74. Megan
Chapter 74
Megan
Ollie leaves before I wake up each morning and hangs out in his room until after I’ve gone to bed. He stops coming to my room, never knocks on the door or pokes his head in to ask how I’m doing. We stop eating dinner together. There are no more text updates on our whereabouts.
I cry every day, but I only let myself do it in the shower. Or the staff toilets. Or my car before I come inside.
The van is ready, we’re over, and there’s nothing keeping him here. I coast through my work days, wondering if I’ll get home and find out he’s gone for good. Then I get home and find the scent of his body wash in the shower, and his dishes in the dishwasher, and I can breathe again.
There’s a temptation to text Dad and ask if Ollie is OK, but that would mean telling him everything that’s happened in the last six months, and a lecture about life choices is the last thing I need.
When I turned up for work last Monday, I found a welcome distraction in the form of a meeting request from Jenkins, to discuss the Head of English position I’ve now been covering for two months. All week I’ve tried not to panic about it, rehearsing interview questions and answers in my head, and repeating positive affirmations about what a strong and capable leader I am.
The corridor to his office feels longer than ever, but if I can just get through this and get good news before the summer break begins, I think I’ll be OK. I drop my shoulders and stand tall to knock on his door, and wait for his voice to boom back.
“Come in, take a seat.”
My heart stops when I realise he and I are the only two people here. Interviews require panels for all positions in this school. Perhaps they’re skipping the process and offering me the position straight away, which would make sense since I’m already doing it.
The hope is brief, since Jenkins refuses to look at me, instead opting to stand by the window behind his desk and gaze out at the sky. The coward.
“As you may have gathered, our search for a new Head of English has not been particularly fruitful thus far. We will, of course, continue with the recruitment drive in the new school year, so I’d like you to remain in the Acting Head post for the foreseeable future.”
I stare at his back so hard I wonder if he can feel it across the room.
“Miss Porter?” he says, turning to face me at last.
“I thought this was an interview?”
“No,” he says, sounding exasperated. “As I just stated, we are continuing to seek a replacement for Mrs Malcolm.”
“So I’ve applied for the position I’m currently in, and I was sent a meeting request, but you don’t actually want me to interview for the role?”
“We are looking for someone with a bit more seniority than yourself at this time.”
I clasp my hands together and take a deep breath. “I’ve been covering both my job as an English teacher, and the Head of department duties since Easter, so what exactly could I do to gain more experience for the role?”
“Your capabilities are not in question, Miss Porter. These things are often down to length of service, qualifications, additional value—”
Additional value?
I almost burst out laughing when I understand he means money and status. Schools like ours want two things; exceptional exam results, and good PR. Appointing a teacher already on staff isn't much of a story, no matter how well suited I am. I'm sure he wants to bring in some hotshot from another school and get the classic handshake photo in the paper.
I stand up, knowing this is going nowhere good.
“I’ll put it in writing, but I no longer wish to cover the Head of department duties in September.”
Mr Jenkins gasps and clutches his chest. “Are you resigning?”
“Not from my permanent teaching position, but I can’t continue to cover two roles and do both to the best of my abilities. Nor do I want to when I’m only being paid for one, but not valued for the second.”
“But you’re the best teacher we have,” he says, a statement that should be a compliment but is now completely insulting. I stand and head for the door.
“And still somehow not good enough, apparently?”