In a Class of His Own (2 page)

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.

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 work 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.

However hard I tried,
though, the other teachers remained suspicious of me. Rumour had got
round, as rumour always does, that I’d been put into the school,
along with Jack Thorpe, to shake things up. The fact that this was
entirely untrue had been clouded by that fateful meeting on the
training day. I had been right – Jack Thorpe had put me in a very
difficult position.

Things came to a head one
morning break time when I was on playground duty. I was trying to
deal with a boy who had been banned from having a football. I’d
caught him annoying a group of Year Three pupils by kicking the ball
repeatedly into their group.

“Spencer,
give me the ball please.” I called out, over the noise of the
playground bustle. He ignored me. “Spencer, I said give me the
ball. Now.” I edged my voice with as much firmness and authority as
I could muster. Spencer was in my class and was proving a quietly
undermining presence. I went up to him and held out my hand for the
ball. I felt if I lost this minor battle of wills, I’d lose the
entire war. “Spencer, you have a choice, you can either give me the
ball or you can go to see Mr. Sexton to explain your behaviour.” I
kept my voice low and calm. Spencer had a notoriously volatile
temper.

“Mr.
Sexton said I could have it back,” he said at last, not looking at
me, a mulish expression on his face and insolence in his voice.

“Spencer,
you know the ball was taken off you because you kicked it at the
window last week and broke it.”

He looked at me then. He
was a tall boy for his age and solidly built. A future rugby player,
no doubt. I held my ground, quietly praying to myself. “Give me the
ball now.”

“Is
there a problem Spencer?” A deep voice sounded behind me. “Miss
Hathaway has asked you to give her the ball. I suggest you choose to
give it to her or you can come and talk to me about it.” Jack
Thorpe waited, giving the boy time to decide.

He
stood there, a tall and implacable presence. I became aware that the
other pupils were watching this battle of wills. I was right. This
was an important one to win. To my relief, after what seemed an
agonising wait, Spencer handed me the damned ball.

“Now
I suggest you apologise to Miss Hathaway and then you can continue
your break-time,” Jack Thorpe said in a casual voice, as if
suggesting nothing more important than a choice between a Kit-Kat and
a Mars Bar.

Spencer scuffed his feet.
Again Jack Thorpe waited but didn’t repeat his command. Eventually
the answer came.

“Sorry.”
Spencer mumbled almost inaudibly and certainly without sincerity.

“Sorry
Miss Hathaway.” Jack Thorpe said in that quiet, determined voice.

“Sorry
Miss Hathaway,” the boy repeated.

“Good
lad. Well done for making the right choice. Now off you go.” Jack
Thorpe turned to me and, once Spencer was safely out of hearing said,
“A difficult boy that one. I hope you didn’t feel I undermined
your authority?”

I looked up at him, tall
though I was, I was still a good six inches or so shorter. I decided
to be honest. “No – thank you, I appreciated the help.”

He gave one of his curt
nods. “Did Tony give him back the ball?”

I said nothing.

“I
thought so. Come and see me after school today. I need to discuss
something with you.” He must have seen the look on my face because
he gave a shadow of a smile and added, “Don’t worry, you haven’t
done anything wrong. Quite the opposite in fact.” And with that he
strode away, deftly avoiding a flying netball and a gaggle of Year
Fours playing Tag.

At the end of the day,
after I’d seen the pupils out, I returned to the classroom to pick
up my notebook in preparation for my meeting with Jack Thorpe.
Unusually Tony popped his head around the door just as I was
shuffling paper on my desk in an attempt to tidy it.

“Going
to see the big man?”

I looked up, alarmed at
his sarcastic tone. “What do you mean?”

“You
don’t know then, I’m surprised. I thought you and he lived in one
another’s pockets.”

I ignored the cheap jibe.
“If you’ve got something to say Tony, say it. I’m late for the
meeting.”

“Oh
yes, the meeting,” he said with a sneer. “The one where you’ll
be told you’ve got my job. How does it feel to step into my shoes
two minutes after you’ve got here?”

I was
taken back at his vehemence. Lazy and sloppy though he was, he’d
always been fairly affable with me – until now. He blocked my exit
from my classroom. Furious
at how he was treating me, I refused to feel intimidated. “Let me
pass, Tony.” I said in an icy tone.

He smiled and gestured in
mock solicitude to let me through.

I knocked on Mr. Thorpe’s
door, with blood pounding through my head. What the hell was he
playing at? At the sound of his deep voice saying “Come in” I
swept into the room. He looked up from where he was sitting behind
his desk and raised his eyebrows at my obvious anger.

“Tony
says you’ve released him from being Deputy Head. What’s going
on?” I demanded.

Jack Thorpe leant back on
his chair and held his fountain pen between two hands. He stared at
it for a moment, and then raised his eyes to meet mine. I became
suddenly aware of my none too clean T-shirt – we’d done art that
afternoon and I

always
got more paint on me
than any of the children did

“Please
sit down Nicky and I’ll explain.”

“You
most certainly will!”

Mr. Thorpe raised one
expressive eyebrow at my tone and thinned his lips. I sat down and
folded my hands into my lap – damn – why did they always shake so
when I was angry?

I waited.

Infuriatingly, he did not
seem at all discomfited by my anger. He rose and poured a coffee from
the machine perking in the corner.

“Would
you like one?”