by Georgia Hill
In a class of His own
Georgia Hill
Published by E-scape Press Ltd, England.
The moral right of Georgia Hill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
ISBN: 978-1-90-862902-9
In a class of His own. Copyright ©2011 Georgia Hill.All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organisations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Georgia Hill
Prologue
Training Day – September Term.
I parked my trusty old Fiat in the car park overlooking the school, killed the engine and spent some time staring at my place of employment. Jack’s car wasn’t parked in its usual place and wouldn’t be again – he’d moved on. Exactly one year ago I had parked, just in this position and had appreciatively eyed up his curvy, old-fashioned sports car. Today it was nowhere to be seen. I was on my own this time. With a sigh I collected my things and began the walk to the next stage of my life …
Chapter One
One Year Previously.
You could cut the tension in the staff room with a knife. We all sat around staring at one another aghast. The news that the head teacher had gone on stress leave only one week before the beginning of the academic year had obviously come as a huge shock to everyone. Angus Fairweather, the Chair of Governors, went on to explain that the Local Authority was putting in one of their inspectors to tide the school over and – more ominously – to raise standards. Whilst he continued to talk, explaining how valued everyone was and what a good job he was sure we would do in welcoming the new headmaster, I looked around at my new colleagues. It was the first time I’d met most of them, although I’d bumped into one or two of them over the last couple of days when I’d been getting my classroom ready. They hadn’t been particularly friendly then and my heart sank further as I looked around now. It was a big school and the room was crowded.
I knew Mona Thompson, the school administrator, she’d let me in over the Summer holidays and seemed to live permanently at the school. An energetic woman in I would guess her late fifties, she had a cast iron grey hairdo, a permanent frown etched on her brow and a disapproving air which emanated from her in waves of frosty disdain. Sitting next to me was Ann Leigh, one of the Reception class teachers. She’d been in school over the last few days with me and we’d chatted a bit but, as we were working at opposite ends of the building and in different year groups, I doubted if I’d see that much of her. She was a tall, slender blonde – reserved and rather aloof. Opposite me was Tony Sexton, my fellow Year Six teacher and the Deputy Head. He’d seemed friendly enough today and was the only person in the room who was visibly relaxed. A short man, the wrong side of fifty, he didn’t look as if he had a care in the world – very strange considering the news just announced.
Everyone else, as was common in primary schools, was female. Judging from appearances most were in the later stages of their careers. As Angus Fairweather left the room there was an instant outburst of fevered whispers. No one talked directly to me so I sat there miserably alone, hearing snippets of what was being said.
… some whiz kid from the local authority …
… only in his thirties …
… what does he know of the job? Not dry behind the ears …
… coming in here, changing everything …
Tony Sexton grinned at me lazily and raised his eyebrows as he sipped from his mug of coffee. He didn’t appear to be the sort of bloke who got ruffled over anything. He might be an ally. I smiled back and then caught an icy stare from Mona Thompson. I looked down quickly.
I felt so alone and thought longingly back to the school I’d left in July. I’d taught there ever since qualifying. I knew everyone and everyone knew me. Over the years I’d got to know lots of the families sending children to the school and it had been lovely teaching the various brothers and sisters. I had become a permanent fixture, I was the one who always knew where everything was. Even though the school was in the middle of a tough South London housing estate, it had a closely-knit community and I’d loved teaching there. They’d all be swapping holiday stories now, the staff room alive with chatter. Bev, the head teacher, would be breaking out the Kit-Kats and making them all laughs with stories of her little boy.
I felt tears prickling and swallowed. I looked down at my academic diary through blurred eyes. I missed them all so badly – but I’d made my decision to move in with my parents and was lucky to pick up this temporary contract at Longview Primary, in rural Herefordshire. I just hoped it would get better.
Living at home had proved more difficult than I’d imagined. Mum and Dad’s retirement bungalow was a reasonable size and I had an ensuite room and the use of the room next door as a sitting room come study but it was hardly private. I smiled briefly as I remembered how, late last night, Dad had poked his head around the door, without knocking and had proffered a pair of my shoes.
“I’ve cleaned them for you,” he’d said proudly. “Even the insoles. Army training!”
I’d smiled at him. I knew his military experience had been brief but it had left an indelible impression. Dad was strictly old school. He’d been old when he’d married Mum and even older when Andy and I were born. He was looking frail now – that and concern over Mum had been the reason I’d uprooted myself and ended up here in this little market town near the Shropshire border …
I brought myself back to the present with a struggle. Ann was saying something to her neighbour.
“I’ve heard about Jack Thorpe – he’s got a fearsome reputation. He’s been fast-tracked by the authority into the inspectorate.” She leaned nearer to the teacher on her left and I had to strain to hear. “He gets sent into schools as a trouble shooter,” she hissed. She broke off as all eyes turned to the tall man standing in the doorway of the staff room. He was dressed formally in a charcoal grey suit and white shirt. Dark haired, he had a neutral expression on his pale face. He frowned and his brows contracted over his strong nose.
No one said a word.
“Good morning everyone.” He had one of those voices which commanded attention. An earthy voice, with just a hint of a northern accent. Everyone sat up straighter, albeit a little resentfully. It was as if a shot of testosterone had bolted into the female dominated room.
“As time is precious I suggest we get started on our schedule straight away. This is what I suggest for our training day together. Dates for the term first, I think.” He looked around expectantly and everyone dutifully got out their diaries.
As we staggered out, some two hours later, brains addled by the amount of information – some of it worrying – which had been thrown at us, Jack Thorpe turned to me and asked to see me in his office after lunch. Not sure how I could have got into trouble so soon, I nodded dumbly and made my way to my new classroom. It was still in a state of complete disorder. As I looked around, I forced myself to grin. One thing was certain, it was going to be an interesting term, at least.
I turned down Tony’s offer of a pub lunch and got on with o
rganising my room. After spending a solid two hours sorting some order from the chaos I went to see Mona Thompson to get a class list to begin my paperwork. I’d skipped lunch completely, although I could hear voices in the staff room – I couldn’t spare the time. No one had bothered to invite me to join them anyway.
Mona’s office was in a row of rooms housing the headmaster’s office and medical room. As I passed Mr. Thorpe’s room I could hear raised male voices in a heated argument. I thought I recognised Tony’s voice as one of the combatants. Trying to ignore the sound, I went into Mona’s office and asked for a list of my pupils. While she found it I looked around. The room was I had to admit, immaculately organised, even the pot plants were standing to attention.
“What a tidy office!” I said, in an attempt to break the ice. Every teacher knows the school administrator is someone you need on your side.
“Of course,” Mona replied coolly, as if there was an alternative. At that moment, the door to the head’s office was flung violently open, so much so that it crashed against the wall with a thud.
“Mr. Thorpe is free to see you now,” Mona said, with the faintest glimmer of malicious pleasure. I murmured my thanks, adding silently, “For nothing” and went into the room next door. My heart was thumping so much I could swear its erratic beat was visible through my thin jumper.
Jack Thorpe was standing looking out of the window, his hand to his forehead. He’d taken off his suit jacket and had rolled up his sleeves. I took a moment to enjoy the view. I had to admit he was easy on the eye. Powerfully built, he had broad shoulders narrowing to slim hips and long, long legs. I knocked hesitantly on the open door and he turned abruptly to face me. He’d loosened his maroon tie and had unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. He looked a little less formal, more approachable.
Marginally.
“You wanted to see me?” I fingered the class list like a security blanket. There was something about him which made me nervous.
He blinked at me, as if to recollect why I was there. Although his hair was very dark I saw his eyes were lightly coloured – pale blue or green – and violently alive.
“Aah, Miss Hathaway – Nicola?”
“Nicky,” I supplied dully.
“Nicky.” He said my name thoughtfully and nodded. I was beginning to feel very self-conscious.
“Please – sit down.” He gestured to a chair in the corner of his office. I sat, grateful to take the weight off my shaking legs. What had I done?
“Miss Hathaway – Nicky.” He sat in the neighbouring chair, uncomfortably close. “You come highly recommended.” A small smile lightened his features momentarily. “I’ve spoken to your previous head teacher – Beverley Downey? She spoke very warmly of you. You were her Acting Deputy I understand?”
I nodded, still wary.
“This school is lucky to have you, especially at this-” he paused, searching for the right word, “difficult time.” He moved on his chair so that he was fully facing me. His knee nudged mine and I moved away. We were so close I could see the slight pucker lines of worry around his eyes and the dark stubble already growing back on his chin and around his mouth. He was a good-looking man. I forced my attention back to what he was saying.
“I’ll be honest, Nicky. I need an ally here. We’re both new to the school and I need someone on my side, someone I know who will do a good job in the classroom, someone who will be the best possible example of excellent classroom practice to the others.”
I looked at him in surprise. Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t this. I said nothing and he continued.
“I meant what I said in the staff meeting. The school has come this close,” he held up his forefinger and thumb to denote a tiny distance, “to special measures.”
I remembered the collective gasp of horror when he’d said this in the meeting. So it hadn’t been just shock tactics. Being put into special measures is what every teacher dreads: mounds of paperwork, constant inspections and a lot of extra work.
“What this place needs is someone who will work hard, keep their head down and work with me on this.”
I nodded, confused.
He shifted slightly on his chair, as if uncertain of how to go on. “I also need someone to keep me informed about what is happening with the staff.” I gasped in disbelief and he went on hurriedly. “I don’t mean as a spy but I need someon impartial to answer any questions I might have honestly and without their personal politics getting in the way.”
I looked down in confusion, trying to decide what was best to say in reply.
Jack Thorpe went on, in a quiet, more sympathetic voice. “I realise this might put you in a difficult position but, as you haven’t built up any allegiances yet, you’re the obvious choice. And it could be a really good career move for you. I know from Beverley that you’re ambitious.” With this he stood up and held out his hand. I stood too.
“Thank you,” I managed, hardly realising what was being asked of me. We shook hands and I was very aware of his long cool fingers clasped around mine. He nodded curtly and turned away. Feeling dismissed I left the room and closed the door to his room gently behind me. I stood there for a moment trying to take in what he’d said. A dry cough alerted me to Mona’s presence and I moved aside to let her go into Mr. Thorpe’s office. I couldn’t translate the enigmatic expression in her eyes.
It was only when I got back to my classroom that I realised the awkward position Jack Thorpe had placed me in. Then I straightened my back and remembered with relief that I hadn’t actually agreed to any of his requests – as such.
That night, before the first true day of term, I had my usual dream. I always had the same nightmare. I was standing in front of my new class. Thirty expectant faces looked up at me, waiting to be inspired, excited, educated. I tried to speak but no sound came out of my mouth; it felt dry and my tongue furred and thick. Paralysis gripped me. The familiar feelings of panic and fear licked around me. I couldn’t do this – it was too hard, too difficult, too big a job. Then, a new element entered my dream. A tall dark-haired man was standing at the doorway of the classroom. His presence meant something, added to my growing unease. This man was going to be important to me in some way but I couldn’t quite see who it was, however much I strained against the paralysis still possessing me.
I woke up. The man was Jack Thorpe, of that I was sure. What I was less certain about was what form his significance to me was going to take.
Chapter Two
The next few weeks passed quickly; as the beginning of the academic year had a habit of doing. I’d never worked harder in my life. I got into the routine of getting in well before eight but even so, I rarely left school before six or seven at night. There was so much to do. But no matter what hours I put in, Jack Thorpe was always at school before me, his classic sports car parked in its habitual place, and he was still in his office as I left. More often than not, Mona Thompson was ensconced in the office with him. The woman didn’t seem to have a home to go to. Come to think of it, neither had I. Living with Mum and Dad again was getting increasingly frustrating. They insisted on treating me as if I was twelve and not twenty-seven. Dad, bless him, was forever fiddling with my old Fiat – cleaning it and checking its tyres. Every day he made me a packed lunch – of hearty proportions. And Mum fretted constantly if I was a minute later than my expected time home. But what was far more disturbing was her habit of coming into my room during the day and rearranging my things. She often organised the bottles on top of my dressing table into size order and I could swear she’d used a ruler to measure the distance between the ornaments on the windowsill. It made me very uneasy. It was just as well I didn’t have time for a personal life because I certainly didn’t have the privacy for one. School became ever more the refuge. A place where I could lose myself in the oblivion of hard work.
Jack Thorpe was certainly making his mark. His style of management was, to put it mildly, no nonsense. He worked hard and he expected everyone else to wor
k just as diligently. The only difference being, that as far as I could tell, he had no one at home waiting for dinner to be cooked or their ironing to be done – like a lot of the other staff. He insisted that no one should leave school, for whatever reason, until five and had forced everyone to take an after school club in order to keep them there. My choice was to run the Drama Club, which I was enjoying. Our weekly planning had to be in on Monday morning at the latest, for him to scrutinise and comment upon and he was obsessive about making us crack down on any pupil not wearing the correct uniform. I knew that he was being talked about – and I could tell from the teachers’ mutinous expressions that it was hardly flattering but all moaning ceased as soon as I got within earshot. I was the other outsider and, as such, not included in any chat. So much for his idea of me being his spy! No one ever said anything to me. I’d never felt so isolated.
Early on in the term he held a meeting for parents – which all staff had to attend. He outlined the changes which were being put in place and made it crystal clear to parents what would happen if their child were absent without permission or came to school late. It seemed he was determined to make enemies of everyone – I could almost see the hackles rising. Tony Sexton made an excuse and wasn’t present at the meeting – something which didn’t go unnoticed. It was a very public show of his lack of support for the new regime. I had to admit to myself though, that Jack Thorpe was a superb public speaker. Calm and authoritative he commanded the attention of all present – there was something magnetic about his chocolate-y voice. After the frosty start, he began to win them round by the sheer force of his personality. The women in particular were listening very closely and – was it my imagination – or had they made an extra special attempt with their appearance?
My new class was lively, to use a teaching euphemism for unruly, and I had to use all my skills and experience to instil some discipline. I wasn’t helped by Tony Sexton in the parallel Year Six class who appeared to let his class run riot. More often than not, when I was trying desperately to get my children to knuckle down to some maths, we could see, through the wide glass windows opening onto the corridor which joined our classrooms, Tony Sexton and his class painting or playing games on the computers. It did not go down well with my pupils who complained bitterly and with some justification about how unfair it was. Early on, Tony and I had had a meeting where we’d agreed to share out the planning. I’d done mine but so far, had received nothing in return, so had ended up planning his share as well. It was very frustrating. What was even more galling was the effect Tony had on the pupils – he had only to remonstrate in a quiet voice for the pupils to do as he bid. Whereas I had to go through a series of escalating sanctions before achieving the required result. As a result of all this I was acquiring a reputation for being extremely strict, which wasn’t going down well with either pupils or parents. Despite all this, I had a sneaking admiration for Tony and his ability to make light of what was a demanding job. He was always pleasant to me, made me a cup of tea every morning, offered to do my playground duty on days with particularly vile weather and took a difficult boy off my hands when he was causing total disruption in my class. There was something about the man that I couldn’t help but like.
