by G H Mockford
‘I think I better tell her father,’ I said, as I flicked through my calls list. I hadn’t bothered to save his number, but it was still in the memory.
‘I’m teaching Char’s class next. I’ll text you if she’s with me.’
I nodded and focused on sending the message, trying to decide the best way to say it. I couldn’t think of any, but I couldn’t chicken out. The bell went, I said a quick goodbye to Sarah and disappeared into my room.
The class came in; some slowly and clearly delighted in spending an hour with Mr Freeman, others loud and silly. I couldn’t tell who had heard the rumour and who hadn’t. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as we thought. Mrs Forrest hadn’t turned up, but a teacher from the Science Department arrived to take her class. He looked cheesed off to be missing his free period.
‘Ok,’ I said to the class, ‘settle down.’
The class had begun to quieten down when Freddie shouted from the back of the class, ‘Mr Freeman, is it true about Mr Rollins?’ I kept my mouth shut and ignored all incoming questions. ‘Everyone’s going around saying he’s got Char Blackmore pregnant. Is it true?’ Freddie pressed.
‘Let’s just focus on getting the register done and then what we’re learning today, shall we?’ I said. Then I lost control of my class for the first time in years. They started shouting at each other and laughing. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Charlie wasn't present for the register.
Thirty-Two
Sarah managed to settle her class down. This was top set, year eleven. It was Char’s class and, for the most part, her peers seemed to be concerned about her.
‘Is it true, Miss?’ Georgia, the girl who normally sat next to Char, asked.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know and couldn’t comment even if I did,’ Sarah said. ‘Now, back to…’
‘But surely the teachers have heard about it?’ another boy asked, his tone showing more concerned interest than something altogether more unhealthy.
‘The only teacher I’ve seen all lunchtime is Mr Freeman,’ Sarah said honestly.
‘Oh yeah?’ someone shouted from the back. Sarah wasn’t quite sure who.
‘Very funny. Now then, back to…’
There was a knock on the door and one of the office staff entered and handed Sarah a message. Thanking the woman, Sarah opened it and read.
‘What is it, Miss? Is it about Char?’ asked Georgia.
‘Not that it’s anything to do with you, but yes. You’ll all be pleased to know she’s fine,’ Sarah said.
‘Not in about eight months she won’t,’ came the same voice as before. Some of the class laughed, but not many.
‘This isn’t a joking matter,’ Sarah said. ‘Now, back to work.’
The class let the topic of conversation drop, and Sarah was just about to get on with her lesson when there was another knock on the door.
It was Rollins.
The class went quiet, and if he could feel all the eyes of the students on him, he didn’t show it.
Sarah was furious. How dare he show his face in here? If she never saw him again, it would be too soon.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said in his usual smooth tones.
Sarah could barely conceal the sneer on her face as he walked in. He didn’t look remotely concerned, or worried. He strutted like a gangster from a cheap movie who had an expensive lawyer and who knew he would get him off on some technicality.
‘I need your car keys.’
Sarah looked out at her class. They were all staring at her.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Rollins, but I’m not letting you near my car.’ Sarah was certain she saw Georgia smile.
‘I need to move my car, and you’ve blocked me in.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise.’
Sarah looked at Rollins and then back at her class. She just wanted to get rid of him. She didn’t want him near her car let alone in it, but she didn’t want him in her classroom either. This was Char’s classroom too. She opened her desk drawer, took her keys out and dropped them into his palm.
‘Now, where were we,’ she said, ignoring Rollins and returning her attention to her class.
Rollins left, closing the door behind him.
‘Why’d you let him talk to you like that, Miss?’ Georgia asked.
Sarah wanted to say something clever, something that would be worthy of the name Smart Alec but didn’t. Not in front of the class.
As the students left at the end of the lesson, Sarah was relieved that she had a free period next. With all that had happened, she had completely forgotten about it. She packed up her stuff and headed downstairs to the shared English and Drama Department staffroom. Popping her books on the comfy chairs that circled the room, she crossed to the urn and made herself a coffee – a sweet one, with three sugars. She needed it after the afternoon she just had.
Poor Char, what must her afternoon have been like?
Sarah went back to her books, put the coffee down and fell onto the chair. She picked the cup back up and held it in her hands. The warmth made her feel comforted and safe.
Then he came into the room.
Sarah looked at Richard Rollins briefly and then back down at the books before saying, ‘I’ll have my keys back now.’
‘Didn’t your mother teach you to say please?’ he said. He walked over and dangled the keys in front of her. A brief look of sadness flashed across her face as she reached out for them. He flipped them up into his hand at the last moment and said, ‘Say ‘please’.’
‘Fuck you, Rollins,’ Sarah said.
‘You’re just no fun, are you Smarts?’ He let go of the fancy leather Mercedes fob. The keys dropped into her coffee.
Sarah glared at him but couldn’t be sure if he’d done it deliberately or not. ‘You really are a knobhead, Rollins.’
‘Screw you, bitch,’ he said as he turned to leave.
‘Never in a million years. I sincerely hope you get what’s coming to you.’
‘What was that?’ he said, turning back.
Sarah didn’t regret opening her mouth for a moment. She wasn’t afraid of this low-life scum, she was completely capable of looking after herself. ‘You heard me. You disgust me. You’re full of shit, Richard, and the worst thing is - it’s the best part of you.’
Rollins lunged forward and brought up his hand to slap her, just as the door opened.
‘Are you still here, Richard,’ said Gill Beresford from the doorway.
‘I was just leaving, Gill,’ Rollins said, lowering his hand, confident his Head of Department hadn’t seen him. ‘I was making Sarah and I a coffee, would you like one?’
‘I’m afraid you don’t have the time. You were advised to leave. I suggest you act on that advice before the LADO and the police arrive,’ Mrs Beresford said, holding the staffroom door open for him.
‘Of course, Gill. The sooner we get this misunderstanding sorted out, the better, and Charlotte can get back on with her life,’ said Rollins before turning back to Sarah and smiling at her. ‘Sarah was just saying how sick some people are to make up such lies.’
‘Shall we, Richard?’ Gill said from the door.
‘Of course.’ He turned back to Sarah and mouthed I’ll get you, bitch. Watch your fucking back, and followed Mrs Beresford out.
Thirty-Three
Sarah came to see me at the end of the day. I could see that she was close to tears, but she managed to hold it together. It had been a crappy day altogether, and I couldn’t believe what Rollins had done with her keys or the clear and deliberate threat. I was tempted to see Arnold and add bullying to the list of charges against the idiot.
‘Go home,’ I told her.
‘I’ve too much to do.’
‘Take it with you,’ I suggested.
‘I’ve got plans for tonight,’ she said. I guessed that’s why I was going round tomorrow. ‘I’d rather get the work done and then just go out and forget it all,’ she added.
‘Fair enough. Would you like to bring your stuf
f in here? We could keep each other company.’
She nodded at me, and her face brightened a little. Sarah came back a few minutes later with her own Wilko’s box and unloaded it. We sat together, but apart, and drifted off into our own worlds. I must have been fully engrossed in it because I didn’t even notice Connor come into the room.
‘You’re busy. Seems everyone is tonight,’ Connor said as he tried to look busy. He wandered around the classroom, checking windows and shutting blinds.
I glanced up at the clock. The time had flown by.
‘I’m ready if you are,’ Sarah said as she collected a few things up.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I answered, and filled my box too.
‘This is where I find out that bloody idiot has damaged my car,’ Sarah said, picked up her keys from the table.
‘Is that your Merc?’ Connor asked. Sarah nodded. ‘Nice car,’ Connor said, ‘for a girl.’
Sarah glared at the caretaker. ‘That’s good, because I am one, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Oh, I noticed,’ Connor said with a wink and a smile.
‘Come on,’ I said, and I led the way out of the classroom.
We made our way to the main entrance and Sarah stopped by the “info pod” that Paul had stood next to just two days before. ‘Would you mind walking me to my car?’ she asked.
She looked a little scared. I smiled at her and said, ‘Of course not.’ I put my box down by the “pod”. ‘Here, give me that,’ I said, reaching out for hers. A look flashed across her face, and I think she was going to say something defensive, but she paused and handed it over.
Sarah’s car wasn’t where she left it. It took us a while in the dim October light to find it, but we did, eventually. Rollins had parked it close to the bins. I wondered whether it was intentional or not and if it was, was he trying to make a point. Sarah didn’t comment, so I didn’t say anything. She used her damp key fob to unlock the car and, having opened it, took the box back from me and put it on the passenger seat. I was surprised that she would do that to the fancy leather interior.
‘Thanks, Alex,’ she said with a fragile smile. Once again, she looked vulnerable. I returned her smile and said nothing as we stood there. Despite her heels, she was still much shorter than me and was forced to look up, almost straining her neck.
It was then that my brain started to shout at me - this is it. This is the moment. If you’re going to do anything, now’s the time.
I didn’t have a clue where the message had come from, but I chose not to ignore it. I fought the urge to look around to make sure no one was watching, and stepped closer. She didn’t move, which I took as a good sign. My right arm circled around her like it had done on Saturday. I pulled her to me and heard her feet shuffling closer to me. My left hand touched her soft face. She smiled and lifted herself onto her tiptoes.
We kissed a slow, tentative one, our lips barely brushing against each other. I felt her arms move behind me. She pulled me closer and kissed me more passionately.
As suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and she stepped back.
‘Goodnight Alex, see you tomorrow.’ She got into her car and, just like Saturday, I was left watching her leave and feeling utterly alone.
Thirty-Four
Paul paced the kitchen. The pots, pans and burnt remains of last night’s meal littered the worktops of the otherwise clean kitchen. It had been a long afternoon. Time had dragged ever since he had received Freeman’s text at just before one o’clock. He considered going to school, or simply phoning and asking to speak to the Head Teacher, but he didn’t know what to say. He settled for staying at home and worrying about why Freeman hadn’t answered his reply, and more importantly, worrying about Charlie. School had tried ringing him, but for some reason he couldn’t fathom, he ignored it.
He heard the front door open, and froze. Every possible reaction his daughter could give whizzed through his mind as he waited for Charlie to walk into the kitchen.
She appeared in the doorway, and they stared at each other for a while, neither knowing what to say. Then Char ran across the kitchen. She dropped her Republic bag and threw herself into his waiting arms. Her body heaved as she cried loud, uncontrolled and unashamed.
Paul was shocked for a while and then wrapped his arms around her. She looked tiny compared to him as she buried her face into his chest. Paul could feel her tears soaking through his t-shirt, but he didn’t say anything; he just stroked her hair.
Paul felt Char’s body go limp against him. There was nothing wrong; this was just the sign. It was something she had done ever since he could remember, but even more so over the last seven years. She hadn’t done it for a while though.
He slipped one muscled arm under her legs and scooped her up like any father would do with their four-year-old. He carried his baby through to the front room, manoeuvring and twisting to get the fifteen-year-old through the door frames. He rubbed his face against hers and she giggled amongst the tears as his stubble brushed against her face. Paul looked down at her, and she was eight or nine again.
Do your children ever stop needing you? He remembered how he had gone running straight to his mother when Charlotte had died.
No, your children never stopped needing you, he decided, until in old age you needed them, and the roles were reversed. It was why he looked after Bill, he had no children, and he had no one else.
Paul lowered Char down onto the sofa and stroked her hair away from her face. She had stopped crying, but her cheeks were streaked with tears and the little bit of make-up she wore around her eyes. She was classy like her mother in that way. He sat beside her and gave her his most comforting smile and continued to stroke her hair until she fell asleep.
Paul rose, careful not to disturb her, and closing the door behind him, disappeared into the kitchen.
Paul heard her get up an hour later and make her way through the living room. ‘Not yet Char, it’s not quite ready,’ he called, trying to hustle his daughter out of the room, but it was too late.
Char smiled at him.
Paul looked down, following the direction of her eyes. He was wearing an apron, and the worktops were covered with various pots and pans as well as potato mashers and slotted spoons.
‘Let me help,’ she said as she walked over to him. She stopped before him and said, ‘I love you, Dad.’
‘I love you too. Now get out and let me finish,’ Paul said with a smile.
Char took a closer look at the wreckage on the worktops. ‘You cooked this last night, too,’ she stated.
‘Yes, Char. I wanted to say sorry for reading your diary.’ Paul waited to see what she would say next, but she didn’t say anything, she just opened a drawer, and got out their special table cloth.
Paul watched her in silence and remembered how Char and her mother had embroidered it together. She had been seven and a half and it was a warm summer’s day and her mum and her were working on it together. It was on that day that Charlotte had told her daughter she had to go to the hospital. She had something wrong with her tummy, her womb. She would be going away for a little while to get better.
Charlie had continued to work on the table cloth while her Mum was in the hospital, and every night she would take it onto the ward to show her mum how much she had done. It was the holiday, and she had all the time in the world. It would always make Charlotte smile when she saw it. Paul’s wife would tell her beloved Charlie, “Not long, not long now and we’ll be able to finish it together.”
They never got the chance.
The sound of Char sweeping the cloth into the air broke Paul from his memories, and he watched it settle onto the table. Char reached out and stroked the perfect parts her mother had made and the imperfect ones her seven-year-old self had created. She went into the cupboard under the sink and dug out a dusty old box. It was put away safe and sacred. Opening it, she wiped the plates inside clean and set the table for three. They had been her mum’s “best set” of crockery.
&
nbsp; She looked at the table and smiled. Paul stood beside her and took hold of her hand. It was still small in his even though she was almost a woman herself. Charlie looked up at his smiling, loving face, and they both pretended they didn’t see the tears running down their cheeks.
They crossed the kitchen together, served the food, and sat down and ate. Neither said a word.
Paul decided not to say anything about what happened today. Char knew he knew and as far as he was concerned, it was up to her to bring it up. Besides, now was not the time. Now was a special time, the three of them together again.
The silence broke when Char finally spoke. ‘Dad?’
‘Yes, Char,’ he said. The new name came off his tongue easily. He’d been practising it all day.
‘Can you call me Charlie, please? I like it when you call me that.’
‘Of course sweetheart, of course,’ he said. He took his daughter’s hand, kissed it and then rubbed his “sandpaper” face against it. They both began to laugh until the sound filled the house, and new and different tears ran down their faces and onto the table cloth.
Thirty-Five
The training had to stop. Something new and urgent required his attention, and it would have to divert him from his True Mission.
At least last night had worked out well. He had headed to the red light district. He knew where it was, but it was easy enough to find thanks to all the signs that read ‘curb crawlers will be arrested’, or something like that.
The street walkers disgusted him. They used all their evil gifts to make men fall from their righteous paths.
Last night’s training mission tested all his skills, and his patience, as he stood a strong chance of getting caught if he were reckless, especially as there were CCTV cameras dotted around. He had driven up and down a few times, but always left a long gap between passes as he took a circuitous route to Mapperley, Arnold and back down the A60 so he could begin again.
He’d spotted her on the third trip, and she’d stayed there for the rest of the evening. It was either slow business or there were women with stronger, better wiles or, more likely, cheaper.
