Secrets My Mother Kept (25 page)

Mum had been over before we got back, and had made sure that it was clean and dust free, even putting a bunch of flowers on the table. It was a lovely thought, and brightened my mood considerably. The weather in the Canary Islands had been intolerably hot, and I was keen to get back to England.

At that moment the phone rang. It was my school friend Anne, calling to tell me that she and her boyfriend had split up.

‘Oh no! When did that happen?’

I could hear her hesitate. ‘Actually, just before the wedding. We didn’t want to tell you because we didn’t want to spoil your day. So we just played along.’

As I tried my best to cheer her up, it was difficult to ignore the sick feeling of foreboding in my stomach.

My last year at college was the hardest. Being married was difficult in so many unexpected ways. Patrick didn’t seem to realise that college was tough, especially in the final year. As a drama student, I was often working into the night and sometimes had to sleep on a friend’s floor as it was too late to travel back to Rainham. Patrick was working nights for much of the time, and his job was very demanding, so he came home exhausted, slept and then got up expecting a cooked meal and a sympathetic ear. What he got for much of the time was either a solitary evening or a distracted young wife whose thoughts were still in Roehampton, either in the drama theatre or in the education classes. I knew I was being unfair, but I also knew that this was important to me. I had my final exams soon and I was determined to pass.

Things struggled along, but we started to argue over trivial things. What we had both failed to realise was that we had grown in different directions. Just seeing each other at weekends for the last two years also meant that we didn’t really know each other any more and now that we were in each other’s company for much of the time, the cracks began to show.

My third year finally ended, and my exams were over. As I headed back to Rainham, having said goodbye to my college friends and a different way of life, I thought how strange it would be to be one person again instead of two.

‘I’ve passed,’ I announced as soon as Patrick arrived home from work. He looked tired and worn out, but still managed a broad smile.

‘That’s great news,’ he said, giving me a hug. ‘I’m starving, is there any breakfast?’

I turned away and went to cook some sausages, feeling hurt. I had worked for this moment for three years. I was a qualified teacher not just a housewife. But rather than picking a fight I served up the meal and chewed on a piece of toast, telling myself I was just being silly.

37

My First Teaching Job

It wasn’t easy to get a teaching job the year I qualified, as there had been a review of teacher’s pay scales the year before that had awarded a huge increase. This had prompted many teachers who had opted to leave the profession to return, and consequently there were very few jobs around. One of the girls from college, Maggie, had managed to get a job at an all-boys comprehensive in Stratford.

‘I can put in a word for you if you like,’ she offered kindly.

‘But I’m middle-school trained, not secondary, and I’m planning on working in a primary school,’ I replied. But then I started to think. It would be easy to travel to, I would have a ready-made friend, and at least I would be teaching.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘If you could, that would be great; thanks Maggie.’

The following week I was called for an interview at the school.

I knew that it was a boys’ school and I also knew that I didn’t want to look too young or attractive, so I pulled my long hair into a tight ponytail and twisted it into a bun at the back of my head. In a plain beige shirt dress, a touch of make-up and flat shoes I made my way to my first interview as a teacher.

The headmaster was a huge Scot with a broad body and a broader accent. He must have been about six foot tall and as he came to meet me at the door he extended his hand.

‘Well halloo there, young lady. I hear that you would like a job in ma school?’

I looked at him as he stood there smiling down at me, and felt myself shrink even smaller than my five foot.

‘Yes please,’ I responded, smiling back even though I was quivering inside.

‘Take a seat,’ he said, but as I went to sit he stopped me and said, ‘No, wait now, why doncha come and meet the lads first?’ and he took my arm and guided me out of his office and into the dimly lit corridor that led to the rest of the school. He showed me round, and introduced me to some of the teachers. They all seemed very friendly, but the classrooms looked untidy and rather neglected. Then he took me into the sixth form common room. I looked about me; there was graffiti scrawled on one wall and half-full paper cups clustered on every surface, surrounded by discarded crisp packets. Several teenagers – some White, some Afro-Caribbean, all considerably taller than me – were lounging on the chairs eating crisps. They all stopped as we came in and looked at us with a smirk on their faces.

‘Helloo boys,’ the head said and turning to me continued, ‘This young lady wants ta come and be a teacher here – whaddya think?’

They looked me up and down and one of them sucked his teeth and said, ‘Na – I don’t fink so!’

They all laughed and continued to chat amongst themselves. I wanted to die, but the head just grinned and led me back to his office where he promptly offered me the job!

When I rushed back to Dagenham to tell Mum, Pat and Josie were already home from work. Josie had eaten her dinner and gone up to her room as she usually did, so it was just Mum, Pat and Aunty sitting in front of the television. I bounced into the kitchen. ‘I’ve got a job!’ I announced, standing in front of the telly. ‘It’s a proper teaching job! And I’ll be earning over £3,000 a year!’

Mum gave a watery smile but Pat just said, ‘Mind out of the way, I’m watching this.’

I went into the scullery and put the kettle on.

I started at my new school in September and loved working there. The kids were great fun, and although it was extremely hard, the rewards were incredible. There was also a great sense of comradeship among the staff and we gave each other mutual support. When you needed someone to moan to, laugh with, or simply to talk to we were there for each other. As many of us were young teachers in our first jobs we had loads of energy and enthusiasm and working in a boys’ comprehensive in East London at that time, we needed it!

It was here that I met two of the most important people in my life: my dear friend Sherry, and the man who would become pivotal to my future – Colin, remedial teacher, political animal, brave champion of the underdog, known as Mr Softy by the children and Superhero by the staff. The man who would change my life forever and turn it upside down.

That first term went by like lightning. I was learning so much, and often getting things wrong, but it was an incredible place to be. One day in mid-December, Maggie came over to me in the staffroom, and plonked herself down beside me.

‘Are you coming to the cooks’ Christmas party?’ she asked, as she got out her sandwich.

‘Oh I don’t know. When is it?’

She munched through her lunch quickly; we always seemed to be in a hurry.

‘It’s on the last day of term after the kids have gone. Go on, it’ll be a laugh,’ she promised. ‘Everyone is going.’

I couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse, so I smiled. ‘Oh okay then, if you insist.’

As I called the register the day before we broke up for the holiday, I noticed that there was some disturbance at the back of the classroom.

‘What are you up to, Michael?’ I asked, looking in the direction of the laughing.

‘Nuffin Madam,’ replied the little short blond boy who was always at the centre of any trouble. He was surrounded by Devon and the twins Melvin and Kelvin, big West Indian boys who liked a good joke.

I peered towards them. ‘Come on, what are you doing? It’s not Christmas yet you know.’ I had grown very fond of my tutor group, even though it was made up of some of the most challenging boys in the school.

Michael came out to the front of the class. ‘I’ve ’urt myself, Miss.’ As he thrust his hand towards me I looked down and saw that his thumb was covered in blood.

‘Oh no! What on earth have you done to yourself?’ I asked, reaching out for his hand, at which he started to giggle. On closer inspection I realised the hurt thumb was a fake, and not a very good one at that.

‘Oh, very funny,’ I said, dropping my hand and sending him back to his seat. Then I had an idea. ‘Tell you what, boys, shall we play a joke on Miss B?’

They were very keen! My friend Maggie had her classroom next door and it just so happened that she had a strong aversion to anything to do with blood. We made our plan. Kelvin would run into Maggie’s room and ask her to help as there had been an accident. Meanwhile I would be holding Michael’s wounded hand, getting hysterical.

Off he went; the rest of the class was silent, craning their necks to get a better view.

Maggie came rushing through the door. ‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?

‘It’s his thumb!’ I wailed. ‘He caught it in the window.’ I put on my most pathetic and desperate look.

Maggie took charge. ‘It’s all right boys,’ she said firmly, ‘go back to your seats.’ She ushered the boys away and moved towards Michael and I. ‘Let me see, Michael,’ she said tentatively, moving towards the ‘injured’ hand.

Michael thrust his hand at her, moaning in mock pain, and as she went to look at it the ‘severed’ thumb flew off, at which she let out an almighty scream and the whole class erupted into uproarious laughter. Before we had a chance to recover, I glanced up to see the face of the headmaster looking through the window of the door. He came in.

‘Is there something the matter, ladies?’ he asked with a broad Scottish growl. ‘Are these boys misbehaving?’

‘Oh no, thank you,’ I insisted, ‘everything’s just fine.’ The head didn’t say anything else but he must have known that we had been up to mischief, and I think I caught a sly smile cross his face as he turned and left the room.

We had a great time regaling our colleagues with the story during the party the next day, and it sounded even funnier after we had drunk copious quantities of alcohol! The party was great fun and I danced with lots of the other young teachers, all of us feeling the relief of finishing our first term without any major mishaps. By the time I went to catch the bus back to Rainham though my mood had changed. I didn’t want to go back there, it didn’t feel like home, and I didn’t feel that I belonged in that house with my husband. I stood waiting for the bus, and realised that, unlike my colleagues, I wasn’t glad it was the end of term. In fact I couldn’t wait to get back to my boys and my friends in January.

38

Making a Decision

As the new term started, I decided to try to be more positive about my situation. It had been hard to pretend to everyone, including Patrick, that everything was fine, and that I was settling in to married life, but I had done my best.

Maggie was waiting for me when I arrived early on the first day back.

‘Stuart is organising a skiing trip to Aviemore at the end of February,’ she told me. ‘Do you want to go? It will work out really cheap if we go as teachers with the kids, and we won’t have to look after them during the day because they’ll be having their skiing lessons.’

‘Oh I don’t know, Mags,’ I replied. ‘I’m not sure Patrick would like me going.’

‘Oh come on – he doesn’t own you, does he? It’ll be fun.’

‘Okay, I’ll think about it,’ I said, and went up to my classroom to get ready for the boys to arrive. What I hadn’t told her was that I thought I might be pregnant. I was really depressed about it and hadn’t told anyone, but I didn’t think that skiing would be a good idea if I was. I made a deal with myself – if I was expecting then I wouldn’t go, but if I wasn’t then I would! The next week I found out that it was a false alarm, and so went straight away and put my name down for the trip. I wasn’t ready to be pinned down just yet.

The trip was great fun, and the boys had a whale of a time. I learnt how exhilarating slicing through the snow can be, even though I was a complete beginner. On the first day all of us adult beginners were standing in a line on the nursery slopes.

‘Now,’ said our very patient instructor, ‘I have taught you how to snowplough to stop, so we’re going to have a go one at a time.’

Off we went. Debbie was first; around she went, heading back to the end of the line. Then it was Maggie’s turn. She pushed off and we watched her go.

‘No, no!’ shouted the instructor. ‘Turn! Turn!’

But Maggie wasn’t able to turn, so she headed towards us at some speed and then proceeded to knock us down like skittles! Luckily no one was hurt and eventually we all got the hang of it and managed to negotiate the nursery slopes with some expertise by the time we had to go home.

Coming back to Rainham felt like a big anti-climax, and I realised with a jolt that I’d been dreading it.

Back at school, time flew by and before we knew it Easter was approaching. Things at home were not getting any better. It wasn’t that we were constantly arguing, it was just that we wanted different things from our lives, and were beginning to resent each other for not being able to be the person we needed. I was getting so desperate that I confided in my friend Anne. I was shocked at her response.