“Jason?”
“Jason, are you alright, old chap? The colour has drained from your face.”
I continued to gawp through the window. Although the windows were only thirty or so feet from Martin’s car, the man sitting on it wouldn’t be able to see me particularly well due to the window being leaded glass; the original windows when the school was built. However, I could clearly see Paul Colney sitting on Martin’s car wing – my old Cortina.
Roy grabbed my arm as he looked at me, breaking the Medusa spell. “Jason, I said, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Roy, leave it with me. I’ll sort this out.” I turned and exited his office. Miss Colman had reunited herself with her typewriter as she hammered the keys whilst glancing to her left at the note pad on the desk. Martin sat slouched on one of the high-backed wooden chairs near the door. His head leant back, staring at the ceiling, with his legs outstretched and arms folded.
I yanked open the office door and turned to Martin, gesturing with my head. “We need to go.”
Martin jumped up and winked at Miss Colman. “He’s so bossy!”
Martin followed me out to the main foyer. I grabbed his arm and manhandled him to the stairwell corner.
“Hey, what’s up with you?” Martin threw back, as he glared at my hand, which I had tightly gripped around his elbow.
I chose to ignore his inability to fit into this ’70’s life and the misunderstanding of his position at the school as I needed to focus on our immediate problem.
“Martin, shut up! We have a real problem.”
He looked up at me as I kept hold of his arm, pinning him in place.
“After we spoke about the Colneys in the pub on Monday, and I said you can’t do anything … what have you done?”
Martin frowned. “Nothing. You said do nothing in your usual bossy way. So, for the moment, I’ve done nothing.”
“You must have! Because Paul Colney is sitting on the bonnet of your bloody car,” I hissed and pointed behind me to the main car park.
Martin’s eyes bulged. “Jason, I’ve done nothing. But now he’s here, I’m going to deal with him,” he said, as he shrugged from my grip and pushed past me.
I spotted Miss Colman’s face squashed against the glass panel of the office door as I grabbed Martin’s arm again and hauled him back.
“Martin, stop!”
He turned and looked at me.
“Remember what George said about the Colneys? They’re violent and have connections. You can’t just go out there and confront him.”
Miss Colman opened the door a crack and peered through the gap. “Is everything alright, Mr Apsley?”
“Yes, Miss Colman, all under control.” I returned a tight smile as I man-handled Martin into the Assembly Hall in an attempt to find some privacy and away from Miss Colman.
I shoved Martin in to one of the wooden chairs in the front row and stared down at him as my mind whirred around, trying to work out our next move. “Martin, you’re sure you’ve done nothing?”
“No, nothing!” he fired back, with the palms of his hands out flat as he shrugged. He looked like he was one of my students who I’d caught messing about.
I plonked myself down in the chair beside him. “Well, we have a problem because he’s out there and sitting on your car. It would suggest he’s looking for you. But I can’t think why.”
“Jason, that was your car.” He turned and looked at me, now calm as the realisation of the grave situation we were now in had dawned upon him. “I think he’s looking for you.”
“Oh, bollocks, you’re right. I’ve had a few run-ins with him, but I still don’t know why he’s here.” I scrubbed my hands over my face as I leant forward, trying to work out what to do. I had to act now as I’d said to Roy I would deal with it.
“I’ll go and tell him to naff off. Although I should kill him as he’s likely the one that raped Mum,” said Martin, as he jumped up from his chair.
“Yes, and he could well be your real father.”
Martin slowly re-parked his backside in the chair. “Yeah … wow … what a thought.”
“I think we need to keep you a secret as long as we can. He knows me, so I’ll just go out there and see what he wants. I don’t think he’s going to get violent on school grounds.” I grabbed Martin’s shoulder to get his attention. “Look, can you hang around near the foyer, in case things don’t turn out too well? But for Christ’s sake, keep out of sight.”
My two previous encounters with this bloody bloke hadn’t gone well. I’d nearly shit myself a week last Monday when he stared me down in the public gallery at Patrick’s trial. The other encounter last September was significantly more painful. Lacking confidence but trying to look it, I slithered down the steps then tentatively shuffled towards him. Paul Colney stood up and folded his arms, his menacing eyes boring deep into my head as he watched my progress towards him.
“Apple … you seem to pop up everywhere!”
“Well, as I work here, and you know that … I’m not sure what’s so surprising, do you?” Good start I thought as I clenched my bum cheeks together. Now half concentrating on my bowel movements and trying not to shit myself.
“Don’t get fucking smart with me, or this time I’ll tear that bloody nose off your face.” He held my stare with his cold evil eyes. I was in no doubt that he was capable of his threat and had probably performed such an operation on many an unfortunate soul in the past.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed on. “This is private property, and you have no reason to be here.” Pompously, I stuck my nose in the air and tried to swallow. Unfortunately, my mouth would not comply as it had dried up, leaving a sandpaper-tongue stuck to my Sahara-dry cheeks.
Paul took two steps towards me. Annoyingly, I took two back, an involuntary self-preservation movement. It was the fight or flight reaction, and my brain had decided on flight.
Paul instantly sensed the upper hand, as I guessed he was well trained in these situations. I fought hard to keep my lower orifices closed – a battle I was only just winning.
‘Come on, Jason, what are you – man or mouse?’ My brain replied, ‘mouse,’ with a squeak.
Paul grinned, enjoying the power he had over me. “Whose car is this?” He nodded to the Cortina that his bum had just alighted. I just stared at him as my tongue struggled to find some saliva in my desert-mouth.
“That Stag is yours. Nice motor for a teacher. So what were you doing up at the Broxworth on Monday then?” He leant forward to close the gap between us. “Apple, I suggest you start talking, or I’ll rip that tongue out of your fucking head.”
“You need to leave,” I managed to fire out. Although in a high-pitched tone which sounded more like one of the first-year girl students than a grown man.
Paul glanced to my right then back at me as I desperately tried to work out my next move. All the time, my brain was screaming at me to man-up.
“Who the fuck are you?” Paul said over my shoulder. I turned to spot Martin purposefully striding towards us.
‘Oh, for fuck sake, why can’t Martin do anything he’s told?’
“None of your fucking business, you tosser. So I suggest you turn around and fuck off.” Martin had closed the gap within inches of Paul’s face. Although this was now escalating out of control, fair play to Martin, as there was nothing mouse-like about him. He was confident and in control, but he had no idea of who he was dealing with.
I momentarily pondered what part I would play in the impending doom following Martin’s verbal assault. I was fully expecting that, at any moment now, Martin and I would be lying on the asphalt in a spasm of our final death throes.
A police panda – new ‘R’ plated MK2 Escort – gracefully pulled up to a halt just a few feet in front of the steps to the school entrance. A young male officer hopped out of the driver’s seat and stared in our direction. It was fairly obvious for anyone to see we weren’t having a friendly chat. Then to my utter delight,
Frenchie appeared from the passenger seat and marched almost army drill sergeant style towards us as the male officer stood and watched, holding the police car’s door.
She muscled herself in between Martin and Paul, which was a tricky operation. Her buxom form – that could support a tray of beer steins at a beer festival – came to a halt as her chest nudged its way in between the opening in Paul’s leather jacket. Now millimetres from him, she looked up and glared.
“What … are … you … doing … here?” she delivered slowly and confidently, which made me grimace thinking about my own wimpy performance thus far.
Paul looked down at her chest. I willed one of her tunic buttons to ping off and garrotte him as he glanced over her head towards me. “We ain’t done.” He backed up and walked away.
“I don’t expect to see you here again,” Frenchie shouted after him, as Paul hurried to the school gates.
Assuming Miss Colman or Roy had called the police, this would be a difficult situation to explain.
Her partner had now closed the car door and was in the process of locking it. Frenchie turned to address me. “Mr Apsley, whenever I have an encounter which involves the Colney family, you always seem to appear.” She barrelled her way over to me whilst Martin just looked on. “Well, Mr Apsley, why was Paul Colney here at the school?” Frenchie stood with her hands on her hips, awaiting my answer. Then in one swift movement, she swung her tray-of-beer-chest in Martin’s direction. “Well?”
“I have no idea why he was here. We’d just come to ask him that very question, and you lot turned up. I’m sorry you were called. I think that was an overreaction on the school’s part,” I replied.
“Sir, nothing is an overreaction where a Colney is involved. I think I’ve said this to you before, but I suggest you take care who you are mixing with as Paul Colney is not a suitable friend and an extremely unsuitable enemy. Am I clear?”
“Very clear,” I responded, feeling like I’d just been told off.
“Err, yes,” replied Martin, looking like he’d just been told off.
“Good. We weren’t called to attend. We actually need to speak to you regarding an incident that involved some of your pupils up at the chip shop on Haverhill Road this lunchtime. Shall we go inside?”
The other officer adjusted his cap and joined us as we walked back into the school foyer. Martin trailed behind. Whatever the chip shop incident was, I didn’t really care. Martin and I were firmly on Paul Colney’s radar, and long before I intended us to be. Once again, Frenchie was right. I seemed to be involuntarily involved with the Colney clan.
30
Stifler’s Mom
Roy and I listened to Frenchie regarding the chip shop incident. Both of us were not surprised as the culprits had a tendency to cause trouble. Three senior boys had got involved in a fight with a group of boys from the Howlett School. It appeared to be a ‘turf’ war over who had the rights to use the chip shop, which was situated an equal distance from both schools. Roy said this had happened before with the troublesome pupils from that rotten school, as he put it. I was fully aware he had a very low opinion of Malcolm McDonough, the Headteacher. The telephone conversation between them was tense, with raised voices, and Roy became red-faced and angry after slamming the phone back in its cradle.
“Idiot! The man’s a buffoon! How he’s held the position of Head at that ruddy school is beyond any understanding. Jason, can you deal with those three boys? Although I’m certain it’ll be that rowdy lot from the Howlett School who caused all the problems. The punishment needs to be severe as I can’t tolerate the City School being brought into disrepute.”
“Of course, Roy, leave it with me.” Although I wouldn’t be dishing out the punishment that he expected. Corporal punishment in my mind served no purpose, and I certainly wasn’t going to spend my afternoon swinging the ‘School Slipper’ back and forth at three male arses bent over a desk. As the school day finished, I caught up with Maggie, the school cleaner. She was an unassuming middle-aged lady who diligently performed her cleaning duties in her blue and white house-coat without anyone noticing she existed. Today she’d have three unwilling apprentices.
Maggie found the whole episode somewhat irregular, but I could tell she was pleased as I made her a cup of tea. I raided the biscuit tin that yielded three Nice biscuits, although as they’d languished at the bottom of the tin for so long they were now probably anything but nice. I set her up to listen to the radio in the staff room, whilst I organised her three apprentices to clean the male toilets.
“Right, Maggie, put your feet up for half an hour and enjoy yourself whilst those three boys take their punishment.”
“Mr Apsley, this is very kind of you. I’ve never had a teacher make me a cup of tea before. I didn’t think I was allowed in the staffroom, well, only to clean. I won't get into trouble, will I?”
“Maggie, you use the staffroom whenever you want. I’m the Deputy Head – am I? – so, no, you won’t get into trouble. Those three boys have to have their punishment, and I think cleaning toilets is better than the ‘Slipper.’ I want you to sit back and relax whilst I crack the whip on those boys.” Maggie smirked and settled into her chair.
As all men know, male toilets facilities are horrific places. It didn’t matter whether it was 2019 or 1977 – they were the same. A large proportion of the male population had no concern for what they deposited and where, as long as it was in the vague direction of the toilet pan. I certainly had an affinity to Finch in ‘American Pie,’ not that I was desperate to screw ‘Stifler’s Mom,’ but I tried at all cost to avoid the school toilets when the call came.
My three senior students, Roberts, King and Cooper, all look horrified as I provided them with the required cleaning equipment of cloths and brushes to attack the men’s toilets. Although, after a full day of four hundred students splattering the facilities, I thought a hose and shovel would be more effective. Maggie really was a saint for facing this every day.
Roberts turned and looked at me as I stood leaning against the door frame. “Sir, can I have a hundred lashes with the slipper instead, please?” Cooper and King looked in total agreement as they surveyed the carnage inside each cubical.
I grinned and shook my head. “Gentlemen, that would be letting you off lightly. So no, let's get cleaning.”
King approached the first cubicle with his Marigold gloves and a tube of Vim cleaner at the ready. He stepped inside, looked at the carnage he faced and threw up. Maybe I’d gone too far.
31
Timmy
After leaving Roy’s office earlier that afternoon, I’d called George at work and Jen at home. Jen would drop the kids off at her parents, and we all agreed to meet up at the pub for a crisis meeting at six.
I had the genuine concern that Paul Colney may be around after school, as he’d made it clear earlier in the day that our conversation wasn’t finished. I chose the pub for the meeting as I didn't want him to know where I or Martin, and for that matter, Don lived. Maybe I was overreacting, but I was fully aware of what he was capable of.
Martin and I arrived early, as I needed to deal with his fraternisation with his mother earlier in the day. After the three boys had completed their punishment and left, looking rather green-around-the-gills, I was confident they would not be getting into another fracas outside the chip shop. Maggie had enjoyed her break and said she would be more than happy if any other students were in trouble, they could have the same punishment.
As we were early, we grabbed the window seat after a quick chat with Dawn and Dennis. Dawn said Martin was a very handsome chap and wanted to know if he had a young lady. I avoided saying he had too many, and I expected many more on the horizon as it seemed a fair few females he encountered were charmed by him – including his mother.
“Right mate, before the others get here, I suggest you tell me what was all that goings-on when you were chatting up those senior girls at lunchtime, including your mother?”
Martin nearly s
pat his beer back out and slammed his mug on the table. “What the fuck! You’re joking right? I was not chatting up those girls and certainly wasn’t chatting up my mother!”
“Keep your bloody voice down!” I glanced up to see Dawn, Dennis and Brian the landlord, break from their conversation at hearing Martin’s outburst.
“You sick fuck! You think I would chat my own mother up?”
“I can’t tell you again. Keep your bloody voice down.”
Martin huffed and sat back in his seat. “I was just having a friendly chat with some students. Yes, okay, one happened to be my mum, but hell, we were just chatting.”
“I said you need to avoid talking to her. It just isn’t right. We don’t know the time-travel effects of you engaging with her eleven years before she gives birth to you.”
Raising the palms of his hand, he nodded, “Yeah, I know. It’s just so weird seeing her as a teenager, and I just wanted to talk to her.”
“Well, apart from your potential rapist-father turning up at school today, we have another problem.” I flipped open my cigarettes and lit up.
“Oh, what's that? And do you have to smoke? I’m going to die of lung cancer before I’m forty living in this era. When do they ban smoking in pubs? I can't remember, but I hope it’s soon.”
“1st July 2007,” I replied. I remember we had a smoking party at the local pub on the night of 30th June and a lock-in until one in the morning so we could all defy the law for one hour. The landlord had put a sign up stating only smokers were allowed in that night, which caused some arguments. What he meant as a joke turned out to be a disaster as the police were called to deal with a stand-off between rival punters.
Ahead of his Time Page 21
