?”
Mary looked at him in disbelief. “I appreciate family concerns can be important, but you can’t constantly put them ahead of work matters.”
‘She is a fucking bitch…’ he hummed inside his head.What a cheek, twice hardly constituted constantly. Over his many years of service at the local authority he had rarely missed a day’s work. “Yes, you’re quite right and I do apologise,” he said as he edged out of the door.
When he arrived at Rachel’s school the receptionist escorted him to the Head’s office. It had a relaxed and welcoming feel to it with the walls jam packed with children’s art work. Oriental and African artefacts were strewn across two coffee tables, one in the middle of the room and one by a window overlooking a neat quadrangle with sturdy wooden benches and tables. A white dish on the nearest table caught David’s eye. Across its centre was a brightly coloured dragon, the tail extending beyond the edge of the plate and running on underneath. David recognised these items from the termly school newsletters which had photos of teachers being presented with gifts by foreign dignitaries during the annual exchange visits to an English speaking college in China and a school in rural Madagascar.
David rather liked the Head. John Edwards was a tall lean man with a sweep of sandy brown hair across his brow. He wore horn-rimmed spectacles that made him look full of wisdom. He was tapping his fingers on a large desk covered with papers. As David walked towards him, Mr Edwards sprang up and strode across the room to greet his visitor with a firm handshake.
“Do sit down,” he said, directing David to a drab beige armchair that had seen better days. Mr Edwards sat next to him on a matching seat. On the coffee table between them were three delicate enamelled boxes adorned with colourful paintings of pagodas and trees with twisted branches.
David looked up and Mr Edwards began. “We have a problem with Rachel. She was caught smoking this morning when she should have been in class and that’s the second time within a few days. When Miss Franks told her off I’m afraid she called her a f…ing bitch. It’s unacceptable and I see no option but to suspend her.”
“I agree that sort of behaviour is disgraceful, Mr Edwards, but there are extenuating circumstances. You see, my wife walked out on us last Saturday and Rachel has reacted with considerable anger. That’s no excuse for her smoking or her rudeness, but I’m sure you accept it at least to some extent explains things.”
“I’m sorry to hear your news, Mr Willoughby, and yes, of course something like that is going to affect behaviour.” He looked down at a sheet of paper with handwritten notes. “However the first smoking incident took place before last weekend and my staff have been complaining about her insolence for quite a while. Apparently today she announced she’s quitting the musical, too.”
“Well, she hasn’t mentioned that to me. Look, I accept your dissatisfaction, but I’m worried about the effect a suspension might have on Rachel. You see the situation with my wife is particularly severe. She’s in a relationship with a family friend, someone we’ve known for years. And Rachel was very fond of Jim Wainwright, she trusted him implicitly.” David was surprised to see the headmaster reddening, obviously a sensitive soul. He pressed on, sensing the chance of a rethink. “Surely you appreciate my point, Mr Edwards?”
“I’m not in a position to comment on the personal details, Mr Willoughby. However perhaps I should mention that Jim Wainwright is one of our governors, a highly valued member of the team. It would have been better not to have known the name. I suggest we focus on Rachel’s behaviour.”
“It’s a tough time for her. Would you put the suspension on hold?”
Mr Edwards paused, took off his glasses and placed them on the table. He looked across at David who for a brief instant felt as if he was a pupil himself.
Finally the headmaster responded. “Yes, I’ll agree to probation instead of suspension, though with conditions. I’ll want Rachel to apologise to Miss Franks and to write me an action plan to set out how she intends to improve her behaviour and performance. She’s an able girl, Mr Willoughby, and she’s in danger of substantial underachievement.”
“Thank you, Mr Edwards, I appreciate your decision. I’ll make sure she does both things you’ve asked for.”
“One other point though. She needs to be made aware that if she steps out of line, however slightly, that will be it and she’ll be suspended.”
“Fair enough, I’ll make sure she behaves properly.”
The headmaster stood and David did likewise. “You might want to help her put together her plan of action,” Edwards suggested. “I want to see something that sets out how she intends to make a sustained effort to improve.”
“I’ll do that too.”
The Headmaster shook hands with David while making uncompromising eye contact. “She’s in a room by reception, I’ll take you there. She can’t go back to classes today but we’ll see her and her plan tomorrow.”
David glanced at his watch on their way out. It was 11.56. He’d told Mary he’d be back by 1.00 at the latest and he might still make it. Mr Edwards led him to a tiny windowless room, as near as a school could get to having a cell. There were two plastic chairs, one occupied by Rachel and another by a teacher who was marking exercise books on his lap. “You can go home now, Rachel,” the Head said before David had a chance to speak. “If you do what your father and I have discussed we’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned and left without waiting for a reply.
“Hello Rachel, shall we go?” She nodded and followed David out to the car.
The journey home was silent until David turned into their street. Then Rachel spoke. “I’m sorry, dad. Things must be hard for you and it’s not fair for me to make it worse.” David glanced to his side and saw tears rolling down Rachel’s cheeks. He pulled up into the drive and switched off.
“We need each other to get through this, Rachel, but whatever happens you know I’m here to support you.” They leant across the handbrake to cuddle and Rachel shook as she sobbed. He couldn’t leave her at home alone in this state, Mary would have to wait.
He made ham sandwiches for lunch and while they were eating, outlined his conversation with Mr Edwards. The key messages were the need for an apology and an action plan. As soon as she’d finished eating Rachel opened her bag, took out a pad of paper and a pen, and got going.
“This is easy,” she said as she wrote.
1. No smoking in school or nearby
2. Polite attitude towards all teachers
3. Work as hard as possible
4. Give in homework on time
She tore out the piece of paper and handed it to David. “Done it.”
“Well, if you stick with these that would be great, but they’re a bit open-ended.” He’d attended countless meetings to set SMART objectives and decided not to burden his daughter with a process that
she would probably encounter far too often in the future. He chose an intermediate path. “Perhaps you could give an indication of how you intend to reach these actions.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel replied, a glimmer of outraged teenager reappearing. “I’ve said I won’t smoke, will be polite and will work hard. What more do they want?”
“Break them up a bit. For instance, which subject will you have to work hardest in to be successful? Who do you need to be polite to? Is there a teacher you’ve been particularly rude to, maybe the one you swore at today?”
“Yeah, the fucking bitch.”
“Rachel!”
“Only joking, dad. OK, back to the drawing board. I’ll take it upstairs if that’s all right.” She stood and planted a kiss on David’s forehead.
It was gone 3.00 and he’d forgotten to call work to apologise to Mary. A difficult conversation was now needed. Luckily a friendly voice answered the phone. “Hello, Dorothy. Would you track down Mary and apologise for me, I’m not going to make it back in this afternoon…Yes, everything’s fine now, just a spot of bother at Rachel’s school…Tell her I’m in all day tomorrow so we can meet whenever is good for her…No, I don’t need to speak to her now…Oh and Dorothy, out of interest could you let me know how many post-its there are in one of those little packs?”
The Reunion – R J Gould
Chapter 8
Driving home from the reunion, David’s thoughts raced between Bridget, Rachel, Jane and Mary – anticipation, concern, rage and animosity. On arrival he parked the car and needing to stretch his legs and get some fresh air, walked round to the newsagent ahead of going indoors. Everything was the same as ever – Isobel pushing the pram in a vain attempt to stop her baby crying, Lawrence washing his BMW, Mrs Grant nurturing her flowers and plants with care beyond the call of duty.
“Hello Mr Willoughby, and how are you today?” asked Stanley Entwhistle.
“I’m fine thanks.”