Chapter 29
29
‘You OK now?’ I popped my head round Petra’s office door the next morning at school.
‘OK?’ Petra appeared slightly surprised. ‘Oh, after throwing up at the theatre? Yes, I’m fine. By the time Joe picked me up I was starving and desperate for cheese on toast with mint sauce.’
‘Yuck! Is that a pregnancy thing?’
‘What, cheese on toast?’
‘No! The addition of mint sauce.’
Petra looked across her desk at me. ‘No, I always have mint sauce on cheese on toast. Don’t you?’
‘Er, no, not always! Right, it seems our lord and master has finally managed to get his own way with me?—’
‘Oh?’ Petra interrupted, narrowing her eyes slightly. ‘In what way? You do know, Robyn, that while?—’
‘About the idea of putting on Grease ,’ I hurriedly interjected.
‘Oh? Lovely! Right! That’s fabulous, then.’ The apparent relief that I wasn’t actually getting more than friendly with our boss had rendered Petra utterly effusive about any forthcoming production the school might attempt to put on. I reckon if I’d told her we were presenting a nude production of Hair or The Full Monty she’d have been just as relieved there was nothing going on between Mason and me. And, if I had told her, I’d have had the total lecture about how it wasn’t the professionally done thing to have a liaison with another member of staff, but particularly between the head teacher and the supply teacher . But, Petra, I’d have had to add, while I’d not been rendered a total quivering mess, not in the same way I’d melted into ecstasy with Fabian Mansfield Carrington, there was certainly a connection between our head teacher and myself.
‘Well, anything I can do to help.’ She now smiled, still looking at me a little strangely as these thoughts went through my head. ‘Although, to be honest, I can’t hold a note or act my way out of a paper bag.’
‘We’re a long way off that, yet.’ I laughed as the bell went for the start of the school day. First day back and I was already covering registration for one member of staff who was, apparently, notorious for taking sick days off at the start and end of each half-term. ‘First got to obtain permission to perform it and then find the cheapest way to get scripts. It’s actually not as difficult as it sounds – I did a module when I was at uni in Manchester on producing and directing musical theatre… oh, hang on… sorry…’
Seeing Joel Sinclair walk past Petra’s open door, I followed him down the corridor.
‘Joel?’
‘Miss?’
‘You OK?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be, miss?’ Joel held my eye.
‘Look, Joel, you do know what type of man Peter Collinson is?’
‘I know exactly what he is,’ he snapped. ‘He’s a coke-head with a predilection for young girls.’
Predilection? I stared. Joel Sinclair certainly knew his English language.
‘But I tell you this now, miss, he was also one of the best dancers the UK’s ever produced. I’ve seen loads of his clips on YouTube. And he’s an effing good teacher as well.’
‘I do know that.’ I sighed. ‘He taught you those jetés , you said?’
Joel nodded. ‘It’s good Sorrel’s out of there.’
‘Do you really think she is?’
‘Yeah, def. Been texting her ever since Thursday. She doesn’t need him .’ His tone was scornful. ‘She can make it without him.’
‘And you can’t?’
He shrugged. ‘Sorrel’s got you to help her… look, miss, I’m late for registration. Don’t want another bollocking from Mr Mallinson.’
‘OK, OK.’ I put up my hands. ‘But thank you for helping to keep her safe, Joel.’
He laughed somewhat hollowly at that. ‘She’s more than capable of looking after herself.’ He made to move away but, as he did so, I called him back.
‘I can help you, Joel.’
‘Help me?’ He turned, a look of utter cynicism on his handsome young face. ‘No, you can’t. And anyway, I don’t need any help.’
‘Meet me in the drama studio after school.’
‘Sorry?’ His face turned wary.
‘I want to see if you can dance.’
‘Dunno if I can or not.’
‘Well, let me be the judge of that. Sorrel will be there.’ I crossed my fingers behind my back.
‘I’ve got to get off, miss, after school. Can’t hang around.’ He turned once more.
‘Four o’clock, Joel. Be there.’ I headed for the class I’d been asked to register, but not before texting Sorrel to meet me and Joel in the studio after school.
I wasn’t convinced either of them would turn up.
‘OK,’ I breathed, delighted to see not only Sorrel but Joel as well waiting in the drama studio for me at the end of the day. ‘Hang on, I need a hit of something after double drama with 9AT.’ I reached for my can of Coke, draining the contents in one long thirsty gulp. ‘Right, I need to know if you two can dance.’
‘You must know that Sorrel can,’ Joel snapped irritably. ‘You’re her sister.’
‘Yes, I may be, Joel, but she’s not shared with me what she’s been up to for a while. I’ve been away, working in London; as far as I know she could be on a hiding to nothing.’
‘Oh, thanks very much!’ Sorrel shook her head. ‘Great confidence boost there from my big sister.’
‘Right, you know where the changing rooms are. Get yourself into whatever you wear when you dance.’
Sorrel gave me one of her looks but took her bag and headed off to get changed. Joel stayed where he was.
‘Joel?’
‘I’ve nothing with me.’
‘OK, you’re about the same height as me.’ I threw him a pair of joggers and a white T-shirt. ‘Bare feet are fine. Come on.’ I smiled, patting his arm as, scowling, he also headed off. ‘Relax, enjoy yourself. What d’you like to dance to?’
‘Kygo remixes.’
My heart missed a beat, but I kept smiling.
‘You won’t have ever heard of his stuff, miss. Techno house.’
Want a bet? I was immediately back in London at the end of the summer, Fabian and I dancing, utterly losing ourselves to Kygo’s music in a one-off concert at Gunnersbury Park. Knowing how much I absolutely adored the man’s music, Fabian had managed somehow to get tickets.
It had been one of the best evenings of my life.
I reached for my phone and scrolled to Spotify. ‘Any particular track?’ I asked. ‘Please not Selena Gomez singing “It Ain’t Me”.’
‘Selena Gomez,’ Joel said, obviously embarrassed. ‘“It Ain’t Me”. You won’t know it – Kygo’s remix.’
Five minutes later the pair were in front of me.
‘Now what?’ Sorrel asked, hands on hips.
‘Selena Gomez?’ I asked. ‘Joel says he knows it. You as well?’
‘Yeah, we’ve worked together on this at Collinson’s place.’
‘Look, pretend I’m not here.’ I smiled as they both stood there, not looking at each other. ‘Warm up, do your own thing. I’ve some tidying up to do.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Sorrel muttered as I turned my back on them and started the music, but I sensed her bending, stretching, starting to move and then, as the first evocatively soul-stirring notes of the utterly wonderful track sounded in the room, knew that Joel, too, was simply unable not to.
Oh, that haunting music; the words. I was back at Gunnersbury Park, dancing with Fabian, lost in him and Kygo’s music, loving every single minute, wanting it never to end.
With an effort, I wrenched myself from memories of Fabian singing along, holding me, loving me.
I turned to find Joel and Sorrel moving, at first utterly self-conscious, horribly embarrassed, Joel missing a step, swearing at himself, and then beginning to lose himself in the music, becoming oblivious now to me, to the dingy, badly lit drama studio, to anything but being in the moment.
I stood and stared because I couldn’t do anything else, my hand to my mouth, as they danced a routine they obviously both loved and had practised under Collinson’s direction.
‘Bloody hell.’ Mason had joined me by the door; utterly captivated, I’d not realised he was there. ‘How’ve you got them to come down here and do this? Wow, they’re good.’
‘Dance is a part of them both,’ I whispered. ‘It’s just what they have to do.’
‘Well, there’s your Sandy and Danny.’ He grinned, placing a hand on my arm before, obviously remembering we were no longer in Jess’s kitchen by the Aga, removing it.
As the track came to its conclusion, Joel’s embarrassment returned, but doubly so at Mason’s presence. But there was another look: a mixture of pleading, hope and also pride as they both joined us.
‘Oh my God ,’ I exclaimed. ‘You are both so exceptionally talented; no wonder Collinson wanted to work with you. Sorrel, I’m so sorry, I just didn’t realise how good you’ve become, how you’ve progressed…’
‘Well, no, you wouldn’t,’ she said, feisty as ever. ‘You were never around.’
‘Well, I am now. I can teach you both… I can…’ I broke off as two kids, probably in their late teens, appeared at the studio door.
‘Hey, Joel, bro, move it. We’ve been waiting for you outside. Get the fucking fairy outfit off and get back out here with us where you belong.’
Joel hesitated, but only for a couple of seconds, and when Mason, frowning, moved across to the door and the newcomers, Joel picked up his things and headed towards them.
‘I don’t know how you’ve gained entry into school, gentlemen, but you need to leave. Right now.’ Next to Mason’s height and stature, these two youths appeared slight, weedy, but they stood their ground, ignoring Mason until Joel was with them.
‘Joel, you don’t need to go,’ Mason was saying. ‘If you’re not happy to leave with these…’ Mason hesitated ‘… friends of yours, then stay.’
‘It’s fine, Mr Donoghue.’ Joel smiled, but his face was pale. ‘They’re mates of mine. No problem. Thanks, miss…’ He looked directly at me. ‘See you, Sorrel.’ He turned and left, a lonely figure in the wake of the other two.
‘He’s still got your joggers and T-Shirt, Robyn,’ Sorrel said, almost apologetically. ‘I’ll get them back for you tomorrow.’
‘Not a problem.’
‘Jess’s waiting for me,’ Sorrel went on, checking her phone. ‘She’s picking me up because she didn’t know what time you’d be finished.’
‘Oh? You’re going to do some maths?’ I laughed at that, trying to lighten the atmosphere the two older boys’ presence had made dark.
‘Yes, actually .’ Sorrel glared at me. ‘And off for what’s left over from yesterday. Better than what you call your shepherd’s pie.’ She sniffed. ‘Don’t think it’s ever seen a shepherd.’ She turned to Mason. ‘She can’t cook you know, sir.’
‘Sorrel, you were amazing.’ Mason smiled. ‘You’ll go far.’
‘Just back to Jess’s with Mum this evening.’ She grinned and then became serious. ‘Look, can’t you do something? You know, for Joel?’
Mason patted Sorrel’s shoulder. ‘Doing what I can at the moment, Sorrel. Not your problem. You go home and have the rest of that fabulous cheesecake.’
‘It is my problem,’ Sorrel insisted. ‘Joel’s my mate. He always tried to make sure he was around when I was at Collinson’s place.’
‘As I say, I’ll do what I can,’ Mason reiterated.
When Sorrel had left, I turned to Mason. ‘What can you do?’
‘Already liaising with the local authority, their gang team and the police.’
‘They have a gang team ?’ I stared. ‘Those two who appeared just now won’t like that. They’ll think Joel’s grassing them up. Is that fair on Joel? You need to be careful.’
‘That’s why I’m saying nothing further to you, Robyn. I don’t want you or Sorrel in any way involved. And I suggest you also do nothing at the moment about going to the police.’
‘Jeez, this is scary.’ I sighed. ‘Got some marking to do.’ I turned to leave.
‘I’ve an M I needed a professional challenge.’
‘And now?’
‘Now, I’m probably feeling somewhat disillusioned. I thought I could make a difference, but I’m not convinced anyone can. There’s always the spectre lurking in the shadows that St Mede’s really is a sink school, and sinking further into the mire with every term that passes. Right, glass of wine?’
‘On a school night?’
‘Particularly on a school night.’ He grinned. ‘But just the one.’
‘You’ve no photos around the place,’ I observed, looking round before following him into the large dining kitchen.
‘All left behind at the house,’ he said. ‘Except for this one.’ He pointed to the photo of an elderly woman on the sideboard.
‘Your gran? Up at Hudson House?’
Mason nodded. ‘She’s my father’s mother, but my father’s opted to spend the last few years of his career in the States – he’s a surgeon – and my mum’s got a new husband and family and not overly interested in Denise, my granny. So, it seemed the best solution all round to move her up near me. Dad keeps in touch with her best way he can.’
‘And your wife?’
‘What about her?’
‘You’re still on speaking terms?’
‘Just about.’ He smiled and then, obviously not wanting to talk about her, changed the subject. ‘OK, food’s in the oven.’ He clinked his glass of wine with mine. ‘I declare the first meeting of the newly formed St Mede’s spring production 2024 well and truly open.’
We spent the next couple of hours with notebooks and pens, outlining our ideas as I took Mason through the steps we’d have to take.
‘I’m not convinced we’re going to be able to do all this by Easter,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you aim for the summer term, you know, an end-of-year thing?’
‘With Year 11 already left by May to revise for the GCSEs? And half the kids being taken off for the bargain weeks in Benidorm and Turkey that their parents can’t afford during the school holidays?’
‘So, you’ve six months,’ I said with raised eyebrows, while simultaneously counting on my fingers.
‘Need to crack on, then.’
‘Like a pit pony.’ I smiled, thinking how much I’d like Mason to kiss me again.
‘Look, Robyn.’ Mason put down his pen and half-drunk cup of coffee. ‘Last night…’
Oh, hell, was this the brush-off coming? Just when I didn’t think I could cope with any more rejection?
‘…was really wonderful…’
‘But?’
‘But?’ Mason reached for my hand. ‘ And , actually.’
‘And?’
‘And I’d quite like to do it all over again.’ He grinned across at me and, not for the first time, I was getting the sense that Mason Donoghue didn’t really give a fig for protocol, for the rules of the game, about his having a relationship with the lowly supply teacher.
This wasn’t going to be easy. I’d been so hurt by Fabian, I didn’t know if I could ever really feel anything more than this passing frisson of lust. It had only been, what? Two months? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea? Maybe it really was too soon to get back on my bike, as it were. And riding pillion with my boss into the bargain? Riding? Oh, hell! And Petra wouldn’t be happy. Mind you, Jess would. And Mum: Mum had really taken to him when he was round yesterday.
‘Sorry,’ I said, in an attempt to push away these conflicting thoughts that were buzzing round my head like an out-of-control mosquito. ‘Could you repeat that?’
‘Which bit?’
‘Something about wanting to do it all again?’
‘Last night was really wonderful, and I’d quite like to do it all over again? That bit?’
‘On a school night?’ I asked primly.
‘Especially on a school night,’ he replied, leaning in.