In Loco Parentis (12 page)

“Don't sound too thrilled to hear from me, will you?”

“No I am thrilled,” I lie, “I was expecting someone else, that's all.”

“Oh?”

“News from work.” I don't want Wolf to hear me lower myself like this. Wave him off the bed and he bounces off and closes the door behind him.

“Have you got someone there?”

“The Wolf's come to stay for a while. Things aren't working out.”

“Always the kind soul, eh Joe?”

“So how's the weather?”

“Ninety per cent chance of precipitation on the outside, one hundred per cent in my heart.”

“Good old Buddy.”

“God rest his soul. I think it'll be sunny on the 30th.”

“Didn't think you could predict that far on.”

“You are coming aren't you?”

I remember the wedding invitation. Crap. Who knows what mess life will be in by then. “Yeah, sure,” I say.

“And you're still staying here?”

I'm not quick enough. Can't think for a reason not to. “Course.” The room suddenly seems smaller than it did when I came in.

“Like I said then,” she says, and I can tell she's smiling, “Sunny on the 30th.”

“I'll bring my shades.”

“You know how to cheer a lady. Listen,” as if I was going to do anything else, “I'd better let you go. In case you miss your call.”

“Call?” My head's starting to feel fuzzy, like it's full of helium. “Yeah, the call.”

“You should take it easy with Wolf, you know,” she says. “He'll drink you under the table and then some.”

“I'll call,” I tell her.

“Sure you will,” she says and blows a kiss down the line.

Monday

Sure have got the Monday morning blues.

Not a word from Emma all weekend.

“No news is good news,” Wolf kept on at me. He's been bouncing like Tigger since he got out of the hospital. Driving me mad about the way he's going to get his life into gear and how he needs a woman.

Should be glad I'm in school, but I'm missing Wolf's inane, medicated grin.

At least I'll see her. Be able to check that she's OK.

Sal comes in carefully carrying a full cup of tea. I carry on photocopying my sound of the day sheets, the Hungry Caterpillar maths and the days of the week cards.

“Good weekend?” she asks, sitting down and crossing her legs. She wears her handbag over her shoulder every time she leaves her room, like she's got state secrets in there.

“Not bad. You?”

She pulls over the ashtray and lights up. Pauses for a moment as she takes a lungful. “Just me and the dog.”

I pull out a packet of Camel, one of the soft packs I favour. Sal looks over and nods at them, asking her question without words.

“The bloke who's staying with me bought them as a thank you. Got them over the Holloway Road from the Turkish guys round the back.”

“You'll have to take me.” Sal's never done anything crooked in her life. Can't imagine her buying illegal tobacco.

“Yeah.”

It's one of those days when I can't sit down. Even standing up's not enough. I need to move. Start pacing like a deranged animal in a zoo.

“Busy day?” she asks.

“Usual,” I say. “You?”

“We're revising angles. Remember the activity I did last year with the compasses...” I remember and then switch off. I remember all right. We've discussed it fifty times. I just go on pacing, listening to the photocopier drone and flick out the pages.

Sal goes on and on and I let her, like I used to do talking to my mum on the phone. I can ‘uhu' and ‘oh' and ‘no' in all the right places without listening to a word she says. Or at least I think I can.

“Uhu,” I say to Sal and look up at the first of the parents arriving for the day. Soon they'll all be gathering. I'll think of a reason to go over to the junior building, time it just right and maybe corner Emma without making it obvious.

ten to nine

Ten to nine, bang on.

I wander over carrying some books for the library.

She's not there.

Something flutters inside my chest. Can't be butterflies, they're far too brightly coloured.

A few kids say hi. Some of the mums too. I need to hang around. Pick up on the friendliest face out there and go over.

“Hey, Joe,” Pat says, “How's things with the ankle biters?”

She's always been good to me, Pat. She carries the wisdom of age.

“Man, it's crazy over there.” Pat smiles like she knows I'm enjoying it. “There's not a minute that they don't need me.”

“It's good to be wanted,” she says, matter of fact.

Emma appears at the top of the drive. Stops by the last of the speed humps and puts her arm round Sheena and gives her a kiss.

Before I can wave, she's turned around and left.

I feel Pat's hand on my arm.

“Is everything OK?” she asks.

I don't answer. My legs give. I let myself sit on the bench, not caring how odd it might seem.

“You look like you've seen a ghost.”

And I wish I had.

––––––––

organised chaos

C
ouldn't even be described as organised chaos what's happening in my room.

I'm trying to hear readers. Get them out of the way. Emily points to the only word on the page. She's got cute ponytails and little flower clips holding her fringe back. “Help,” she says, her voice timid and soft.

“Why do they need help?”

It's my third in a row. I doubt I'm sounding interested any more. “Because of the fire.”

I turn the page for her. She points to the word. “Help.”

“Why does the lady need help?”

“She's fell off her bike.”

I think my head's going to explode with the boredom and the noise. God only knows what they're doing in the home corner.

She finds the word on the next page. “Help,” she says. About time we got a new reading scheme, I reckon. I'll bring it up at the next meeting.

Emily turns the page.

David runs over to me. Tugs at my arm.

There's a gap where his two front teeth used to be. He looks ever so cute.

“Joe,” he says. “Joe. The water's overflowing.”

“I'll be there in a second,” I tell him. He waits and tugs my arm again. I leave Emily and her book, stand up and let David take my hand and drag me around into the main room.

Holy Jesus.

There's water everywhere.

Don, Aurora and Max are trying hard to turn off the tap, but they're not getting anywhere.

The hose leading to the water tray has fallen to the floor and spews onto the floor like some natural disaster.

Zlatan and Zulfi look like they're having the time of their lives, paddling in the new lake with their shoes and socks off.

Despair fills my body until there's no room left. I stand and look for a moment waiting for it all to go away. Close my eyes for a few seconds. When I open them it's all still there.

“See,” David says, like he needed to be right.

“Good work,” I tell him.

His voice seems to have brought me round.

I stride over like the responsible adult I'm supposed to be, take the tap and turn. It's stiff as hell. I need to get in closer and change my grip.

David's still at my side, like he's my new pet. He looks up to me like it's the moment of truth, like failure will ruin me in his eyes.

I twist for all I'm worth, lean my weight into it and it shifts.

There's a cheer. Like I've saved them all. Like I'm their super-hero. For the first time today I feel like I'm human.

There's still work to be done.

If I can get the kids and the floor dry quickly, nobody will know. Last thing I need is Mildred looking down her nose at me this morning.

We're like an emergency team the way we cope. I take the mop, the kids follow with the paper towels and before long the boards are dry.

Five minutes to the bell and I just need to get the kids sorted.

Everyone who's dry has to sit and read a book quietly on the carpet. They don't, of course, but they stay on the carpet and that's all that matters.

I give the wet ones their PE kits to change into.

Aurora and Max get straight to it. Pull on their shorts and tee-shirts no problem.

Don, though, needs my help. He just stands there with his top stuck beneath his ears.

“I'll do that,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice smooth. Be as comforting as his mum might have been if life had turned out differently.

I peel it off, careful not to cause pain. As it comes up I see his stomach, not an ounce of spare fat on it. It comes up to his ribs, all sticking out like a cartoon xylophone, and clears his head.

When he turns, muttering something to his peg, I see the mess on his back. Five or six straight red lines crossing over him like he's been attacked by an enormous cat.

An image comes into my mind. It's me as a kid running round my garden, Dad chasing me around with a horse whip, his face a furious red. The image disappears before the memory of the pain.

Don slips his tee-shirt over his head.

The bell goes. This time it saves nobody.

X-Files

I don't go straight out, just sit with my head in my hands.

Feels like there's a lump inside me, not in my throat, but filling my stomach. It's a black hole. A cloud of darkness. I want tears to come, to release the pressure building in my head, only they don't. I need a cigarette.

I leave the mop and what's left of the mess just as it is. Go through Mildred's immaculate room and into the staff block.

At the bottom of the stairs I stop. I know I should go up. Report the incident to Alistair. Only something's in the way. A barrier I can't see and can't cross.

Instead I turn left into the office.

There's an idea floating around, but it's not yet crystallised into words.

I open the drawer in the old, metal filing cabinet, the one that says Reception, Class 1 and Class 2.

Sue's behind her desk unpicking the thread from the glove-puppets she's making with the little ones. Need to be ready for Christmas, but it's not looking good.

“Any file in particular?” she asks.

“Just checking out a couple of birthdays.”

I pick out three, making sure Don's is one of them.

There's not much time – I need a smoke and don't want anyone else asking.

With my pen I write a couple of things on my hand – three birthdays and Don's address. It's only then that I realise what I'm intending to do.

surveillance

My Nissan Micra is perfect for the job. An average car parked in the middle of a line of other average cars.

The nights a drawing in. 8 o'clock and the light's passed away for the day. I leave the window open for my smoke to escape and to let the scents of autumn in – leaves rotting and wood-smoke and rain.

Before leaving, I called Mike for his advice.

There's not much too it according to him, other than a need for patience. A good book, top music, a couple of bags of crisps, drink and a spliff is what he recommended.

I have them all.

Sadly,
Crime and Punishment
will have to wait. I'm tired and my eyes can't beat the lack of light. Besides, the way my head's fizzing I'd be better off with the Beano or the Dandy.

Joy Division play on from the cassette deck. Helps me settle knowing they've been through it all before me.

The other thing Mike told me was to take a few days. Find routines, form a plan and stick to it. When I was ready, I'd need to take the necessary precautions – hood, gloves, a pair of expendable shoes.

I see Don's dad coming around the corner from the back of the swimming baths and all that advice goes out of the window.

Two hours of being cooped up waiting and I need some energy release.

He's walking away from the Finchley Road, up from the traffic and the peeping eyes. Shoulders square and dipping, he's all pose. Flicks his cigarette butt to the floor and pulls out a pack from his back pocket.

Ignoring the chill to the air, he's only in jeans and Tee-shirt. The top of his trousers falls half way down his arse to show off designer boxers. Can't afford breakfast for his kid, but when it comes to fashion the pennies aren't a problem.

The sight of those pants brings my simmering blood to the boil.

I've no plan and no expendable shoes, just my usual hood.

I pick up the steering lock, the one I bought from the AA. Sometimes get it out when a driver gives me stick in a traffic jam. When they see me coming holding it, they usually shut up pretty fast, more's the pity.

I close the door real quiet, the kind of soft click you make when there's someone asleep in the back.

My boots don't make a sound as I head after him, unless it's just the sea of blood in my ears that's blocking everything out.

Hood up and striding now, I watch him suck the fire from his lighter into his new cigarette. The smell travels over to my nose, a sweet resin alerts my buds and I wish I'd smoked the joint I was saving.

He must have heard me. Turns around, lip curled like he's about to growl.

I've already raised the bar, fast and smooth.

He puts his arm up and his body falls back. “What the?”

I'm swinging, putting everything I've got into the one blow, a lifetime of shit unplugged.

There's a smash, or at least I think there's a smash, but the follow-through's like I've missed him altogether.

Then I look down.

Christ.

His head's changed shape, like a stress ball after a bad day at the office.

One side of his face has given up trying, the other looks just the way he looked when last I saw him dropping off his son.

The anger's gone. I know it's disappeared. Means I can't do what I have to do.