Chapter 14
14
‘I really did think this place closed down when Jess and I were at Beddingfield Comp,’ I said as Jayden drove into the car park. ‘We were always ready to do battle with the kids who came here – bloody rough lot, they were. Jess and I used to be terrified of them.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Jayden sighed, looking surreptitiously at his watch before pulling into the one vacant space, a veritable oasis amid a sea of hatchbacks.
‘No, I don’t suppose you would.’ I shook my head slightly in his direction. When had Jayden ever been around or interested, when we were at school?
‘Are we allowed to park here, d’you think?’ he asked, glancing round almost guiltily, apprehension at being forced into yet another official establishment plainly manifesting itself once more.
‘Come on, Sorrel, best behaviour now,’ I said. ‘If this school won’t take you, then it’s the… the other place in town…’
Sorrel rubbed at her eyes. ‘I can’t go in there. They’ll know I’ve been crying.’
‘Well, maybe not a bad thing. It’ll show them you’re sorry and ready to start again.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’ The woman behind the open office window, who, although not quite as much a Rottweiler as the one at the high school, clearly wasn’t prepared to let us through without, if not a fight, at least a tussle.
‘I wondered if Ms Liversedge at Beddingfield High had phoned?’ I asked, smiling.
‘Not that I know of.’ She turned to the other two women in the office, who both shook their heads.
‘Sorrel here,’ I continued in as friendly a manner as I could muster, when all I was feeling was despair, ‘has just moved into Year 11 at Beddingfield High, but there appear to be some clashes of personality… Could we see Mr Donoghue, please?’
‘Well, not without an appointment. And it is Monday morning, one of the busiest days of the week as you can imagine. We always have any weekend problems to sort out?—’
‘We don’t mind waiting,’ I jumped in. ‘Sorrel’s father’ – I pointed in the direction of Jayden, who was now standing by the main entrance making a phone call – ‘has to be in Aberdeen this evening and needs to be on his way.’
‘I’m sorry, really…’ To be fair, the receptionist did appear to be just that. She glanced down at what I assumed to be a diary as Jayden finished his call and joined us once more. ‘I can make an appointment for you to see Mr Donoghue on, erm, erm…’ more turning of pages ‘…Thursday?’
‘Oh! I know you! Jayden Allen?’ The receptionist was interrupted in her perusal of the diary by a tall, well-built man in a maroon tracksuit appearing round the open door at the back of the secretary’s office. ‘It is Jayden Allen, isn’t it? Or, if not, you sure as hell are his double.’
The office staff, Sorrel and I immediately shifted our attention from the man in the doorway to Jayden, and then back to the man.
‘I love your stuff. Been a fan since I saw you play in Leeds when I was fifteen.’
‘Oh, really?’ Jayden ran a hand over his braided hair, obviously delighted at the recognition. ‘That’s great to hear – my music does have quite a following in Scandinavia, but not as much in this country.’
‘You’re wrong there. Who told you that? I heard you on Radio 1 last week. The new album you have out?’ The man beamed in Jayden’s direction, the smile lighting up his whole face. He was probably of the same heritage as Jayden, but while Jayden had always insisted on wearing his hair in the style he felt best accompanied his music, this other man’s was short, and he was clean-shaven. He stepped fully into the doorway, almost filling it with his height and width – this was one big man – before crossing through the office and out into the reception area where we stood waiting.
‘Nearly time for assembly, Mason,’ the receptionist reminded him as though speaking to a recalcitrant child rather than the head teacher it was now clear he was. ‘You were late last week as well, and you know you always insist on taking Monday’s assembly yourself.’
Smiling beguilingly back at the receptionist, he held out his hand to Jayden before glancing across at Sorrel and me.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I have to get out of this tracksuit – need to set a good example to the kids – and take assembly. You’re wanting a meeting with regards to…?’ He raised an eyebrow in Sorrel’s direction, holding her own defiant stare until, seemingly on the back foot, she rubbed at her eyes, twirled a finger through her long dark hair and eventually looked away.
‘This is Sorrel, Jayden’s daughter – and my sister.’ I spoke quickly, not holding back: I could see there was no point. ‘Sorrel has… she’s… she’s lost her place at Beddingfield High. We’d really like you to find her a place here if you can. The alternative is the?—’
‘The PRU? Pupil referral unit?’ Mason Donoghue’s voice was firm as he finished my sentence. ‘Come to that, has it, Sorrel? And what makes you think we’d be prepared to take you here?’
‘I don’t want to be taken anywhere,’ she muttered. ‘I just want to go home.’ She began to make for the door, but I put a warning hand on her arm.
‘I have to take assembly,’ the head said again, moving back towards his office, pulling at his tracksuit top as he did so. ‘But I can speak with you straight after that. I’m sure Sally here will make you a coffee.’
‘I think we’re a bit coffee’d out actually.’ I managed to smile as Sorrel scowled but made no further attempt to remove herself. ‘But thank you, I’m very grateful.’
‘Robyn, I really have to get off,’ Jayden said, looking at his watch once the head’s door closed on us. ‘It’s a good seven-hour drive up to Aberdeen and I promised Jess I’d call in at the hospital to see your mum.’
‘How are we supposed to get home?’ I snapped. ‘I can’t walk anywhere with this knee!’
Jayden reached into the leather bag slung across his jacket, peeling off a wad of notes. ‘Get an Uber,’ he said. ‘Once you’re back at your mum’s place, her car is there.’
‘It won’t be insured for me.’
‘It’s both taxed and insured,’ Jayden said patiently. ‘I told Jess to insure it for anyone to drive – that van of hers she insists on going around in is knackered – and sent her the money to do it. It’s there for you to get yourself and Sorrel about in.’
‘I can’t walk – I can’t drive – with this knee, Jayden. I need some help here.’
‘Robyn, if I’m to keep on sending money for your mum and for Sorrel, I need to work. You know that. Look, I know all this has blown up in your face and the last thing you were expecting was to have to quit your job, but I can’t afford to quit mine into the bargain.’
‘OK. OK!’ I snapped crossly, holding up both hands, wanting him gone. Jess and I would sort things – we always had.
‘Sorry, love, I have to go. I’ll tell your mum you’re back home and looking after Sorrel, and not to worry…’ He trailed off and then appeared to cheer up somewhat. ‘He seems a decent bloke.’ Jayden nodded towards the closed door through which the head had gone.
‘Because he recognised you?’ I scoffed. ‘Because he likes reggae?’
‘Because he was wearing a tracksuit.’ Jayden grinned. ‘In all my years in all the damned places they put me, I never once saw a head teacher out of a suit and not sitting behind a great desk, peering across at me as if I was some specimen they wanted to stamp on.’
‘You do exaggerate…’ I began, but he was already out of the main door and gone. I knew it would be some weeks, months even, before he deigned to grace us with his presence once more. We were on our own – again.
‘Do come in, both of you.’ Forty minutes later, Mason Donoghue’s face reappeared round his office door. While waiting for the head teacher to see us, despite my trying to engage Sorrel in conversation to find out just what was going on in her life, she’d clammed up and spent the whole time on her phone. In the end I’d joined her in the silent but addictive scrolling on my own phone, desperate for something from Fabian, but also from Carl Farmer at The Mercury to tell me he was waiting for me to return as soon as my knee was up and running once more. Up and dancing even! Fat chance. I could hardly walk without it hurting.
There was nothing from either of them.
‘So, what was up with Beddingfield High?’ Mr Donoghue asked as soon as Sorrel sat in front of him. ‘It’s a great school, from what I hear. Got more facilities than we have here at St Mede’s.’
Sorrel shrugged, refusing to look at him.
‘Sorrel, I won’t be able to judge if St Mede’s is the right place for you – if we’re the right match – if you won’t talk to me.’
‘Sorrel,’ I started irritably, but Mason Donoghue held up a hand in my direction and, censured, I sat back.
‘What do you like about school?’ he went on.
‘Nowt.’ She sniffed. ‘I’ve never liked school.’
‘That’s not true, Sorrel,’ I interrupted once more. ‘You loved school when you were in the juniors. You did really well in your SATS and you were in all the school plays.’
‘Sorrel, I can’t offer you a place here unless you’re willing to work with us.’
‘Up to you.’ She sat back with folded arms.
‘OK, let’s go,’ I snapped, all the tension of the past couple of days rising to the surface and finding release in an explosion of anger. ‘I’ve really had enough of this. If you want to ruin your life by not going to school, then that’s totally up to you.’
‘The thing is, Ms… Allen, is it? The thing is that if you’re acting in loco parentis?—’
‘Acting in Loco Parentis ?’ Sorrel scoffed. ‘She’s acting in Dance On at The Mercury Theatre in London’s West End, not in something called Loco Parentis .’
Well, this was a turn-up for the books: my truculent little sister not only knowing what and where I was performing, but obviously prepared to blow my trumpet for me into the bargain.
The man turned fully in my direction. ‘As I was about to say, if you’re acting in loco parentis, Ms Allen, you are responsible for making sure Sorrel is in education.’ Without waiting for my response, he continued: ‘So, you’re an actor?’
I nodded. ‘Musical theatre.’
‘Well, she was .’ Sorrel sniffed again. ‘Can’t do much dancing at the moment with that knee.’
‘I noticed you were limping,’ the head said, holding my gaze.
‘Look, we’re here to discuss Sorrel and her schooling, not me and my career.’ I could hear myself sounding like Sorrel and closed my eyes for a second before adding, ‘I’m so sorry, that came out wrong.’
Mason Donoghue turned back to my sister. ‘And do you like dancing, Sorrel?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ She gave this nice – and really rather gorgeous – head teacher such a withering look that if she’d added ‘duh, Dude’, I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.
‘But as far as I know Beddingfield High has an excellent dance and drama department?’
‘You’re joking,’ Sorrel scoffed. ‘Excellent? It’s rubbish.’
‘Oh? Well, one of my teachers left to move over there during the six-week break.’ He turned in my direction. ‘Left me in a bit of a hole, actually. I’m having to cover some of the dance and drama lessons myself. I’m not bad with the drama side but… you know…’ He trailed off, his eyes not once leaving mine.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, giving him what I hoped was a sympathetic smile, but not overly interested in the man’s staffing problems. ‘That can’t be easy. So, Mr Donoghue, I really need to know if St Mede’s is able to take Sorrel. If not, I’m going to have to go back to the education authority and hand over the problem to them. Which, I believe, means a PRU?’
‘Why don’t we have a look round?’ the head said, standing. ‘You might decide we’re not the school you want to come to.’
‘It’s not,’ Sorrel mumbled.
‘It is,’ I hissed back, smiling beatifically at Mason Donoghue while nudging my sister in the ribs.
‘Come on.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s see if we can change your mind, Sorrel.’
We spent the next half-hour on a tour of the school, Mason greeting each student we came across by name, enquiring, congratulating or censuring each one in turn while suggesting they might like to tone down the make-up, make sure they were on time for their next class, be ready for football practice at lunchtime.
We’d rounded a corridor and were approaching the science laboratories at the far end of several dismal-looking, grey concrete tower blocks when a door banged open and two boys spilled out onto the floor in front of us, arms and legs wheeling in fury as they attempted to knock seven bells out of each other. A cheering, delighted gaggle of Year 8 kids filled the now gaping science-classroom entrance, the door having been flung back against the sludge-green corridor wall by the two wrestling adolescents. A plaintive voice was reasoning and then imploring, and eventually shouting for some semblance of order but, as more of the class poured out into the corridor, it was obvious he was being ignored wholesale by the kids in his care.
‘Kyan, AJ!’ (Was no one called good old John, David or Peter any more?) Mason Donoghue leapt into action, grabbing both boys by the scruff of their necks and hauling them off each other. ‘Go back to your classroom and your seats,’ Mr Donoghue ordered calmly to the rubbernecking gaggle of kids, one hand still attached firmly to each of the previously tussling duo.
And, to be fair, they did, without another word. ‘I shall be with you in just two minutes and any one of you not in your own seat, not doing exactly as you’ve been asked by Mr Prentis, will have me to deal with. Understood?’
‘Ger off me.’ The smaller but more pugnacious of the two in the head’s grasp was intent on wriggling free. ‘Get the fuck off me… You’re assaulting me… GBH… me dad an’ all ’is mates’ll be down to sort you out.’
‘Bring it on, son,’ Mr Donoghue said calmly. ‘If he’s not down to see me after school this afternoon, I’ll be up to your house before your tea’s on the table.’ He released the pair from his grip. ‘OK,’ he went on, texting something into his phone, ‘Mrs O’Sullivan will collect you and take you to Removal. You’re there until lunchtime when I want to see both of you with a written apology for disrupting Mr Prentis’s science lesson.’
Throughout this little contretemps, Sorrel had stood idly by, unimpressed by the disruption, reaching into her pocket and scrolling through her phone again.
‘Put it away,’ I muttered, once the head had popped his head round the science room door. He spent a good five minutes talking to the class and their teacher before making his way back in our direction.
‘And that’s why I’ll never again go back into a classroom,’ I vowed, shaking my head at the very idea.
‘Bit different from your own schooldays?’ Mr Donoghue asked with a grin.
‘No, I was actually referring to the year I spent as a teacher just after lockdown.’
Mr Donoghue paused, actually stopped walking back in the direction of his office, Sorrel trailing on behind. ‘You’re a qualified teacher?’
‘I was a teacher.’ I shuddered slightly. ‘Never again. Never. ’
‘And your chosen subject?’ he asked, sounding like the presenter of Mastermind . ‘Your area?’
‘My subject?’ I glanced with some suspicion towards the man. ‘English, dance and drama.’
‘Great stuff. Just what I need.’
‘Don’t look at me.’ I gave a laugh, holding up two hands.
‘But you’re qualified?’
‘Qualified to know I’ll never go back within spitting distance of any classroom.’ I attempted levity. ‘Being forced into just one school this morning has been enough to bring me out in hives. But now, coming here and seeing that little performance’ – I nodded back down the corridor – ‘puts me on the verge of a panic attack. I take my hat off to anyone who works in schools, but it is not for me…’ I trailed off, realising this somewhat charismatic head teacher had stopped walking and was standing, arms folded, smiling in my direction.
‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘Bog off, then.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Even Sorrel’s head had come up, if not in shock then in some semblance of surprise that a head teacher should speak such words to the family of a prospective new student.
‘Buy one get one free.’ Mason Donoghue grinned. ‘ You want something I have, Ms Allen, i.e., a place at my school for Sorrel here?—’
‘I don’t want a place here—’ she started once more.
‘And I want something you have, Ms Allen.’
The full-of-innuendo smirk and raised eyebrow on Sorrel’s face morphed back into its habitual scowl as Donoghue continued. ‘I’m offering Sorrel a place here at St Mede’s, with immediate effect, with the proviso that you, Ms Allen, not only accompany her every day, but remain at school, taking up the position of temporary dance and drama teacher.’
‘What?’ I stared at the man. Was he mad? ‘Are you mad ?’ I finally managed to get out.
‘Obviously.’ Sorrel shook her head sagely, for once apparently on my side.
‘With some English lessons thrown in – oh, and possibly some RE and PSHE as well… How does that sound?’
‘Like blackmail, Mr Donoghue,’ I finally spat. ‘That sounds just like blackmail to me.’
‘He’s blackmailing you, Robyn,’ Sorrel agreed, in delight. ‘Don’t stand for that.’
‘I’m not,’ I said crossly. ‘Come on, Sorrel.’ I stood, marching as much as one can march on a dicky knee, towards the main entrance. ‘We’re finished here. Looks like it’s the PRU for you.’