Chapter 30
He was more than ready for half-term, thought Joe as he sorted out his desk, placing a copy of his email reply to Gemma about the nativity play in his Finished file. In comparison with Di’s desk in the office next door, his own looked smugly neat and tidy.
Almost too neat and tidy, he thought suddenly. Di’s desk, with her own special mug bearing a flowery D initial and her tin of Highland shortbread biscuits, was certainly more inviting than his own, with its neatly stacked files and sharpened pencils in the brown plastic container.
Joe felt a sense of unease crawl through him. He hadn’t been himself since last month’s Parents’ Social, and the thought of Ed turning up out of the blue like that – not to mention his fainting fit – still brought him out in a cold sweat. He’d have liked to think that everyone had forgotten about it by now, but something told him that in a school where even the minutiae such as skimmed-milk sell-by dates were examined in detail, the arrival of a glamorous ex-wife would not be bypassed in a hurry.
‘Joe?’ Beryl put her head round the door. ‘May I have a word before you go?’
His initial reaction was to tell her that actually this wasn’t very convenient. After all, he’d brought his weekend bag in this morning, intending to take advan- tage of school ending at lunchtime so he could shoot straight off to Mike and Lynette’s as soon as school finished. But then he remembered Brian’s advice. ‘Go with them, lad. They’ve been there longer than you and they don’t all talk rubbish. Some of them – yes. But not all.’
So, forcing himself to look as though a meeting after hours with the head was exactly what he wanted, he followed Beryl into her office.
‘Please.’ Beryl indicated the seat on the other side of her desk, which bore a cluster of photographs showing her with a small child of about three. Joe looked away, feeling the usual chill that ran down his spine whenever he saw pictures of kids who were that age.
Meanwhile, Beryl was taking off her spectacles, wiping them on her pale blue cardigan and then putting them on again. She seemed nervous. What was up?
‘This isn’t going to be easy, Joe,’ she said softly.
A spark of alarm went through him. That was exactly the phrase he used to start off with at the bank when he’d had to let someone go.
With difficulty, he flashed her one of the smiles that he’d been working on in front of the bathroom mirror ever since Brian had suggested that a grin or two might make him seem less severe in the classroom.
‘What’s the problem, Beryl?’
He used her first name intentionally, just as he’d been taught by Psychology Management on the fourteenth floor. It made the speaker seem more in control, because he had ownership of the other person’s name.
Beryl sighed. ‘You see this photograph?’
There was no getting out of it.
Clenching his fists by his sides, Joe made himself look at the blond boy cuddling up to Beryl in the frame. The kid had a challenging look on his face, as though teasing Joe for not owning something that everyone else seemed to possess.
‘That’s my grandson. He’s three.’
Don’t think about what might have been, he told himself. Don’t think about it.
‘Do you know what he loves at this time of the year?’ Beryl was eyeballing him now, without her glasses, and he had a sudden feeling that she wouldn’t have been out of place on the fourteenth floor herself. ‘He loves Halloween and nativity plays.’ Beryl paused, looking down at the papers in front of her.
Joe was aware of a horrible heavy feeling filling the pit of his stomach.
‘Gemma sent me copies of your recent email corres- pondence on the subject of both the planned Halloween dressing-up day and the nativity play. I gather that you consider the first to be “outmoded and irrelevant to society today”, while the second is “politically incorrect in view of today’s varied religious beliefs”. Is that true?’
Joe felt an unfamiliar cold trickle of nervous sweat run down his chest. ‘When I was in my previous school, we banned both events for exactly those reasons.’
There was a nod, as though Beryl had thought he might say something like that. ‘That was in a tough inner London area, wasn’t it? I think you’ll find that things are different out here. We do, of course, include plenty of learning and play about other religions, in accordance with the Early Years curriculum. But the nativity play is a tradition, Joe. If we got rid of that, we would be destroying our heritage and would probably cause a riot amongst the parents as well.’
There was the glimmer of a smile, as though she was trying to soften the blow of what was coming next. Joe knew the signals all too well. He had followed a similar pattern at the bank except that then, he hadn’t been on the receiving end. ‘I’m afraid that’s not all, Joe. We have received various complaints about you from both members of staff and parents.’
‘Complaints?’ He stiffened in a mixture of anger and alarm. ‘What about?’
Beryl’s voice took on an authoritative edge he hadn’t heard before. ‘One parent who wrote in said she was deeply concerned about your emphasis on maths at the expense of, as she put it, “story riting”, spelt without the “w”.’
Beryl gave another half-smile. ‘You can see that if a parent can’t spell correctly, it is even more essential that we help their children to do so.’
This wasn’t fair! ‘I follow the guidelines on writing but I have to say, Beryl, that some of the Puddleducks children have arrived woefully inadequate in terms of mathematical skills, and I am only doing my best to correct it.’
There was a sigh from the other side of the desk. ‘Ah, yes. Puddleducks. That’s another thing. I gather from Gemma that you have been rather critical of the joint assemblies.’ She gave him a reproachful look. ‘I have to say that she’s been rather hurt by your behaviour.’
Nonsense! Well, not nonsense about the hurt bit, obviously, because women’s emotions were a mystery unto themselves. But Gemma’s complaint about his attitude to their assemblies was nonsensical. ‘I simply feel that the appearance by a failed Britain’s Best Talent participant, who also happened to be a friend of Miss Merryfield, didn’t seem particularly pertinent.’
‘Really?’ Beryl’s glasses were eyeing him coldly. ‘You don’t think it’s an example of how someone can get to the finals – even if she didn’t win – and then go on to make a success out of her life?’
Joe shifted from side to side in his seat. When she put it that way, it did indeed seem reasonable.
‘Then there was the unfortunate matter of the Parents’ Social when you had a little too much to drink, which presumably triggered that rather unfortunate scene between you and your wife.’
‘Ex-wife,’ he said weakly. ‘Ed’s my ex-wife. I keep telling people that but no one will believe me.’
Beryl’s face showed that she was one of the disbelievers too. ‘Your personal life is your own affair, Joe, provided you don’t let it interfere with your professional one, which sadly is exactly what happened. All in all, I’m afraid that so far, your first term hasn’t been what we’d all hoped. I need to write my staff reports this half-term and I am afraid, Joe, that I will be suggesting in yours that you might like to consider your position.’
Had he heard her correctly?
‘I can see from your face that this has come as a shock.’ Beryl’s voice was oozing with sympathy, which made him feel worse. ‘Maybe I have been a bit hard. Supposing you and I have another talk about your teaching skills at Christmas. Perhaps that will give you more time to get used to our ways out here in Corrytown.’
Consider his position? Joe was still seething as he leaped on to his bike. Thank God he’d been able to give up the crutches so he could ride again.
Another talk about his teaching skills? Did Beryl know what she was on about?
He, Joe Balls, had more experience of the real world than any of them put together. And that was exactly what they needed! A good dollop of the real world to prepare children for what was out there. That was why he had got on so well at the inner-city primary, and that was why he had been asked to come here.
How dare they?
Joe’s anger propelled him down the motorway towards Lyme Regis in almost half the time it usually took. Not because he broke the speed limit, because he couldn’t have coped if he was responsible for killing someone. There had been enough of that already. No. He got there when it was just about light because he was too angry to have his usual halfway break.
‘Uncle Joe, Uncle Joe!’
Fraser and Charlie were sitting on the stone wall outside Mermaid’s Nook, waiting for him.
‘Are you coming to the beach with us?’
‘We’ve got a whole week off school!’
‘Fraser broke the kite you gave us in the summer.’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Ouch. That hurt. Have you brought us a present?’
‘Boys!’ Lynette’s clear voice sang out of the front door as she came to greet him. ‘That’s so rude. Joe, I’m sorry.’
She brushed his cheek and he got a lovely whiff of her perfume, which reminded him of a scent his mother used to wear.
‘Come on in and take your gear off. Boys, give Uncle Joe a bit of time before we head down to the beach for an evening walk. He looks exhausted!’ She took Joe’s arm in the old familiar way. ‘Mike’s doing a bit of extra teaching.’ Dropping her voice, Lynette added, ‘We could do with some extra money, to be honest.’ Then she spoke more normally. ‘But Dad will be back by supper and then I thought we’d have a game of charades.’
Boring, boring, thought Joe. ‘Boring, boring,’ chorused the boys.
Lynette laughed. ‘Thought you might say that. OK, the option is an extra half-hour on Instagram while Dad and I catch up with your godfather.’ She spoke softly again to him. ‘Not to mention a large glass of wine. I meant it when I said you look all in. What on earth has happened? It’s not Ed again, is it?’
Joe had always been able to talk to Lynette. At times he could kick himself for not having got in there at university before Mike had made his move, but this wasn’t a thought he was proud of. Anyway, the sort of platonic friendship he had with Lynette was the type that lasted longer than many marriages, which was why he found it so easy to tell her about his conversation with Beryl as they walked down to the beach.
‘Joe, that’s awful.’ Lynette squeezed his arm. ‘You must be really upset.’
He nodded, watching the boys skim pebbles into the sea as they walked along the shore. It was so peaceful here. So far removed from everything.
‘Do you think, however, that Beryl has a point?’ continued Lynette gently. ‘Don’t get me wrong but you have always been, well, rather politically correct, wouldn’t you say?’ She pinched his arm playfully. ‘Don’t put on your grumpy look! We admire you, Mike and I. But to try and ban two traditions that have been very important to this pre-school, well, that’s a pretty big thing, isn’t it? Especially when you’re only in the first term of your job.’
Joe felt a stirring of unease. Now she put it that way, he didn’t feel quite so sure of himself.
‘I’m beginning to wonder,’ he said in a voice that came out all cracked, as though he had sand in his throat, ‘if I’m cut out for teaching after all. To be honest, I was getting itchy feet even at the other school, but I don’t know if I could go back to banking.’
‘Know what I’d do?’ Lynette took his arm again. ‘It might sound a bit crazy, but hear me out. In my view, there are three things you could do.’
When she’d finished, it seemed like such a good, sensible plan that he was filled with even more affection for her, and for Mike and the boys, the latter by now specks on the beach far ahead.
‘Thank you.’ He bent down to give her a warm cuddle but somehow as he aimed for her cheek, their mouths touched. Hers was so soft. So warm. So comforting. Exactly as he had imagined back in their university days.
Lynette pulled away immediately, and too late he could see from the flush on her face that he should have done the same.
‘I’m sorry.’ He was covered in confusion. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘I know.’ Lynette’s flush had developed into a bright red spot on either cheek, and she was smoothing down her beautiful hair which was so like his ex-wife’s. ‘It’s OK. I think we ought to head back.’ She began walking briskly on ahead. ‘Mike should be home by now.’