02 Mister Teacher (34 page)

In the stillness of the nave, Joseph greeted the bridegroom and his best man. After a few quiet words, he ushered them into the vestry to complete the formalities of payments for the legal fees, bell ringers, flower ladies, and the Valium-sedated organist. Vera put her beautifully embroidered wedding kneeler in place on the steps in front of the altar. Joseph gave the best man his final instructions, checked the location of the ring in his uniform pocket and sent both him and Dan back to their front pew.

Beth looked stunning in a cream suit and matching wide-brimmed hat.

‘I brought this for you, Jack. It’s from that lovely climbing rose next to my front door. It’s called Zephirine Drouhin.’ She slipped it into the buttonhole on my lapel.

‘Thank you, Beth. It’s beautiful.’ I sniffed it appreciatively. ‘And so fragrant.’

Before I could say any more, a vision in bright pink appeared.

Sally Pringle’s vivid dress drew a few wide-eyed stares as she walked towards us, clutching a huge carton of confetti. Her dramatic hat, which resembled an explosion of flamingo feathers, would have fitted in beautifully on Ladies’ Day at Ascot.

‘Hello, Jack. Hi, Beth,’ shouted Sally. ‘Isn’t Jo lucky to have such a perfect day?’

‘Sally, you look lovely,’ I said, ever the diplomat.

‘Thanks, Jack. Come on, Beth. Let’s find an end pew.’

With that, she linked arms with Beth and marched her off towards the church entrance.

‘Laura, we’re going in now,’ called Beth to her sister.

Suddenly, out of a crowd of admiring policemen, Laura appeared and waved to Beth. ‘Save me a place,’ she called out and then turned to face me.

‘Hi, Jack. Great suit,’ she said, smoothing the wide lapels.

‘Hello, Laura,’ I said, with a grin. ‘Great dress.’

Laura was wearing a beautifully tailored, forget-me-not blue dress, with her long hair hanging free over her bare, suntanned shoulders. She looked lovely.

‘I’m having a relaxing night in tonight, Jack. I was hoping you might like to join me for a meal.’

Up ahead, Beth turned round and stared. Laura’s interest in my new suit seemed to surprise her and, before I had a
chance
to reply to Laura’s invitation, I heard Beth call out, ‘Come on, Laura.’

We joined the procession that was moving slowly into the church.

It was filling rapidly with families, friends and schoolchildren, and we mingled as we made our way up the aisle. The usher, a uniformed policeman, directed us into the pews in the style of a traffic controller. Beth waved at Laura and pointed to the last available seat on her pew and Laura sat down next to her. I followed Anne and John Grainger and we sat down behind Laura, Beth and Sally.

Anne, in an understated steel-grey hat, smiled and pointed back up the aisle. ‘Look, Jack, there’s Jo’s mother,’ she whispered.

The bridesmaids, in matching lilac dresses, had gathered in the porch behind us. Jo’s younger sister, as maid of honour, was showing her tiny nieces how to hold their posies, and Jo’s mother, in a neat beige suit and matching hat over the familiar jet-black hair, was walking quickly down the aisle.

In the vestry, Joseph opened the wardrobe once again and put on his white surplice and a wonderfully trimmed, full-length garment known as a cope. Vera added the final touch round his neck, a white stole stitched with intricate gold crosses along the edge. She stood back to admire him, her eyes full of pride. The moment had come for Joseph to meet the bride and for Vera, looking the picture of elegance in a lavender two-piece suit, to stand
alongside
Elsie Crapper at the organ to tell her when to begin to play the ‘Bridal March’.

All was ready and the hushed whispers among the congregation indicated that at any moment the bride was about to arrive. A collective intake of breath swept round the church when Jo, in a fabulous wedding dress trimmed with white lace, walked down the aisle with her very proud father. Some of the small children who had been in her class waved as she passed them and Jo smiled at each one of them. Her mother was wiping away tears long before the radiant bride had joined Dan in front of the altar.

Ruby, in the pew behind me, had treated herself to a perm at Diane’s Hair Salon, and was wearing a straw hat smothered in red roses supplied by Vera. She squeezed Ronnie’s hand so tightly he thought he might never play darts again. Sadly, he, resplendent in his best suit, felt naked without his bobble hat and was looking forward to the reception, when he reckoned he could put it on again.

The ceremony passed by with joy and tears in equal measure. We sang ‘Morning Has Broken’, a choice made by Jo especially for the children, and ‘Lord of all Hopefulness’. Next to me, when the couple repeated their wedding vows, John Grainger put his arm round Anne’s shoulders and I glanced across at Beth. To my surprise, Laura was smiling at me, while Beth was deep in thought.

When the couple walked into the vestry to sign the register, Beth glanced my way with questioning green
eyes
. I smiled and she smiled back. Her thoughts were broken as Laura whispered something in her ear.

Suddenly, Elsie Crapper attacked the organ keyboard with chemically enhanced gusto, and almost raised the roof as the bride and groom returned down the aisle. The smiling congregation slowly filed out and Beth and Laura stood by me as we gathered on the lawn once again for the official photographs.

Beth squeezed my hand. ‘Lovely service, Jack,’ she said.

‘I loved Jo’s dress,’ said Laura. ‘One day, I’ll have one like that.’

Everyone stopped to stare at Jo and Dan, who were holding each other tightly. The official photographer was going through his ritual of interchanging their parents for the family photographs. Jo’s mother, when Dan’s handsome six-foot-three-inch father stood beside her and gave her an all-enveloping bear hug, finally stopped crying.

As we walked to our cars to follow the procession down the Morton Road to Ragley village hall, Laura caught me up. Again, she stood close and gently smoothed the creases in my jacket. I could smell her perfume.

‘Ring me later, Jack,’ she said, ‘and we can talk about that meal.’

Her green eyes looked a little more determined than before. It was an interesting prospect. She squeezed my hand and then trotted to catch up with Beth, who was unlocking her Volkswagen Beetle.

The village hall committee, marshalled by Anne and Vera, had worked wonders inside this ancient wooden building. A magnificent, three-tiered wedding cake took pride of place on the stage. White cloths covered the trestle tables, small vases of sweet peas scented the air and Sheila from The Royal Oak had set up a temporary bar in the corner.

After the buffet came the speeches and then the dancing. Clint Ramsbottom was gritting his teeth behind his disco kit while playing his least favourite record, ‘Congratulations’ by Cliff Richard. To his alarm, he realized that he was the only person in the hall who did not know all the words. Dan Hunter’s seventy-year-old grandmother was dancing with little Jimmy Poole, who had been dressed in his first pair of long trousers and a tartan bow-tie. Sally Pringle persuaded a reluctant John Grainger to dance with her.

‘That’s a first,’ said Anne. ‘I’d forgotten he could dance.’

When Clint put Abba’s ‘Take a Chance on Me’ on the turntable, Laura grabbed my hand and we danced. Her hair was soft against my face and the dance seemed to end so quickly.

‘You’ve improved,’ said Laura, with a smile, as she left me to join a group of friends.

Suddenly, to my surprise, a short, stocky man was by my side. ‘For you, Mr Sheffield,’ he said, holding out a glass of Yorkshire pale ale. It was Jo’s father.

‘Thank you, Mr Maddison.’

We touched glasses and drank.

‘Thank you for all you’ve done for my daughter. She loves her work.’

‘We’re lucky to have her. She’s a fine teacher.’

We both looked at Jo, who was walking onto the stage with Dan to cut the cake.

‘Fathers and daughters,’ he said softly.

I looked at him curiously.

He smiled and patted me on the back. ‘You’ll understand … one day.’

After the cutting of the cake and as the celebrations drew to a close, Dan and Jo prepared to roar off in a wedding car, which had been festooned with streamers and tin cans, to get changed at Jo’s house and then depart for a honeymoon destination known only to Dan.

A tired but happy group washed dishes and tidied up. I helped Anne and John Grainger load up their Cortina Estate with the school crockery and they drove off up the High Street to school.

‘I’ll see you there,’ I called after them.

Soon Vera and I had collected the school cutlery in carrier bags and loaded it, along with a few tablecloths, in the back of my car. Everyone spilled out of the village hall and said their goodbyes.

Beth and Laura walked over to me.

‘I’ll talk to you in the holidays about joining the choir, Vera,’ said Beth, with a smile.

‘I shall look forward to it,’ said Vera.

‘Bye, Vera,’ said Laura. ‘Bye, Jack.’ She stretched up and kissed me on the cheek. ‘See you soon,’ she whispered in
my
ear, and walked across the street to her car, which was parked next to Beth’s.

Beth looked curiously at her sister and walked towards me. As she made a slight adjustment to the rose in my lapel, she said, ‘I wanted you to have this because it reminded me of the roses you bought for me last summer in Cornwall.’

I didn’t know what to say.

‘It would be good to see you tonight, if you want to come back to Morton.’

I smiled. This was unexpected.

‘We’ve got some catching up to do,’ she said. Then she stretched up and kissed me gently on the lips.

Nothing more was said. She crossed the road to her Volkswagen Beetle and looked back.

Laura glanced once at her sister and then her green eyes rested on me. Then, with fast acceleration, she drove down the High Street towards York.

I looked at Beth as she got into her car and set off towards Morton. She slowed as she drew alongside. Her driver’s window was open and she smiled. Her green eyes were steady and unwavering.

‘What are you thinking about, Mr Sheffield?’ asked Vera softly.

‘A girl with green eyes,’ I murmured, almost to myself.

Vera stared at me thoughtfully and then glanced each way at the two disappearing cars. Yes, but which one? thought Vera.

We climbed into my car and drove in silence to the school car park.

Behind my desk in the office, I looked at Sebastian’s picture on the notice board. The two children were holding hands and running into their enchanted world and, once again, I recalled the letter addressed to ‘Mister Teacher’ at the beginning of the school year. Sebastian had written, ‘I would also like to go on a magical journey with a special friend,’ and I guessed that the small boy in the drawing was really Sebastian and the little girl was his imaginary friend.

‘Penny for them, Mr Sheffield.’ It was Vera, standing in the doorway.

‘Hello, Vera. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.’

‘Can I help?’ she said. ‘You do seem to be deep in thought.’

‘I was just looking at Sebastian’s drawing and thinking what a wonderful artist he is.’

Vera studied the picture. ‘It’s got a sense of movement. It looks as though the little boy has decided to move on with his life. He’s a free spirit now.’

‘You’re right, Vera.’

She rested a pile of tea towels on top of the filing cabinet and then stared back at the picture. ‘Perhaps we could all learn from him, Mr Sheffield. Maybe we all need to move on from time to time and not stagnate in the past.’

Vera gave me a knowing glance. I recognized the look. I had seen it often during the past two years, but usually when I had made some administrative error and Vera hinted at the direction I should take.

‘I’ll leave you to your logbook, Mr Sheffield,’ said Vera. ‘And thank you for another good year.’ With a gentle smile, she closed the door.

The school was quiet as I wrote my final entry in the school logbook. Then I blotted the page carefully, closed the ancient, leather-bound volume and unlocked the bottom drawer of my desk.