In Loco Parentis (7 page)

“Sure,” she says, smiling. And I realise on the spot what I need. If I were a superhero with only one power, my power would be the ability to turn the clocks back.

the girl with the long earrings

Two in the morning the phone goes.

She doesn't speak at first, just laughs a whispered laugh.

“It's me,” she says, like she's just popped a rabbit out of a hat. Her voice is quiet. Slurred as a drunken secret. “It's too much, Honey. I need to see you.”

There's the sound of a toilet flushing in the background.

“The Freemason's tomorrow lunch.” she tells me.

Just before the phone goes down I hear Roger's voice. “Emma. Who's...”

And then there's the dialling tone.

Soon as the lunch bell goes I'm off.

I turn into Shepherd's Walk and run. Post Office, Haverstock Hill, Hampstead Heath.

I sit with my half-pint for a good five minutes thinking she's forgotten all about it and wondering what the hell I'm doing.

She arrives like a whirlwind in a size 8 dress.

“Sorry dear,” she says. “Had a Wisdom tooth they couldn't budge.”

All I can think of is to ask what she wants.

She says Coke and I go and get it.

“Ice and lemon?” the barmaid asks.

I've no idea. “Yes,” I tell her. It feels like a good guess.

As I bend to put the drinks down, Emma kisses my cheek. It's so soft and swift I could easily have missed it.

I feel my face flush and I realise I'm delighted to see her.

“So?” she asks.

So what? It's not as if I've anything to report. A week of teaching, evenings spent preparing lessons and Wolf on his way to being homeless. It's hardly worth mentioning.

“Isn't coke bad for your teeth?” Seems easier to hit the ball back into her court.

I get a five minute lecture on fizzy drinks while she smokes her first cigarette.

Mostly I watch her earrings, long silver tubes that hang like chimes and make more noise than the tinkling ice in her glass.

“You have beautiful teeth,” I say. Soon as the words are out, I'm ready to change my mind. Pure white they may be, but they also stick out like a neighing horse's.

“You're lying.” She puts her hand over her mouth. “They're like Princess Anne's.” That too. “Sweet of you, though.”

Another couple walk in. Emma looks straight over at them. She's trying to be subtle, but I see the way she shrinks down into her seat just in case she needs to hide.

After a few moments I see her relax. She takes out another cigarette and lights it. “How are the children settling?” It seems she's had enough of carrying the load. At least she's started with an easy one.

I tell her all about them. Get lost in the detail. By the time I've finished I've virtually convinced myself that teaching's the best job in the world. “I reckon Reception Class is going to be OK after all.”

It's Emma that notices the time.

Five past one.

She packs her bag and stands.

“What are you doing for the weekend?” I ask.

“The usual,” she says, and picks one of her hairs from my tee-shirt. “It's the little things that give you away.”

Something tells me I may not be the first.

Even so, I want to know what the usual is.

She seems to sense it and walks quickly over to the door.

Before we part, I step towards her.

Quick as she can, she steps back. “Not here.”

Then she walks off to her car, the black Fiesta. She unlocks it and gets inside.

By the time she pulls away, I haven't moved.

For the whole of my run back to school, I wonder what went wrong.

I realise I'm not going to hear from her until I'm back at work Monday morning. All of a sudden I feel very low, like there's a weight in my stomach pulling me down.

When I get to the Post Office again, I'm practically crying.

The Hate

The Everyman Cinema, Hampstead. One of my favourite places in the world. B movie heaven.

I hadn't planned to go out. Didn't even feel like it when the invite came, but I don't see enough of Mike these days.

It's a black and white double bill, two French films that I adore. Didn't make any sense to say no.

I couldn't get into Breathless, though, something that's never happened before

Mostly I thought of Emma instead, what she's doing, who she's with, the huge amount of fun she must be having. The thoughts kept turning round in my head like clothes in a tumble-drier.

Only part of the film I really got into was the end, Jean Paul Belmondo's theatrical demise.

“Battle of Algiers next week if you fancy it.” Mike has the programme spread out on the table.

“Sure.”

“You seem distracted Bud.” I guess there's no hiding some things.

“No.”

“Better out than in.”

He's right. Truth is Mike's been a better counsellor to me over the years than Dr India will ever be. Maybe it's because I can tell him anything.

“It's just the Jenny thing.” Well anything except that I'm having an affair with someone he knows better than I do and who's the parent of one of the kids at my school.

“She's not a blood relation, man. It's cool.”

I take a good swig from my bottle hoping he won't see my liar's blush. “I know it in here,” I say, pointing to my head. “I just don't know it in here,” and this time I point to my heart.

“Let the dog see the rabbit.” He looks at my crotch and grins. I guess you can't always take the Marines out of the man. “Hear about Wolf?” And I let him tell me all of the things I already know until the bell rings for the next film.

His legs stretch out into the aisle while my feet rest upon the top of the seat in front.

La Haine opens. Hits the ground running. Has my attention from the start.

There are no cracks for my mind to fall into.

I think about the title for a moment. Wonder who I hate the most.

When all's said and done, I reckon it's me who's at the top of the list.

show and tell

Twenty-five minutes to the bell for the end of the day and I'm all out of ideas.

They've had enough stories to fill a collection and I need to string the show-and-tell out for as long as I can manage.

“I got it for my birthday when I was 4.” Max holds up his Buzz Lightyear toy and moves it around in circles over his head. “And it can talk, see?” He fiddles about with a plastic ring and pulls the string.

“To infinity and beyond,” Buzz says and all the children sitting in the circle laugh.

“That's amazing, Max,” I tell him. “Can he do anything else?”

Max holds his toy at arm's length and looks at him for a moment. “Sure.” He throws him up into the air and catches him. “He can fly.”

“It's a flying toy,” David says and gets jumps to his feet to get a closer look.

“Now, now David. What did we say about being a quality audience?” He doesn't answer my question, just sits down and folds his arms. “That was lovely Max. Who's next.”

Those with things to say breathe a collective gasp, straighten their backs and have their fingers over their lips before Max is seated.

I look around and try and build the tension, so much easier when they're five than when they're eleven.

“Aminta.” I know she hasn't got anything with her, but it'll make her feel like she's part of things. The poor thing blushes and moves in tight to her cousin to find safety. At least I'm another thirty seconds closer to the bell going.

“Aurora?”

Aurora stands up, hiding something behind her back. She looks round the circle to check she has everyone's attention and she does.

She holds out a photograph. It's of two old people holding a baby.

“This is me when I was a baby.” She turns the picture so that everyone can get a look.

The room gives a collective sigh.

“Who are the old people?” David shouts out.

Aurora looks at him but says nothing, then looks at me hoping I'll be able to explain.

“I don't know. Aurora, are these your grandparents?” She tilts her head and her brow furrows, but there's no answer. “I think they must be her grandparents in Sweden.”

I take the picture from her. On the back, written in pencil, it tells me what I need to know.

Beckoning Aurora over, I tell the class about her grandparents. “Olaf is a journalist who writes for American newspapers mostly. Ingrid's a teacher. They live in Stockholm and have a small cottage in the country where the photo was taken last year.”

I've done my job. Stretched it as far as I can go without an interpreter.

When Aurora turns away, there's the intake of breath and the straightening of backs of the three children who are left.

I point to Don and his face becomes animated.

He jumps to his feet and fiddles about with his clothes. Lifts his tops like he's going to undress.

There, just underneath his ribs and all the way down to the top of his hip is a bruise, the colours all damson and plum. It's round. I imagine it's about the size of an adult fist.

Just as I see it, it's gone and he's pulling the tee-shirt down.

“I got this yesterday.”

“Wow,” everyone says.

They're all looking at the Arsenal FC transfer across his chest. The only thing I can think of is the bruise. Picture knuckle-marks in there, but can't be sure I'm not just imagining.

I want to ask about it. Who put it there and when, but I have all the child-protection courses I've ever been on to think about at the same time.

No leading questions. No putting words into the child's mouth. If you're not sure, pass it on to the child-protection officer in your school.

“That's fantastic,” is what I say. Shit is what I think. Shit, shit, shit.

Looks like Don's won the day in the show and tell stakes anyway. David and Charlie are both up getting a closer look.

“Arsenal,” Zlatan says. “It is my favourite team.”

“They're your favourite team,” I say, remembering to re-model rather than to correct.

I look at the clock for help. It doesn't. There are still twenty minutes to go and now I'm not sure if it's too short or too long.

There's time to get in touch with social services, but I don't have any faith in what I saw. Besides, I'd be putting Don's trust in me on the line at the same time. Alienating his family. Starting up the gossip.

Better just to leave it to the end of the day. Write it in the incident book and make a note to myself.

“Anybody else?” I forget to ask Don about his top, but he'll live. At least I hope he will.

Arash gets up with a car, Arabella does a dance, Zulfi stands up and sits down again.

When the bell goes it knocks me from the labyrinths of my mind. Milja has the floor.

“What did the flower say to the flower?” A joke to end the day on. We'll be late for the parents, but they can wait.

“Don't you grow anymore.”

Either there's something there that I can't see or she's a comic genius. Half of the kids are on their backs. David has his legs in the air and is kicking out like he's just been hung.

I wonder if I should explain why it's not funny.

Instead I want to be that popular.

“Why did the hedgehog cross the road?”

the girl with the leather bag

When the children leave, I just sit.

Without their laughter, the constant tugging at my trousers or the hearing of my name, the world seems an empty place.

There's plenty to sort. Wet paintings hang from a string tied from wall to wall like brightly coloured washing. There's play-dough to put away and worksheets and photographs to be stuck into folders. On my desk is the pile of letters about after-school clubs I was supposed to give the kids before they left.

I can't think where to start.

With a smoke is my answer.

Then I see her head bobbing up the path.

She walks in with her shiny polished boots and large, leather bag hanging at her shoulder, looking like she might be taking care of professional duties.

It's a surprise when she speaks. Her hushed voice sounds full of panic. “He knows.”

“Christ. How the hell...”

“Well, I think he knows.”

It's like being punched hard then being given a hand off the ground.

“Can you throw a sickie tomorrow?” she asks.

It's a ridiculous proposition. A class full of brand new arrivals in only their second week, there's no way I can do it.

Maybe she's read my thoughts. “I'm coming down with something, too. We could look after each other. Talk things through.”

“Talk?” It's not something we've done a great deal really.

“Yes, talk.”

It's still insane. “OK.” I can't believe I said it. “Come over soon as you've dropped the kids off.”

She turns to leave as if all business is taken care of.

“You sure you'll be there?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says, and she leaves with a bounce in her step.

good call

Best thing to do if you're not going in is to call in early.

Before 8, you'll usually get Des. If you're unlucky, you might catch one of the cleaners and that can take a mountain of explaining if the agency has sent someone whose English is in its fledgling stages.

I smoke a fag as I lean into a mountain of pillows, then smoke another to make sure I get my voice sounding good and rough.

I do a couple of screams into the duvet to add the right amount of rasp to my throat and dial.

My heart pounds super fast.

“Morning,” Des says through a mouthful of something.

“Des?”

“That you Joe?”

“Yes.” I'm impressing myself with the sense of frailty I'm offering. Just the right balance between needing sympathy and putting on a brave face. “Can you pass on a message for me. I won't be in today.”