Chapter 4
Chapter Four
T he sun was shining again, which always made the first day of term a little easier. Chrissie had decided today was a new day. She and Nisha were adults now, in their forties. They had lived multitudes of lives since their teens and could absolutely work together effectively and professionally. She arrived in the school kitchen at half past seven, as promised, to find Dan already laying out loaves of bread and vast quantities of margarine.
“Morning, sunshine,” he said, smiling as he spoke. “Glad I’m not the only girly swot in today.”
“You can count on me, Dan. Love the jumper, by the way,” said Chrissie, admiring the pink and yellow V-neck he sported.
“Thanks. I always like to welcome the newbies with a bit of colour.” He pulled the lid off one of the massive cartons of marg with gusto, then dropped eight slices of toast into the two large toasters that had been donated.
“You’ve got Reception this year, then?” asked Chrissie, as she started getting the plates ready.
“Yep, God love ’em.” Dan twinkled as he spoke. He was one of those teachers who seemed to genuinely love the job. It could be a thankless profession at times, but he never seemed to let the stress get to him. He was often the first in in the morning, and it had been Dan that had done the deal with local supermarkets to provide breakfast supplies every day. This was their second year doing breakfast club.
“Whereas I’ve got Year Four this time.”
“Hmmm,” said Dan, pulling open another loaf of bread. “All the gear and no idea? Yes, I remember that age-group. Always entertaining. They’re beginning to feel like they’re all grown up…”
“And yet,” said Chrissie, buttering like fury.
“… they are utterly clueless,” concluded Dan. “But still, you’re less likely to be clearing up puddles on the classroom floor than I am.” He paused to reload the toasters, while Chrissie popped the buttered toast under the hot lamps. “So, I gather we have fresh meat teaching Year Four this year.”
“Oh my God, Dan. Fresh meat?”
Dan giggled. “OK, I’m just trying to make things more interesting. So, what’s she like? I saw her briefly in a meeting yesterday, but she didn’t say much. She’s going to be your work-wife this year, so you must have views.”
Chrissie felt the heat spread across her face, and looked down to focus on her margarine-spreading.
“For what it’s worth,” added Dan, “she looks like just your type.”
“Oh my God, Dan, again, we are in a place where children are being educated and enriched, calm down!” Chrissie pursed her lips, aware that he was right. “To be fair,” she continued, “I’ve not had a chance to talk to her much. She was very busy yesterday. She’s not really a super-chatty person.”
“Ah, so you’ve gleaned that much already,” said Dan, putting a pile of freshly toasted bread at Chrissie’s side.
She sighed, deciding that less was more. “Well, that’s how she seemed to me.”
“Here we are,” came a voice from the other side of the hatch that opened into the school hall. “I’m sure Miss Anderson and her friend will be able to find you some yummy toast, and that’s bound to help, isn’t it?” Chrissie looked up to see Nisha, shepherding towards them a small boy with the red eyes of someone who’d just been crying.
Chrissie caught her breath, hoping Nisha hadn’t heard them gossiping about her, and noting her navy chinos and Converse. She smiled at Nisha and the boy. “This is Francis,” said Nisha. “He’s in our class, Miss Anderson.”
Chrissie went mildly pink again. It was the first time she’d hear Nisha call her Miss Anderson, and it made her feel odd. She decided she didn’t want to unpack that here and now.
“Hello, Francis,” she said. “You must be new to the school. It’s lovely to have you here.”
The boy, who had refused to take off his coat, attempted to smile, but a tear fell down his cheek instead. Chrissie turned to Dan. “Mr Harvey, we have an urgent case of first day sadness. I think we need to deploy the emergency chocolate spread!”
Nisha threw Chrissie a grateful smile, and for a moment a small grin appeared on Francis’ face. “Chocolate spread is my favourite,” he said, his voice only just above a whisper.
The boy was quickly furnished with two pieces of toast heavily endowed with both margarine and ‘ Notella ’ – an imitation of the original which cost a fraction of the real thing. His eyes grew large when he saw them, and Nisha put a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he began to tuck in.
Once Francis was settled, Nisha walked over to the hatch. “Thanks,” she said. She smiled at Chrissie and then proffered her hand across the counter towards Dan. “I’m Nisha, by the way. Sorry I didn’t get to properly introduce myself yesterday, it was all a bit hectic, but I’m pleased to meet you now, and thanks for the chocolate spread. I’m willing to take the inevitable sugar crash he’ll have later if we can just stop him crying for a bit, poor thing.”
Dan leaned over and shook her hand, grinning at her. “My pleasure. Great to have you aboard.”
Francis began to relax, saying a few words here and there with Nisha’s encouragement. Chrissie watched, impressed with her ability to nurture the frightened child. The boy was encouraged to finish off his toast quickly, before the other children arrived and all wanted chocolate toast. Dan had limited resources, so the spread was kept on the down-low, for extreme cases only.
Before long they were inundated with children scoffing their toast with gusto. Time was ticking, and there was lots to be done, so Chrissie began to clear up. She knew she had to be in the Year Four classroom shortly.
“So, how many small countries do you think we could feed with the leftover crusts?” asked Nisha, who had stayed to help, having introduced Francis to some other children.
“I’m thinking Luxemburg,” said Chrissie, giggling. Hungry or not, crusts remained a sticking point for many children.
“You’re good with the kids,” Nisha observed, smiling at Chrissie. “I never thought of you doing this sort of thing. Have you been doing it long?”
Chrissie paused, a pile of plates in her hands. “No, only a year or so. It was a bit of a change of direction, really.”
“Interesting,” said Nisha. “You can tell me more about that later.” She raised an eyebrow and turned to sweep more crusts into the rubbish bag Chrissie was holding. Chrissie frowned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Nisha any more than that.
Chrissie joined Dan as they tidied up the kitchen. “She seems alright,” said Dan, nodding his head towards Nisha. “You can never tell with last minute hires. One always needs to ask – why were they available at such short notice?”
“Er, yeah, I guess. She’s fine, I think,” said Chrissie, who was still trying to work out how she felt about Nisha’s sudden reinsertion into her life.
“You ok?” asked Dan, picking up on Chrissie’s ambivalence.
“Yeah, sorry, first day, lots to think about,” she replied.
“Take it easy.”