Chapter 40
Joe sat at his desk poring over the contributions to the MY SKOOL! book that he and Brian were trying to put together.
Quite a few parents and children had come up with thoughts about why they liked school, and there were some real howlers.
I like school but only wen its holydays .
Brian had suggested that they kept that one exactly as it was.
School is better than it was in my day. You can use Google to help you cheat with your homework .
This one was from a father who was, thought Joe, being sarcastic. He had a point, however.
I like Corrybank because we can play football outside. We don’t have a garden at home.
That contributor had beautiful handwriting.
I like school because my teacher loves me. She puts kisses next to my sums .
Joe groaned. Such an old joke, and it came from yet another single mum who also had a sprog at Puddleducks and kept telling him how much she was looking forward to the parent-and-child disco in aid of the aplastic anaemia charity.
Joe had been trying to block out his conversation with Gemma, but it was no good. What on earth had come over him, confiding in her like that? So unprofessional! Yet she’d been a good listener.
Opening a drawer and reaching for a Bourbon biscuit (Brian’s habits had become strangely comforting), his mind drifted back to last week when he had suggested to Gemma that they both visited Danny in hospital. It was, as he’d pointed out, surely their duty to represent the school and playgroup. Gemma had been strangely cool about the idea, probably wishing she could stay at home with Barry, who for some reason really irritated him with his crisp manner and authoritative air. Joe knew Gemma was spending many of her evenings with him. Then, when she’d made that comment in the coffee shop about neither of them being parents, all his pent-up grief had come pouring out, which was why he’d found himself telling Gemma his own sorry story. He’d even confessed that he intended to leave Corrybank and go back to inner-city teaching. ‘That’s a shame,’ she had said in a voice that sounded as though she really meant it. ‘I’ve enjoyed working with you.’
So had he, he had almost added, despite their differences.
There were footsteps outside, interrupting his thoughts. Di put her head round the door.
‘Heard the news, have you?’
Just as she spoke, there was a loud noise from next door. Gemma must be using that classroom for her After-School club. What a racket with all those xylophones and tambourines! Gemma might have been a good listener in the coffee shop, but that still didn’t mean he agreed with her teaching methods. It was a pity she didn’t push times tables as heavily as music or dough craft or whatever it was called.
‘The news?’ he repeated. ‘What news?’
Di’s face had the pained look of someone who was bursting to tell but was, at the same time, aware that the content was not good. ‘Danny Carter Wright has been given weeks to live unless they find a bone marrow match. Gemma’s just told me. They’ve tested all the relatives and the donors on the hospital list and now they’re asking friends to go for blood screening.’ Di’s face was shining with self-congratulation. ‘The girls and I are going up tomorrow to see if we are any good.’
Joe’s mind swung into action. He had enough contacts over the years, surely, to find someone who could help. Forget the competition to find the top ten playgroups. Forget the MY SKOOL! book. This was far more important. This was life or death. Turning his computer on again, Joe began typing.
DESPERATELY NEEDED! A BONE MARROW MATCH FOR THREE-YEAR-OLD DANNY WHO IS CRITICALLY ILL.
TESTS HAVE SHOWN THAT HIS RELATIVES AREN’T SUITABLE, SO CORRYBANKS SCHOOL AND PUDDLE- DUCKS PLAYGROUP, WHERE DANNY IS A PUPIL, ARE ASKING YOU, A COMPLETE STRANGER, TO HELP. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS GIVE A SMALL AMOUNT OF BLOOD SO IT CAN BE CHECKED TO SEE IF IT MAKES A MATCH. PLEASE HELP US TO MAKE SURE THAT DANNY SEES HIS FOURTH BIRTHDAY.
He’d run the wording past Danny’s parents, of course, and then, if they agreed, he would email, Twitter and text it to everyone he knew.
Joe gripped his fist in resolve. Someone out there had got to be able to help.
‘By the way, Mr Balls.’ Di was still there. Her face reminded Joe of a pug dog that an uncle of his had once had, who was constantly pinching food from the kitchen and then assuming an ‘I’m terribly sorry’ expression. ‘I was terribly sorry to hear about your resignation.’
Was nothing confidential around here?
‘I mean, I hope that we did everything to make you feel at home here.’
The woman was going red and stammering. The Joe who had arrived here in September would have snapped something back.
‘Are you referring to your comment about me being a cross between a paunchy northern Colin Firth with attitude and Mr Grumpy?’
Di’s face crumpled. ‘I’m so sorry … I didn’t mean …’
Joe put up his hand. ‘Actually, I was quite flattered. About the Mr Man bit, that was.’
He paused, waiting for her to laugh. Oh dear. He’d frightened her too much. Immediately he felt repentant. ‘It wasn’t you, Di. It was me. I’m not that great with small children, to be honest. In my previous school, I was teaching Years Five and Six in a much tougher environment.’
She nodded. ‘I’ve heard about places like that in London. Wouldn’t suit me, I must say. I couldn’t possibly live there, let alone work there. Going back to the same school, are you?’
He hoped so, but his application was still being considered. Mike and Lynette had thought he was crazy to hand in his notice before having a job to go to, but he’d needed to make that decision in order to move on. Besides, he had enough savings to keep going until the following September, or even the year after that, if he didn’t get his old job back.
Meanwhile, he needed to get on with his SAVE DANNY CARTER WRIGHT campaign. Whipping out his mobile, he began to text Nancy on the number she had given him. He had had an idea which might just help her and that husband of hers.
Yes, texted back Nancy Carter Wright in very correct language with capital letters and no abbreviations. Anything that could help would be wonderful. And as for Mr Balls’s other offer, to let them stay in his Notting Hill apartment, that would be absolutely amazing. It would mean one of them could get a good night’s sleep while the other stayed by Danny’s bed.
‘That’s really good of you,’ said Gemma when she came up for a meeting about the charity disco which was being hastily organised for next week. ‘Danny’s grandmother told me what you’d done.’
Joe shrugged. ‘Means you’ll have me as a permanent neighbour until Christmas.’
‘Yes.’ She seemed to hesitate. ‘So you’re definitely going, then?’
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It seemed safer to change the subject. ‘How many disco tickets have we sold so far?’
Gemma checked her list. ‘Nearly ninety. That’s about as many as we can take. And I’ve got some good news. The local paper is going to be running a big piece on the bone marrow campaign to encourage others to get tested.’
Great. However, Joe reminded himself that it was easy to get so caught up in the organising of campaigns and fund-raising discos that you almost forgot the pain behind the cause. ‘Did Danny’s grandmother say anything about how they were all doing?’
Gemma’s voice sounded strained. ‘Patricia says they’re being very brave. Danny’s such a lovely boy. I just can’t believe this is happening.’ Her eyes grew moist and Joe, hardly realising what he was doing, reached out and touched her shoulder very briefly in what was meant to be a comforting manner.
She seemed surprised and immediately Joe moved away, trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. ‘Now,’ he said in a brisker tone, ‘let’s go over the details for the disco again, shall we? And after that, I need to talk about the farm trip to make sure we’ve got everything covered.’