Ziggy
Ziggy
The three weeks of school that Ziggy had missed had felt like months. Ziggy had never imagined he could be so excited about a day of lessons. He was walking around with a stupid grin on his face. Just the unique corridor smell of dust, disinfectant, and the sharp tang of body odor, mixed with illegal vape fumes and wafts of school dinner coming from the kitchens, was making him high. High on the ordinariness of it all.
Having seen the alternative, no number of arbitrary rules, pieces of homework, or detentions could dent his mood. There was, however, one encounter he wasn’t looking forward to.
Ziggy knocked on the door to Mr. Wingate’s classroom.
“Come in!” said Mr. Wingate.
Ziggy pushed open the door and watched the curious, welcoming expression on Mr. Wingate’s face harden into one of annoyance.
“So, you’ve decided to grace us with your presence again, have you, Ziggy?” Mr. Wingate didn’t even look up from the pile of papers he was marking. “Are you planning to stick around this time?” he said, as he wrote the words C+ Could try harder in red pen on the top page. Ziggy hoped it wasn’t his fault the paper was being marked harshly.
“I’m really sorry, sir,” said Ziggy. Words which he knew were wholly inadequate for the task, but he couldn’t find the right ones. Numbers were his thing, not words. Numbers always did what you expected, whereas words could so easily be mixed up or misinterpreted. “I got caught up in something rather…bad. But it’s all sorted now.”
“I trusted you, Ziggy. I believed in you. I gave up my free time for you,” said Mr. Wingate, not sounding angry, but sad. Which was worse. Ziggy knew what was coming next. He’d let Mr. Wingate down, and himself, and Kylie.
“You let me down,” said Mr. Wingate. “But, worse than that, you let yourself down. And your daughter.”
“I know,” said Ziggy, looking down at his feet. “But, please believe me, everything I’ve been through over the last few weeks has just made me more determined. I have to get out, Mr. Wingate. I have to get Kylie out. I need to make us a better life. And I will do. I know you don’t owe me anything, but please will you help me?”
There was a long pause. Mr. Wingate sighed deeply, and drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him. Then, finally, he swung his chair around to face Ziggy, who tried to meet the gaze of the man who held his future in his hands without flinching.
“OK. I’ll give you one last chance, Ziggy, since I don’t expect you’ve had many chances in life. But you’re going to have to work your arse off to catch up, and your UCAS form is due in by Friday. Don’t you dare let me down again,” he said.
“I won’t, sir. You won’t regret it. Thank you, thank you,” said Ziggy as he virtually skipped out of the classroom. And bang into Alicia. Shit.
Ziggy took a few paces back, and waited for Alicia to blank him, or shout at him, or march him straight back to the headmaster, with whom Ziggy had just spent the last half hour persuading him to let Ziggy back into school.
“Welcome back, Ziggy,” she said, with an actual smile. God, she had a wonderful smile. If you could bottle the effect of that smile, Floyd could sell it on the estate for a fortune. “It’s so good to see you!”
“Really?” he said. Had he fallen through a gap in the space-time continuum? That seemed more likely than this reaction. “I thought you’d never want to see me again, let alone talk to me. I’d completely understand if you didn’t.”
“I had no intention of ever seeing you again, obviously,” said Alicia. “I was actually planning to report you to Social Services. But then, I was in orchestra practice, and this extraordinary woman stormed in. Miss Garson stopped the rehearsal and said, ‘Can I help you?’ and the woman said, ‘I urgently need to speak to Alicia. I’m her grandmother.’?”
“I take it she wasn’t your grandmother?” said Ziggy.
“Absolutely not,” said Alicia. “My granny’s nowhere near that cool. She could never have blagged her way past the school receptionist, let alone into rehearsal. Anyhow, Miss Garson said she’d have to wait until the end of the session, and she said, ‘Surely you have back-up oboists?’ When Miss Garson told her I was the only one, she just said, ‘Well, that’s terribly bad planning, isn’t it? But hardly my fault, or my granddaughter’s.’ And by this point Miss Garson had lost the will to live…”
“I know that feeling,” said Ziggy. “And that fake grandmother.”
“So, I got let off early. And we went for tea in the café, and had a chat,” said Alicia.
“I take it her name was Daphne?” said Ziggy.
“It was, actually. She told me all about the gang, Ziggy, and how you’d faced them down and outsmarted them. You were so brave ,” said Alicia, staring at him with an expression he really wished he deserved, but didn’t. Not in the slightest.
Ziggy was about to stop her, to explain that it was Daphne who’d pulled him off the sofa he’d been wallowing on and sorted everything, but maybe it wouldn’t do any harm to just keep quiet at this point? He could hear his mum saying, You missed a golden opportunity to stay silent, Ziggy . Perhaps it was time to start taking her advice.
“Daphne said it’s all behind you now, and you’re going to completely turn your life around. That’s so impressive. She reckons in ten years’ time you’ll be the most successful man I know,” said Alicia. “And you know what?”
“What?” said Ziggy.
“I believe her,” said Alicia.
They walked together down the corridor, matching each other’s strides. Ziggy reached for Alicia’s hand, but she batted his away. Kindly, but firmly.
“I’m not going to call Social Services, Ziggy. And I’d like to be your friend, but don’t push it, OK?”
“OK,” he replied. Strangely, and just for a moment, Alicia reminded him slightly of Daphne. Perhaps Daphne was a little bit catching. Like a virus, but a good one. On balance.
Alicia chattered away about ordinary stuff, like the auditions for the school play, who was dating who and what was for lunch.
Ziggy didn’t think he’d ever felt so happy.