School Run

by Sophie King

  As an English project, she was currently doing drugs with year nine (no pun intended, as she’d told the class at the start of the lesson, to win their concentration) and the figures might come in useful. In some ways, she wasn’t surprised by them. There were so many dangers now, like drugs and misuse of the Internet, that it was a wonder any of these kids grew up into normal human beings. It couldn’t be easy for their parents either, although judging by some of those she taught, many weren’t as tough as they should have been. When it was her turn (if?), she’d be different.

  A boy in front hung over the back of his seat so that his cheeky freckled face was almost in hers. ‘What we got for English, then, today, Miss?’

  Eye contact. Treat them as you would want them to treat you.

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough, Kieran.’

  Kitty looked suspiciously at the big bruise on his forehead. Had someone hurt him? She’d been told at college to look out for signs of domestic violence. ‘What have you done to your head?’

  ‘Squash ball, Miss. My brother did it. You cut one in half and hold it against your head and it makes a mark. Cool, isn’t it? Like a lovebite! Look, we’ve all got one. It’s a craze. I could do one on you if you like, Miss.’

  Serves you right, Kitty Hayling, for being so inquisitive, she told herself, trying not to smile. ‘Well, I hope for your sake that it wears off. Now, why don’t you get on with the homework that’s on your knee?’

  ‘Ooh, she’s looking at your knees, Kieran. Maybe she fancies you.’

  Sod it.

  ‘Shut up, all of you. We’re not at school yet so I’m not your teacher until the bus stops.’

  ‘Losing your temper, are you, Miss? Can’t do that or we’ll ring ChildLine.’

  ‘Listen, they’ve heard and they’re ringing you, Miss. Isn’t that your phone?’

  Mandy always called at this time, mainly because she’d been up since four a.m. with Tom, Kitty’s new soon-to-be godson.

  ‘Hi, Mandy.’

  ‘You don’t sound very happy.’

  ‘It’s difficult to talk.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Miss. We won’t listen. You just go ahead.’

  ‘What’s that noise, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘I’m on the bus.’

  ‘And the rabble is all around you?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Mandy laughed. ‘Remember what it was like when we were at school. You used to fancy the driver—’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Don’t go getting amnesia on me, Kitty. Talking of which, how’s the man front?’

  ‘Er, OK.’

  ‘Don’t forget Alex is coming on Sunday with Cheryl.’

  Kitty sighed. How could she forget? Quite why she should mind that her ex-boyfriend from her early twenties (nearly ten years ago, for heaven’s sake) was coming to the christening because he was a good friend of Rod, Mandy’s husband, she didn’t know. She was over him, Kitty told herself sternly. But even so it would have been nice to have had someone to bring too so Alex didn’t think, Poor Kitty, still no man, like everyone else.

  ‘Are you seeing anyone at the moment?’ asked Mandy, pointedly.

  Kitty tried to talk quietly into the phone. ‘Tonight. Maybe.’

  ‘Ooh, what’s happening tonight, Miss?’

  ‘Can we come too?’

  ‘They sound awful,’ said Mandy, happily. ‘Worse than we were.’

  ‘They are, believe me.’

  ‘The trouble with you is that you’re too picky.’

  Kitty sighed. They’d been through this so many times that it wasn’t worth arguing, especially with a busload of kids breathing down her neck. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, you are. If you really tried, you could find yourself someone nice. Why don’t you bring this date from tonight to the christening?’

  ‘No, to the second question, and as far as the first allegation goes, I have tried.’

  ‘Tried what, Miss? Pot? It’s legal now, you know.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ Kitty put down the phone for a minute. ‘The government has relaxed the penalties but it’s still against the law.’

  ‘What does that mean, Miss?’

  ‘Mandy, I can’t talk now – it’s hopeless.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that. Good luck for tonight and don’t forget he’s welcome on Sunday if he measures up to your strict standards. But if he doesn’t, don’t worry. It will be lovely to see you, and Rod says the same.’

  Rod, Mandy’s husband, was not only perfect for her but he was also rolling in money and nice. They’d met at university when Kitty, who was at a different one, was still wondering why none of the men she met matched up to the ones that Mandy so effortlessly found. Then, when Kitty had been visiting Mandy, Rod had introduced her to his friend Alex. For six months she had been madly in love until he had left for his third year in France. Stupidly, she had thought they could make it last but somehow it had fizzled out – on his side anyway. He hadn’t met anyone else, he assured her, he just felt they were too young to be tied down. Through Mandy, she now knew that, after ten years of playing the field, Alex was well and truly tied down with a fiancée whom he was marrying next year. It was Kitty who was still footloose and fancy-free.

  After she had made the final arrangements for Sunday Kitty put down the phone thoughtfully. It would be so much better to go to the christening with a date instead of being on her own and getting landed with all the ancient uncles and aunts. But she could hardly find herself a date in a week – not for something like a christening, which was for couples who were firmly embedded, all puns intended. ‘A week,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Could I do it in a week?’

  ‘What could you do in a week, Miss?’

  Cripes, she must be getting really ancient if she’d started talking to herself. ‘Mark all your homework,’ she said quickly.

  ‘You have finished it, haven’t you?’

  That did it! A sea of guilty faces looked away.

  ‘Well,’ said Kitty crisply, ‘you’d better get on with it fast, on the bus – just like we used to.’

  She grinned at them and they all grinned back. That was the great thing about kids. They helped you keep your sense of humour.

  ‘Hey, Miss, is that your phone again?’

  ‘Kitty, it’s me! Just had a thought – don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before. Actually, I do. Tom’s knocked the brain cells out of me, bless him. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes. Rod’s got a friend called Duncan who’s just moved into a flat near you. He’s really dishy, works in finance and isn’t married. Shall I give him your number?’

  ‘No, thanks!’ Kitty could have screamed with exasperation. ‘Stop trying to match-make, Mandy. It makes me feel so inadequate. Sometimes I think all that breastfeeding has made you go ga-ga.’

  ‘Breastfeeding, Miss? Are you pregnant?’

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go. This lot need their facts of life sorting out – breastfeeding comes after pregnancy, Kieran – and I’ve got a job to do.’

  ‘And I haven’t?’

  Mandy sounded tearful. Perhaps that’s why she was being so pushy: all those hormones playing up. ‘You’ve got the most important job in the world, Mandy. Now, give Tom a big kiss from me and I’ll see you on Sunday.’

  ‘With the boyfriend. I bet you a weekend at Champneys that you could find one.’

  ‘Now I know you’re mad. Who can afford Champneys?’

  ‘Rod – he’ll treat us, but you’ve got to accept the bet first.’

  Kitty shook her head. Maybe Mandy had post-natal depression – she was so up and down. ‘OK, if it makes you happy. Now I must dash. I should have been at school ages ago.’

  As she spoke, Kitty was already walking down the bus, so she could be first off. As soon as the doors swung open, she flew down the stairs and wove her way through the parents and children parked at the kerb. If she was lucky, she’d get to the staffroom just in time for the morning meeting.
r />   ‘Morning, Kitty!’

  ‘Morning, Frank.’

  It still seemed inappropriate to call the deputy headmaster by his first name. It hadn’t been that long since Kitty had been at school when teachers weren’t human enough to have first names. It was the same with the staffroom, which stank of BO and weak coffee. In her day (and still today, thank goodness), this hallowed room had been out of bounds to the pupils but she could remember giggling outside with her friends, imagining the mysteries within. Even now, she had this crazy feeling that she wasn’t entitled to be in the staffroom. Now she looked around it and wondered if all staffrooms were the same. This one was disappointing, considering the mystique it doubtless held for the children outside. It was a smallish room with metal-framed chairs around the walls and a couple of sofas that had seen better days. Kitty never sat on them because if she did, she found herself squashed up to other teachers whom she didn’t really know. She would have headed for one of the three armchairs but they had always been taken by wiser staff members who came in early to beat the crush. Usually she stood by the coffee machine and nibbled one of the plain biscuits that were provided.

  ‘Catching up on breakfast?’

  Kitty nodded guiltily. ‘’Fraid so, Frank.’

  He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘My wife always makes me start the day with a good bowl of bran flakes. Gives you energy and, believe me, you need plenty with that lot outside.’ His eyes swept over her and Kitty wished she’d worn a longer skirt. ‘Still, I expect you’re learning about that, aren’t you? How’s your first year been with us?’

  Hastily, Kitty swallowed her mouthful. ‘I’ve enjoyed it, thanks, Mr . . . Frank.’ Oh, God, should she have said that? Were teachers meant to enjoy their job?

  ‘Glad to hear it. You seem to be settling down all right with the children – at least, we haven’t had any bad reports about you.’

  Kitty wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not. ‘Good,’ she said hesitantly, and sipped her coffee. ‘Actually, Frank, there was something I wanted to ask you about. I’m doing a project with my year-nines on drugs and I’ve been quite worried by some of the things they don’t know about. They don’t realise, for example, that cannabis is illegal. I don’t know if you’re aware but a recent report says nearly forty per cent of primary school children have been offered drugs in the playground and nearly eighty per cent in secondary schools.’

  Frank raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? That’s interesting.’

  ‘I thought we could have some outside speakers in to give a talk,’ she went on.

  ‘Maybe next spring: we need some speakers then, although more for careers talks, really. Our timetable is already full for next term and I don’t need to remind you that we’re in our last week, thank the good Lord. Going anywhere nice for the summer?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But, Frank, don’t you think it’s important to get a speaker in fast? I mean, drugs are a big issue and the sooner we can get the message across to the younger ones, the less likely they are to continue the habits of their older siblings.’

  ‘Kitty, dear.’ Frank patted her shoulder. ‘I admire your enthusiasm and I hope it will last, but there are enough posters around the school for the kids to get the message, and we have to hope that their parents do their bit in this direction.

  At the moment, to be honest, we’re all far more worried about the Ofsted visit. It was meant to have been last month but the inspector was ill and now, heaven help us, it’s on Thursday. The last week of term! Couldn’t be worse. Are you ready?’

  ‘Well, I’ve prepared my lessons for this week, as usual.’

  ‘I’m sure you have. But would you know what to do if the little devils in your class asked awkward questions, which they love to do whenever we have visitors – especially official ones?’

  ‘What kind of questions?’

  ‘Dear me, Kitty! Embarrassing questions designed to make young teachers like you feel inadequate. Just be on your guard, that’s all. We didn’t get a very good Ofsted report last time and we need to improve. Otherwise we might be in trouble. All right?’

  7

  NICK

  ‘Now we’re moving on to our doc spot where our very own Dr Jim offers alternative health advice.’

  ‘Change channels, Nick, darling,’ said a girl who was walking past him in just a pair of pants. ‘That station’s really boring – my granny listens to it.’

  Good for her, thought Nick, looking the other way as he adjusted the lighting in the studio. In some ways, it had been fortuitous that Amber had postponed today’s session until tomorrow. She’d sounded a bit put out when he’d said he couldn’t do tomorrow. Tough. Besides, today’s cancellation had given him longer to walk Mutley and prepare for the shoot.

  ‘No, love,’ he called. ‘Can you stand where I first put you? Over there. That’s right. Tilt your chin to the right – a bit more. Lovely. Now I want you to close your eyes and open them, thinking of something you’d really like to do.’

  The other girls, waiting at the side in their dressing gowns, tittered, unlike the model in front of the camera: she looked as though she’d rather be naked than wearing the tarty pink bra and pants set that Nick’s assistant had had to cajole her into. ‘They’re hideous,’ she said. ‘Can’t I wear something else?’

  ‘Sorry, love. This is the kit,’ Nick had said. ‘But your amazing looks are going to make everyone want to buy them.’

  He hoped it was true. As a fashion photographer, it was his job to make everything look so tempting that the readers (who were as diverse as the magazines and advertising catalogues that he worked for) instantly lusted for them.

  Advertising paid best, but the clothes were usually awful. He preferred magazine shoots because they were more prestigious and used more interesting merchandise. The only one he didn’t like working for was Just For You, which had a ghastly deputy editor who insisted on going to every shoot and picking holes in everything.

  Still, when Julie went to university, he’d need to do more advertising if only to pay her fees and accommodation.

  University! Nick’s heart always sank at the prospect of his little girl going away but he knew it was the right thing for her – and that Juliana would have wanted it. She’d have been so proud of their daughter. She would also, thought Nick, wryly, have been able to help him steer Julie through her penultimate year at school. The A-level system was so complex nowadays: you could take and retake modules to get a better grade rather than having to perform well in one batch of exams at the end of the sixth form. Julie had already retaken one of her French papers although the results wouldn’t be published until August.

  Pity, thought Nick, that he couldn’t retake Life. He’d have done it all so differently. ‘Great.’ He was studying the Polaroid with his assistant. ‘Lovely, love.’

  Nick always called his models ‘love’. It saved him having to remember their names and, because he used it with all of them, it stopped them getting crushes on him. When Juliana had died, Nick couldn’t imagine ever again being close to anyone but, as the months went by, he could almost hear Juliana telling him to go ahead. ‘I don’t want you to be lonely,’ she would croon into his ear. But it might just be his own voice, reminding him that he couldn’t remain a monk for ever, whatever Julie thought.

  ‘Right, love, just tilt your chin back to its original position. Lovely. Over there. Look at the dog – behind me. Fantastic. Open your mouth as though you’re going to talk to him. Great. No, Mutley – no!’

  Nick broke off to restrain his dog, who had decided to join the model.

  ‘He’s so sweet,’ she said, kneeling down to stroke him.

  ‘He’s OK when he’s doing what he’s meant to,’ said Nick. ‘Back, Mutley. Sit, stay. Can you tilt your chin, love, and push your hips in the other direction? Talk if you want. What’s your name again?’

  ‘Juliana.’

  Nick’s hand wobbled.

  ‘Sorry?’

  The model pouted. ‘
Sofia.’

  He felt his hands sweat on the camera as he took some more shots. God, he must be going mad if he was hearing things like that. Perhaps he ought to see Amber tomorrow after all. ‘Right, love, just keep talking. What’s your favourite animal?’ He carried on, asking the inane questions that would achieve his original purpose of getting her to look as he wanted. Even so, it took a good four hours to wrap it all up, by which time the girls were complaining of hunger and he was pretty knackered himself.

  ‘Fancy a late lunchtime drink?’ asked one of the girls, as she brushed past him, flashing smooth brown skin under her dressing gown.

  Nick poured water into Mutley’s bowl. ‘No, thanks. I’ve got to do the school run.’

  ‘The school run?’ squealed one of the others. ‘How old are your kids?’

  ‘I’ve got just the one. She’s seventeen and, actually, she drives me.’

  ‘So cute,’ said a tall blonde girl, who was bending down to stroke Mutley. ‘Does she drive your wife too? I used to practise with my mum.’

  Nick looked away. ‘My wife is . . . She isn’t exactly here any more.’

  A flash of pity crossed the blonde’s face. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nick, quietly. He waited until they had all left, then got out his mobile. Four missed calls but none from Julie. He always checked in case she needed him. Then he punched in the number of the centre. ‘Can I leave a message for Amber? It’s Nick. No, just Nick. She rearranged my session from today to tomorrow but I said I couldn’t make it. If it’s not too late I’d like to come after all. Is that all right?’

  BETTY

  ‘Towards Kingston temporary traffic lights are causing more problems. Dangerous Dan has just rung in about an accident outside Harrow. Betty from Balham has also called to warn drivers of the new speed bumps along the high street.’

  Funny to hear my own name on the radio again – fourth time in a month. ‘Betty of Balham’ has a certain ring. ‘Dangerous Dan’ shows people don’t care any more. You can see that from my window – hardly anyone’s bothering with the thirty m.p.h. limit. Cars packed with mums and dads and kids, all trying to get to school or work on time. Don’t care who they hurt to get there.