Chapter 8 #2
‘Took her somewhere?’ Hell, should she be reporting this to Mason and then the police?
‘To me Aunty Sheila’s, I think. I’m going to join the IRA when I leave school, Miss. They’re just like on the telly. You know the orange hand?’
‘Not the red one then? The Red Right Hand?’ Robyn paused. Wasn’t that something to do with Ulster? Or was it just the theme tune to Peaky Blinders?
Maddie Woodhead had her hand up. ‘Miss Allen, I think he means the RAC.’
‘Yeah, duh, that’s what I said, MadHead.’ Stanley sniffed and walked to his place.
Thankful she wasn’t in the middle of some political uprising, Robyn started handing out exercise books to their respective owners with an accompanying word of praise or encouragement. ‘Riley? Homework?’
‘What about it, Miss?’
‘Where is it, Riley?’
‘Handed it in, Miss, like you said.’
‘Not here, Riley.’
‘Must have got lost. You know, lost in the post.’
‘He didn’t, Miss.’ Leon Barker smirked, deftly dodging the elbow aimed at him. ‘Told me he hadn’t done it.’
‘Eff off, Barker.’ Riley gave a few experimental dog noises in the other kid’s direction, baring his teeth in the manner of a demented Jack Russell, and the class joined in, laughing and barking at Leon.
‘Oi, any more of that and you’re in isolation, Riley. And the rest of you, stop that right now. OK, I’ll ask you one more time, Riley, where’s your homework?’
‘Dog ate me homework, Miss.’
‘What, Leon did?’ another of the kid’s cronies asked, laughing.
‘Straight up!’
Did he think he was on some TV police procedural drama?
‘You ask me dad, Miss.’
‘I will,’ Robyn said calmly. ‘I have his number.’
‘It were me dad who telled me to tell you that,’ the boy now said sulkily.
‘I’ll see you after class, Riley. I’m not spending any more of this lesson on you now…’ Robyn deliberately stopped speaking, staring at the window while, to all appearances, in a state of shock. ‘What on earth was that?’
Twenty-two eleven- and twelve-year-olds turned as one. ‘What, Miss?’
‘You didn’t see it?’ Robyn affected terror, seemingly rooted to the spot. ‘Oh, it was horrible, really, really horrible.’
Chairs scraped back, children stood, rushing over to the third-floor picture window.
‘No, don’t! For heaven’s sake do not look it in the eye. Sit down before it sees you.’
‘What was it, Miss?’
‘Was it a magpie, Miss? They’re horrible!’
‘A magpie?’ For a split second, Robyn wanted to laugh, but instead she moved back against her desk, every aspect of her quivering with fear. ‘Oh, kids, did no one else see it? It had the biggest bulbous nose…’
‘What’s bulbous, Miss?’
OK, they were only Year 7, some of them with reading ages several years below where they should be; she needed to come down to their level somewhat.
‘It was green, scaly…’
‘An alligator, Miss?’
Up here at the third-floor window? Robyn tried again, thinking on her feet.
‘Honestly, it was dark green, its hexagonal head spiked with thorns and scales, three of its five eyes just staring at me with such malevolence…’
‘Aw, you’re having us on, Miss. You’re telling great porkies.’
‘Of course I am. That’s what a good storyteller does – has the reader on.’
‘You weren’t actually reading, Miss Allen,’ Maddie, ever the pedant, put in pointedly.
‘But I am now. Listen.’ Robyn reached for her much-thumbed copy of Lord of the Rings and began reading from it.
Putting the text down, she looked at the class and said, ‘So that’s a description of Shelob in her lair.’
‘What’s a lair, Miss?’ Jackson Thompson asked, his eyes wide.
‘Someone who tells fibs, like Riley,’ Savannah Quinn put in knowingly.
‘A lair is a den. Can you imagine a horrible dark cave, a dungeon? What your senses would come across? The sight, the sound, the smell…’
‘Can’t be anything worse than Riley’s trumps, Miss.’ Leon Barker grinned.
‘Ugh! Revolting, disgusting!’ Maddie turned to shoot the boy a look of distaste.
‘Great adjectives, Maddie,’ Robyn encouraged. ‘Carry on.’
‘…sour…’
‘…putrid…’ Robyn added.
‘…noxious…’
‘…super describing words,’ Robyn praised. ‘How about rancid?’ She quickly wrote the words on the smartboard before turning back to the class with another extract. ‘This describes The Shrike from The Hyperion Cantos by a man called Dan Simmons.’ Robyn started to read.
‘Oh, that’s really good,’ Felix Billington enthused, once she’d put the book down. ‘Can we write some?’
‘That’s the plan.’ Robyn nodded. ‘OK, you can work singly or in pairs. Jotters out. You’ll need the thesauruses. And remember, think about your senses – what did it feel like, look like, smell like, sound like?’
‘Taste like!’ Aria asked, showing off she knew the last of the five senses.
‘It’s not The Great British Bake Off, Aria,’ Mila on her left said impatiently. ‘We’re not going to be having a slice of it like wotsername does. She must get really full and not want her tea trying all that cake. Come on, think. What are we going to call this beast?’
Forty-five minutes later and hands were up, wanting to showcase their efforts.
‘OK, Mila, off you go.’ Robyn smiled.
Mila and Aria stood, suddenly shy and embarrassed, getting the giggles, reluctant to speak.
‘Ger on with it then,’ Riley censured. ‘It’s nearly home time and I’m off to footie.’
The girls read together, Robyn encouraging and, gaining confidence, they finally got to the last sentence.
‘…and protruding from his gnarled grey head were two enormous, twisted testicles!’
‘Fabulous,’ Robyn enthused. ‘Really fabulous!’
* * *
‘Miss?’
‘Blane?’ Robyn looked up briefly from marking 7BW’s creative writing, sighing from trying to decipher Stanley Wilcox’s sentences. Was Learning Support doing anything with him?
‘So, Miss, you know your boyfriend?’
‘Well, I know him, Blane. I’m not aware that you do.’
‘He were that bloke that came with you to our house a few months ago, wasn’t he? You made out he was another teacher or a social worker.’
‘I don’t think I did, Blane. Your mum just assumed that’s who he was.’
‘Anyway, you know, Miss, you brought him round when you came over looking for me. And I know he’s your boyfriend ’cos, you know, I ended up staying with your Jess for a couple of nights when I got locked in the girls’ bogs in school.
When my mum was off her head again? Jess told me you’d had some barrister boyfriend in London when you were on the stage down there.
You’d fallen out with him, and that’s why you were back up here. Anyhow, we know who he is now.’
I’d have words with Jess when I saw her, gossiping about me to one of my pupils.
‘Oh?’ I said, crossly. ‘And who’s we?’
‘Well, the Matrix.’
‘The Matrix?’
‘That’s what we call him,’ Blane said proudly. ‘He’s in charge of our lot.’
‘Right, OK. And?’
‘And what?’
‘Well, you’re obviously here to tell me something, Blane.’
‘He’s the bloke from London who was sorting the Soho Slasher, isn’t he?’
When Robyn didn’t confirm or deny – there was no way she was about to discuss her personal life with this whippety kid – he came closer and went on. ‘He did well, didn’t he?’
‘Blane, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. If something’s worrying you about school, tell me and I’ll talk it over with you.’
‘Worrying me? About school?’ Blane gave a sneery little laugh. ‘Nowt here in this dump to worry me. Look, d’you want to know or what?’
‘Know what, Blane?’
‘So, your friend – your boyfriend, Miss – he did a great job getting Joel Sinclair off his charge. So, he’s going to be working for us now.’
‘Joel is?’ Jesus, that’s all she needed, Sorrel’s boyfriend still being mixed up in supplying drugs.
‘Joel? No, not Joel.’ Blane tutted. ‘He’s gone soft. Doing his GCSEs. Still wants to be a bloody fairy ballet dancer. He’s going straight.’
‘Who then?’ Robyn stared. ‘If you don’t mean Joel.’
‘That Soho Slasher bloke. Your boyfriend. The famous Fabian Mansfield Carrington. He’s working for us now.’