Chapter 17
In the background of Josie’s sitting room, Cassie could see a pale-yellow chest of drawers sitting on a sheet of newspaper.
‘We found it in the market last Saturday for a tenner. Pal is repainting it for the baby’s room. We’re really trying to upcycle and be as sustainable as possible.’
Oh, to have a life where your main focus was on restoring light furniture and reading baby-development books. Cassie felt mean-spirited but, well, what was the point in pretending?
‘It’s beautiful. But what do you think about the situation? And please don’t tell me I shouldn’t have offered to dig him out of a hole.’
‘Hello .?.?. I was going to say that you did great, I’m really proud of you. That was a potential disaster and you turned it into a fun experience for those poor kids.’
Cassie felt her chin wobble.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I enjoyed it. Oh Jos, it was fine. It was lovely. I suppose I’ve instinctively avoided children .?.?.’
‘Well, we know that’s connected to what happened with Maxine.’
Cassie couldn’t face going there.
‘I didn’t realise I’ve been so afraid of looking after kids alone, but I did fine. You should’ve seen me.’
‘I don’t doubt it. I believe in you. Always did.’
‘Thanks.’
Despite Josie’s bright smile, there was a brittleness in her manner. Nobody else would have noticed but Cassie saw her fidgeting.
‘Jos, I know you, what’s going on?’
Josie hesitated and looked away. ‘There’s something I have to let you know.’
Oh shit, she felt a warning note sound in her chest.
‘Pal and I discussed it and—’
‘Oh, come on, just tell me.’
‘We got an invitation. To a wedding.’
‘Whose?’
‘Gavin’s.’
In her heart, the tide went out, like right before a tsunami, when the world sucks in a massive breath before all hell is let loose.
‘You’re joking. You’re fucking joking. He only ended it six months ago. If that’s what you’d even call it.’
‘I know, I know, we were as shocked as you, believe me.’
‘Who is she? Oh my God, Josie, he must have known her already.’
‘Stop, wait, don’t panic. I think it’s a whirlwind thing, I don’t think he was cheating.’
The next question loomed over her like a thunder cloud.
‘Do we know her?’
‘Are you sure you want to know?’
‘ Just fucking tell me .’ She really hadn’t meant to shout. ‘Sorry, sorry, Jos.’
‘It’s Kirsty, the stage manager.’
‘The one who’s about twenty-four? Fucking hell.’
‘I think she’s twenty-six. It wasn’t going on while you were together, we’re pretty sure of that. It was just one of those things.’
Everything felt very far away. In the silence, she could hear the faintest ringing in her ears.
‘Cass, Cass, are you OK?’
She could hear Josie’s voice but it just didn’t feel that important.
‘It’s OK. People move on, Jos. What can you do? I can’t control it.’
‘Cass, you sound weirdly calm. It’s OK not to be. I mean, who would be? I wouldn’t. Fuck no, I’d be screaming.’
‘If I get angry and hysterical then he wins.’
‘It doesn’t work like that. Stop being so freaking calm, please, you’re scaring me. Oh God, I wish I was there to give you a hug.’
‘It’s OK. I’m a grown-up.’ But inside she felt like one of those cartoon scientific experiments where the nutty professor adds one more chemical to the test tube and the whole thing explodes, foaming over the top like a big gloopy volcano that takes over everything.
‘Josie, I’ve got to go. I don’t feel that well. I’ll chat to you later.’
Without waiting for a reply, she hit ‘End Meeting’, grabbed a pillow and howled.
*?*?*
At ten to eight on Monday morning, she pulled into a parking space, of which there seemed to be plenty, and hoped there wouldn’t be someone cursing her behind her back. She reminded herself to breathe mindfully and control catastrophic thinking. Roger Newcombe met her just inside the front door. He was wearing an almost identical jacket to the one he wore for her interview, except in a browner hue. She’d been bracing herself for his previous dismissive tone but instead relief flooded his face.
‘Thank heavens you’re here. Three staff have phoned in so far, two with the vomiting bug, the other with a herniated disc, and my vice principal is still out. Can you stand in with Fourth Class?’
‘Absolutely.’
First rule of improvisation: say yes to everything and take it from there. Despite the shock of Josie’s news, she’d spent Sunday evening combing the internet for teaching tips so at least she’d made a list of what to ask, which was just as well, as she could feel her mind moving into overwhelm.
‘Could you please let me know which subject matter I’m to teach them? Also, who is the main teacher?’
He looked at her strangely. ‘You’re not an assistant teacher, you’re a substitute teacher. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but these days you’re like hen’s teeth.’
That was a pleasant new experience for her; it beat cattle-call auditions, anyway.
She followed the directions down the corridor to the left and into classroom 4B. Once the lights were switched on, it revealed itself as bright and cheerful, a far cry from the overcrowded classrooms she remembered from her own childhood. Still, there was that familiar smell of pencils, markers, rubbers. Collages made with lollipop sticks and glitter lined the walls, alongside a notice about diversity.
That was new – at least nowadays they made a point of including people. In her day, diversity consisted of one poor kid from somewhere else who became a spectacle until finally everyone just got bored and moved on. She took the little chairs down off the tables and looked at her watch. Quarter past eight. In half an hour a crowd of ten-year-olds would be piling in and she hadn’t a clue where to start. Help.
She stuck her head out of the classroom door to see a door across the corridor marked 4A and a name plate that said Miss Traynor – clearly someone who was important enough to merit their own plaque. She stuck her head around the door to see a head of copper-coloured curls bent over a desk.
‘Er, excuse me .?.?. Hi, I’m Cassie, I’m the sub for 4B.’
The other teacher, about five years younger than herself, looked up from where she was correcting homework in copybooks that hadn’t changed remotely in thirty years.
‘I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving me a heads-up about what they’re doing. If you don’t mind.’
If the other woman felt the slightest flash of irritation, she didn’t show it; she stood up with a warm smile and immediately advanced towards Cassie with her hand out.
‘Hi, I’m Maggie. It’s so daunting the first day in a new school, isn’t it?’
‘Actually, it’s my first day in any school – as a teacher, that is.’
Maggie didn’t miss a beat. ‘Am I glad to have you! Otherwise, I’d be running between them, trying to cover two classes for the day. Head-wrecker.’
She continued to smile warmly, prompting a glow of gratitude in Cassie, who vowed from that moment onwards to be just as kind and lovely to anyone she ever met for the rest of her life.
‘Come on, there’s nothing to it, I’ll show you.’ Maggie showed her the timetable on the wall back in 4B.
‘You’re starting with English for the first forty-five minutes, then geography, then SPHE.’
‘SPHE?’
Maggie looked at her curiously.
‘You don’t have kids yourself?’
‘Er, not yet, I mean .?.?. no. But I’m a quick learner.’
‘I don’t doubt it. Here’s the books. Just stay one lesson ahead of the kids and you’ll be fine. Oh look, Marie has marked exactly where she’s got to, so you can pick up from there – simple. I wouldn’t bother with “Word Wizard”, that’s quite technical , I’d start with the reading book and get them to discuss it.’
Cassie smiled gratefully. She chose Why the Whales Came by Michael Morpurgo – that was something she could definitely do – and then it was geography, followed by SPHE, or Social, Personal and Health Education. In their regular teacher’s book there was a note: Who am I? How do I fit in with friends? OK, she could definitely manage that. In fact, she could do with a bit of it herself. A little role-play or game would be fine and that would get her as far as break time.
Maggie explained that all of the teachers up to Fourth Class had to meet the children at the gate and lead them in a line back to the classroom. Crikey, talk about feeling like an impostor. She gratefully followed Maggie out to the yard, where a bewildering array of children of all sizes were milling about.
‘And this is 4B.’ Maggie indicated a column of ten-year-old boys and girls. ‘Good luck and see you on the other side.’
‘Hi, boys and girls, my name is Cassie Kearney and I’ll be taking you for class today.’
In fact, it wasn’t the children who were intimidating, it was the parents, particularly a small group of women who were eyeing her sceptically. Just keep moving, she reminded herself, never make yourself a stationary target. Modelling herself on the other teachers, she stood at the head of her class and followed the long crocodile into the building.
‘Miss, Miss, we’re supposed to change tables today, can myself and Liam sit together?’ Suddenly, there was chaos, as everyone saw an opportunity to buck the system and sit beside their pals. She realised one good decision she’d made was to wear platform boots. Feck teaching theory, at least be the tallest person in the room.
‘Now .?.?. hold on, boys and girls. Just for today we’re all going to stay in our old seats.’
Hanging on to control and being the adult was at least half the job, that much was clear.
‘Miss, would you like me to hand out the copybooks?’ A tall girl with a smooth ponytail was looking at her expectantly.
‘And you’re .?.?.?’
‘Sophie.’
‘Excellent, thank you, Sophie.’
It was important to spot the allies.
‘Now, everyone, as I told you, I’m Miss Kearney and you’ll have me for today. Take out your reading books and I’ll start reading, then all of you can carry on.’
A small squat boy with a scattering of freckles, who reminded her of a baked bean in a hoodie, piped up, ‘Is Miss Upton very sick? Is she ever coming back?’
‘I’m sure she will be back, but we won’t worry about that just for now, OK? Let’s begin—’
‘Miss, Miss! Could we make her a card? Like one that said, “Get well soon, but not too soon” – in case she has a relapse like my granda did.’
His voice had the natural croaky tone of a comedian. A titter rippled around the class, but this wasn’t Cassie’s first time in front of a tough crowd.
‘What a lovely idea .?.?.’
‘Rowley.’
‘Rowley. So thoughtful, and we must absolutely do that.’
Rule one: always keep the comedian occupied, and never take it personally. (Easier said than done.) But public life was full of class show-offs, so don’t underestimate them.
Ten thirty and time for SPHE. She felt a surge of hope. Break time was in sight!
‘Now, boys and girls, I want you to divide into groups and make up a little scene where one of you is the odd one out. Maybe you’re new, maybe you’re different in some way, but I would like you to show how you can include the new person. OK?’
She smiled broadly, conscious of projecting a massive amount of energy towards the doubtful children. As expected, the ‘good girls’ group organised themselves straight away and began assigning roles to each other with great enthusiasm.
The lads’ group, with Rowley at the centre, had already started guffawing and kicking each other, which seemed to be part of the preparation. Oh Lord.
‘Now, boys, keep the noise down, please, we don’t want to disturb the other classes.’
They glanced at her momentarily then carried on exactly as before. She should’ve got everyone sorted out before dreaming of letting them leave their desks, that was obvious.
To her horror the noise from Rowley’s group had reached the approximate decibel level of a cup final. She dodged her way to the top of the classroom and had just raised her arms in a desperate attempt to reclaim some order, when the door was flung open.
A silence fell on the room.
Roger Newcombe stood glaring at them like a high court judge ready to pass sentence. Cassie’s heart sank.
‘Do you realise that you can be heard at the other end of the school?’
‘Yes, yes, sorry. We’ll be quieter from now on, won’t we, everyone?’
Roger Newcombe fixed her with a chilling stare through his no-nonsense square glasses. The pause was ominous.
‘I hope so. We want a nice quiet atmosphere in this school, don’t we, boys and girls? None of this chaos now.’
He swept out the door, leaving a waft of rebuke in his wake.
‘Right, boys and girls, you heard that. Pipe down or there’ll be trouble.’
For her, not them, but she wasn’t going to tell them that.
Rowley’s role-play was an outrageous multi-generational family caper with a farting granny, a super-intelligent dog and Rowley, of course, as the hero, complete with bionic anorak and power potion, all of which was met with hilarity and rapturous applause from the class. Just then, the bell went and the children piled out of the classroom, buzzing with excitement. Cassie sank onto the hard plastic chair and tried to breathe mindfully, when a head of copper curls popped around the door.
‘Don’t mind him,’ Maggie reassured her as they headed up the corridor. ‘Between ourselves, he’s a bit of an arse. He’s of the opinion that discipline is the foundation of an effective school.’
‘Sounds more like prison.’
Maggie laughed. ‘You’ll get used to it.’
Cassie rather hoped she wouldn’t. Just then they arrived at a door marked ‘Staffroom’. Cassie felt a jolt of anxiety, especially as Maggie seemed not to be stopping.
‘Are you not coming in?’
‘Afraid not, I’m on yard duty. Just relax, they’re a nice bunch.’
With that, she vanished out the side door, leaving Cassie alone, which felt about the diametric opposite of relaxing.
She was met with a diverse group of mostly women, ranging from the Miss Marple lookalikes to trendy young girls who looked barely out of school themselves and alternative types in eclectic outfits. She’d tell that to Mam. They all seemed deep in conversation. There was nothing random about a school. You had a rigid timetable, worked with the same people every day and paced yourself from holiday to holiday. Quite a contrast to her old life, which was pretty much the complete opposite. She made for the kettle unnoticed and helped herself to a coffee and digestive biscuit, trying to look busy and not too much like Nellie-no-friends in the corner.
She overheard two teachers, each of whom had a lunchbox in front of them.
‘Did you hear that racket?’
‘Who on earth was in charge of that? I thought there must have been a riot. Disgraceful.’ Own up, Cassie thought, better to be talked to than talked about.
‘That was me, sorry. I’m subbing for Miss Upton. We did a role-play thing, but that’s the last of the ruckus, I promise.’
They exchanged glances and seemed to agree on an attitude of sympathy.
‘I’m Denise. Would you like a flapjack?’ the younger one broke in. ‘We’ve worked out a science for getting through to lunchtime. Slow-release oatcakes and dried fruit.’
‘We teach Fifth Class; you don’t get away with anything,’ confided the other lady, who had a Joan Rivers hairdo and introduced herself as Babs. ‘By the way, have I seen you somewhere before? Your face is very familiar.’
The thought of explaining herself in the staffroom on her first day was more than Cassie could cope with.
‘I don’t think you recognise me. I just have one of those faces.’