The New Samurai (7 page)

“Mmm, you smell divine,” she whispered in his ear. Then more loudly, “We’re celebrating, darling. And it’s all thanks to you!”

Sam looked surprised.

“The client just
loved
your idea for reciting Byron on the perfume promotion. They’ve given us the contract for the next 18 months: billboards, TV, magazines. Crispin is delighted.”

Sam’s eyes tightened at the mention of her boss’s name. Realising her faux pas, Elle gushed on.

“That’s right Ellie-belly,” interrupted the obnoxious Roland Nash. “Wall-to-wall shampoo for us!”

He popped open another bottle of champagne, thoughtlessly pointing it towards another group of drinkers. The cork missed them by inches. The man was such an arse.

Sam’s expression was mirrored in Elle’s face.

“I’ve missed you,” she sighed, rubbing her hand down his thigh. “I mean, I’ve
really
missed you.”

Sam could feel the warmth of her hand through his jeans, but a part of him was wondering how much he’d missed her. He hadn’t thought about her as much as usual, although it had also been a very busy week.

But Elle seemed determined to show him just how much she’d missed him. She started whispering in his ear all the things she’d been thinking about during the previous week: things she wanted to do with him, and things she wanted to do to him. Some of them made him raise his eyebrows. Elle looked at him smugly.

Then he remembered that he was an English teacher and had a very good command of language. He ran his lips along her neck, murmuring some ideas that she’d left out of her various scenarios. The descriptions made her arch her back like a cat.

“Oh my God!” said Mim, loudly. “Sam, is that you on this video?”

Sam lifted his head and looked at her questioningly.

Elle’s colleagues were huddled around Mim’s iPhone watching a tiny film clip.

“It is you!” she gasped.

“What are you watching?” said Elle, crossly. She hated to be the last to know anything.

Everyone was staring at Sam: it was a very uncomfortable feeling.

“What’s that?” said Roland, returning from the gents, still zipping up his flies. “What are you all watching? Is it porn?”

“No-o!” said Mim, her eyes on Sam, and obviously considering the idea that Sam and porn in the same sentence had possibilities. “It’s Sam facing down a boy with a knife.”

“What?” said Elle. She looked a little pale.

Sam recognised the flickering picture: someone had managed to film him taking the knife from Jason earlier in the week – and posted it on the internet. He had no idea how Mim had stumbled across it.

“What happened?” said Elle again, her colour coming back. “You didn’t tell me about this!”

Sam shrugged uncomfortably.

“Just a kid at school. It wasn’t anything serious.”

“Bloody hell!” said Roland, looking impressed in spite of himself.

“My God,” said Rebecca, eyeing Sam thoughtfully. “I knew teaching could be tough but…”

“Yeah,” snickered Marcus, “but in advertising they stab you in the back.”

Everyone laughed too loudly, and Sam was glad that the focus of attention was off him.

Elle wound her hand around his neck, pulling his head towards her. “Do you want to go now, darling?” she whispered.

Sam nodded thankfully. She wasn’t usually so perceptive.

They stood outside the club in the chilly night air. Elle shivered in her thin coat and Sam put his arm around her as he flagged down a taxi.

He held her elbow as she clambered inside and then climbed in next to her. The taxi had barely left the pavement when she flung herself on him, her hands moving restlessly over his body and under his T-shirt, her mouth glued to his lips.

The journey was mercifully short and Sam ignored the snide comment the cabbie made as Elle threw some money at him.

They crashed through the door of her house and Elle made it clear that she had really, really missed him.

Sam switched off his brain and let his body do the talking.

Chapter 3 – February

Half-term was approaching and, more to the point as far as the students were concerned, it would soon be Valentine’s Day.

Sam was dreading it. Last year had been a nightmare: cards had covered his desk like Autumn leaves; flowers decorated his car (mostly relocated from the local graveyard); and a parade of girls had hidden small presents in, on, around and under his desk. One enterprising individual had even left a couple of Quality Streets in his jacket pocket. He had no idea when
that
had happened, although it was common knowledge that Tanya had more light-fingered skills that a football team of Artful Dodgers.

All of the items he’d had to declare to Principal Skinner on the grounds that teachers could not be seen to accept presents
of that sort
; and gifts of a more appropriate nature, only occasionally at the end of the year, or as leaving presents.

The look of shock and disapproval on the principal’s face was something Sam didn’t like to dwell on. Nor the fifteen minutes he’d had to spend convincing his employer that none of it had been desired or, God forbid, encouraged.

It was a considerable relief to several other teachers too, that Principal Skinner had made an announcement informing students that they were banned from giving Valentine cards and gifts to staff: violations of the rule would not be tolerated.

Sam had breathed a sigh of relief until Sylvie pointed out the obvious.

“The kids will just make sure they don’t get caught,” she said. “It doesn’t mean that it’ll stop them trying.” She smiled sympathetically at his hunted expression. “I suppose some men would be flattered.”

Sam shook his head doubtfully. “Not if it meant they might get fired!”

Sylvie didn’t comment; instead she changed the subject.

“So, do you have plans tonight? With Elle?”

“Yes. She’s booked a restaurant in her part of Islington. Low-key, I hope.” He didn’t sound very hopeful.

“Hmm,” said Sylvie, biting back whatever comment had occurred to her.

“What about you and Wayne?” said Sam, ignoring her lack of response.

She laughed incredulously. “Are you kidding? I’m eight months pregnant! I’m the size of a house! If Wayne comes near me I would probably suffocate him. Anyway, he’s going to his mother’s for a couple of days before…” She sighed. “Oh well, only two days to half-term and that’s me finished.” She chewed her lip absentmindedly. “It’ll be strange not being at school. I’ve never not worked…”

Sam put his arm around her and gave her a hug. “You’ll love it,” he said, reassuringly. “Fiona was just the same, but now she says it’s the best thing she’s ever done.”

“What about you, Sam?” said Sylvie, thoughtfully. “I mean, you’re great with Rosa: do you want to have kids of your own? When you’ve met the right woman?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, a half-smile on his face.

“Oh, sorry,” said Sylvie, who looked a bit embarrassed as she realised what she’d said.

Sam shrugged. “You’re probably right. I can’t imagine Elle giving up her career even for a few months… but, yeah. I think I’d like to have kids. One day.”

Sylvie patted him on the shoulder and wished him a pleasant evening.

First, Sam had to get through the day.

He was careful to get to all his classes early to remove any evidence of students defying the ban. Twice he had to sweep away offending envelopes, concealing them in his laptop case before the pupils arrived. He thought he detected one or two disappointed faces among his pupils but he kept his mind focussed rigidly on his work.

It was therefore with some surprise and misgiving that he received a note during his last lesson of the day, requesting his presence in front of Principal Skinner.

Sam packed up his crate, as usual filled with work to mark as well as a number of reference books borrowed from what was left of the school library, and made his way to the principal’s office.

Yvonne, Mr Skinner’s PA, didn’t smile when she saw him. This was definitely not a good sign; normally she was a cheerful woman, overflowing with a calm and maternal kindness for staff and students alike.

“He’s expecting you, Sam,” she said, softly.

Sam knocked on the door and waited for the gruff, “Come in.”

He entered and took the seat he was directed to, in front of Principal Skinner’s desk.

“Ah, Mr Patterson. Thank you for coming. You got my note, of course?”

Sam nodded.

“Yes, yes, of course. Well, Sam, I’m afraid this is a rather delicate situation.”

Sam waited, the contraband Valentine cards in his laptop case, weighing heavily.

But the direction of the conversation surprised him.

“As you know,” began Principal Skinner, “you were originally employed to cover Mrs Snow’s sick leave. That went on longer than any of us could have anticipated although, I must say, we have really valued your work here.”

Now Sam was worried.

“But I’ve had some good news today,” Skinner continued, although his expression was still severe. “Mrs Snow has informed me that she is fit to return to work – and would like to come back after half-term.”

Sam felt his face go blank.

“But I’m afraid that means, therefore, that your place in the English department will be, er, surplus to requirements. I’m sorry, Sam. I know you were hoping that your contract would be made permanent but I just don’t have the budget to spare. I will, of course, pay you a month’s salary in lieu of notice and will provide excellent references.”

“You want me to leave on Friday?” said Sam. “In two days?”

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s the size of it,” said Skinner, his face grave. “I really wish I had better news for you, Sam.”

Sam shook his head bleakly. “Well, thank you for being so frank.”

He stood up, feeling suddenly empty.

“And I do hope you’ll come back and see us some time,” said Skinner, a businesslike smile on his face now that the deed had been done. “I’ll have Yvonne get the paperwork in order for Friday.”

He offered his hand briefly and Sam was ushered out of the office. Yvonne’s face was sympathetic.

“We’re going to miss you, Sam,” she said, quietly. “You’ve been a breath of fresh air around here.”

She stepped round from behind her desk and gave him a hug.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice still dazed.

Outside the principal’s office he bumped into Ioan Jones, his head of department. Instead of the usual benign smile, he looked furious.

“Sam! I was told the news less than an hour ago! They didn’t even have the courtesy to discuss this decision with me first. I’m absolutely livid! I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye but this is unforgiveable. I shan’t be letting this go, I can assure you!”

Sam was surprised and pleased, although he doubted Mr Jones would be able to sway their principal’s mind, let alone his budget.

Mr Jones clapped him on the shoulder and left Sam to wander miserably to the car park. Two days! He wouldn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to some of his classes.

He threw his crate of books into the car’s trunk and sat in the driver’s seat, his head in his hands. It was some moments before he noticed that more than a dozen Valentine cards had been tucked under the windscreen wipers.

Sighing, he dragged himself out of the car and threw the cards unopened on the backseat.

More slowly than usual, he drove home, stopping only at the newsagent to buy a six-pack of lager and a copy of the Times Educational Supplement. He slumped onto the settee and flipped to the situations pages; as of this afternoon, he was looking for a new job.

He’d never felt less like going out to celebrate Valentine’s Day and twice picked up his phone to call Elle to cancel; in the end he decided it would be selfish to spoil her evening, too. And sitting around alone wasn’t going to solve anything.

Keith found him still hunched on the settee, staring moodily at an unopened can of lager.

“What’s up, mate?” said Keith. “Didn’t you get any Valentine cards?”

He laughed noisily.

Sam grimaced. “I got fired,” he said, flatly.

Keith’s laugh cut off immediately.

“What?”

“The woman whose sick leave I was covering: she’s coming back. They want me gone by Friday.”

Keith gaped. “Can they do that?”

“They just have.”

“Bloody hell, mate! I’m really sorry,” said Keith, sounding shocked.

“You and me both.”

Sam stood up and tossed the unopened can to his friend.

“I’ll see you later.”

As Sam drove to Islington, his mind was preoccupied. Twice cars honked at him when he failed to notice that the traffic lights had changed to green. He gave himself a mental shake: having an accident on top of everything else was not going to improve the evening.

As he parked outside Elle’s house, Sam couldn’t help thinking that the Nissan looked sad and shabby in this fashionable neighbourhood. He’d hoped to upgrade his car later on in the year, but that was off the cards now he was unemployed.

He rang the doorbell and waited until he heard the familiar clip-clop of Elle’s heels down the long hallway. She opened the door, looking fabulous in a pale blue cheongsam.

She stared at him appreciatively.

“Mmm! You look good enough to eat!” she said, practically licking her lips.

“You look great,” he said, giving her a peck on the cheek.

“What was that?” she said, crossly, barring his entry.

She was used to a more effusive response from him.

“Sorry,” he said, quietly. “Bad day.”

“Then let me make it better,” she said, grabbing him by his belt and pulling him through the door.

She pushed him against the wall and began pulling on his shirt, her mouth urgent on his. He kissed back automatically, trying to respond with equal enthusiasm; he was getting better at faking it.

“That’s more like it,” she said, releasing him at last. “Oh God, look at that.”

She caught sight of her smudged lipstick in the enormous hallway mirror. “I’ll have to do it again,” she said, looking rather pleased with herself.

As she reapplied the lipstick with expertise, she carried on talking.