Amelia Grey's Fireside Dream (6 page)

‘Aw, no, Miss, not again,’ Paul said. Laughter broke out across the classroom.

‘Right.’ I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Now, if no one else has a burning urge to be sent to the Head, let’s get on with the lesson. In groups of four, consider the question on the board:
1984 – what aspects of Orwell’s novel can we see in our modern world?
’

With the scrape of chairs, the students arranged themselves into groups with a few muttered complaints about who they’d been put with. ‘I’ll take that, thank you,’ I said to Paul, who was googling the question on his iPhone. I took the phone and put it in my pocket.

‘Nah …’

I gave him my steeliest look and he fell quiet.

The class fed back their answers and I was heartened to see that some of the students did at least seem familiar with the text I’d set them. The bell went.

‘See you all tomorrow,’ I called out. ‘Paul, wait behind, please. Let’s go to Mr Garrett’s office now and I’ll let him
decide, after he’s heard the full story, whether he thinks you deserve your phone back.’

We walked together down the corridor. ‘You got a husband, Miss?’ Paul asked chirpily.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because you’re pretty.’

‘Don’t think you can charm me, Paul Reilly,’ I said, feeling a faint glow nonetheless.

‘I saw your ring, anyway,’ he said with a wink.

I knocked on Lewis’s office door.

‘Come in.’

‘Hi, Mr Garrett. I’ve got Paul Reilly here, who wants to let you know what he did in my class today.’

‘Paul,’ Lewis said, taking off his reading glasses and putting them to one side on his desk. ‘Welcome back.
Again
.’

‘I’ve got his phone in the confiscation locker. Just let me know what you decide.’

‘Sure,’ Lewis said. ‘Oh, and Ms Grey, before you go – are you free for a meeting tomorrow lunchtime? There’s something I was hoping to talk to you about.’

‘Of course,’ I said. Perhaps this was it. The news I’d been waiting for about the Head of English job. ‘I’ll see you here at one.’

Lewis gave me a nod, revealing his scanty combover, and I closed the door.

*

I went to my car shortly afterwards, and loaded my bag and books onto the back seat. My mobile buzzed in my pocket.

I scrambled to answer it. The cottage. I checked the number and clocked the dialling code – Kent. It had to be Darren. I sat in the driver’s seat trying to steady my nerves. Our whole future could rest on this yes or no.

‘Amelia!’ Mum – of course.

‘Hi,’ I said. Her caller ID hadn’t shown up this time. ‘Where are you calling from?’

‘A friend’s house,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking, about your birthday. Is there anything in particular you’d like? Are you still into sewing? I could look into one of those craft courses …’

I heard a beep – another call was coming through. ‘Lovely, yes. Sorry, Mum, I’ll call you back.’ I switched calls before she could reply. Forget manners, this was too important.

‘Have you heard anything?’

Jack, I realized, feeling slightly disappointed. ‘Not yet. I’ll let you know when I do.
STOP THAT!
’ I shouted through the open car window. The football that had been thrown against my car bonnet rolled gently to the ground, leaving a slight indentation in the metal.

‘Sorry, Miss,’ said one of my Year 7 girls, scurrying over to collect it.

‘No ball games in the car park, Cassie. You know that.’

‘I just called a second ago and the line was engaged, so I thought—’

‘I was on the phone to Mum.’

‘Oh. OK, I’ll wait to hear then.’

‘See you at home.’

I started the engine and drove out of the car park and on to the main road, the familiar route home, listening to a Strokes CD Jack had left in the stereo. Caught up in a traffic jam on Hackney High Street, I pressed the button to wind down the window and let in some fresh air. Instead the car filled with fumes and the smell of a nearby kebab shop. Coughing, I pressed to wind it back up again. A different life was out there for us – we’d both glimpsed it. I crossed my fingers on the steering wheel. Please let us get the cottage, I prayed. Please.

Maybe our offer wasn’t high enough, I thought to myself. If it was the Jaguar people they wouldn’t be short of a few quid. I didn’t want to lose the cottage.

I parked outside the flat and climbed the exterior stairs to our floor. The faint smell of urine that could normally be ignored was brought out by the heat of the summer’s day. I let myself in. We were lucky – really lucky. We had our own place – something most people our age didn’t – and we had each other.

Dexter arched his back and I bent down to stroke him.
‘Hello, Dex. Did you miss me?’ He pressed his head against my hand.

My phone rang. As I reached for it, I reminded myself to breathe.

‘Amelia, hi. It’s Darren.’

Breathe, I told myself.

‘I’m pleased to say that the owner has decided to accept your offer. Arcadia Cottage is yours.’

I leaned against the wall of the kitchen and tried to take it in. ‘That’s fantastic news.’

For Sale

Seventeenth-century cottage with thatched roof in the picturesque village of Chilham, Kent. Three bedrooms, all original features, beamed ceilings – excellent condition. Large garden with a summer house. Must be seen, early viewings advised. Contact Grove & Co.

Thursday, 16 May

Jack came back from work that night full of excitement after my call. ‘We did it,’ he said, looking bright but dazed. ‘We’re moving to the countryside!’ He beamed, his initial hesitancy now only a distant memory.

I hugged him and we did a happy jig right there in our hallway. He pulled back a little.

‘Now what do we do?’ It was as if he’d suddenly sobered up.

‘The same things we did when we bought this place, I suppose. Only this time we have the sale of our flat to arrange too.’

‘Oh, yes. Right.’

‘The survey might show up a few things given the age of the cottage.’

‘This is nuts, isn’t it?’ Jack said.

‘A bit, yes. But it feels right.’

‘I love you.’ He kissed me and we stood there in the hall for a minute, holding on to each other, unable to wipe the smiles off our faces.

*

The next day I couldn’t stop thinking about what we were about to do. My mind buzzed with excitement and memories of Arcadia Cottage. It was going to be ours.

The bell rang for lunchtime, and after the Year 8 class I was covering had filed out, I made my way down to the headteacher’s office. I knocked once, and Lewis answered the door swiftly.

‘Amelia,’ he said, ushering me into his office. ‘Thanks for coming.’

I took a seat at his desk, and he sat down opposite me. ‘Good to be here without having to bring a student, for once.’

‘Ha ha,’ Lewis said uneasily. ‘Yes. Paul Reilly shared his
choice language with me the other day, but the prospect of two weeks’ worth of detentions seemed to quieten him down a bit.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Thanks for handling that. Any word from Trey Donoghue’s parents about his whereabouts, by the way?’

‘I’m afraid not. I spoke to his Head of Year this morning. We can’t get hold of his parents, and his social worker seems to think he’s living with his brother Sean at the moment, which isn’t great news,’ Lewis said, his tone one of weary resignation.

‘Are Social Services doing anything about it?’ I asked. ‘Trey’s only fifteen, he needs to be here in school – and Sean’s only just got out of prison.’

‘I understand your concern, but it’s up to Social Services at this stage.’

I pictured Trey, wide-eyed and handsome beneath his tough facade. I should have worked harder to keep him here, I thought.

‘Listen, Amelia. I wanted to have a word about something else today.’

I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. This news could make such a difference to my life.

‘You know how much I value you as a teacher, and you’ve made some great progress with all of the classes you’ve been teaching this year.’

‘Thank you.’ I was grateful for the unexpected praise. I’d been focusing so much on getting through the days that it had been a while since I’d found the time to be proud of what I’d achieved.

Lewis shuffled papers on the desk into a tidier pile, not meeting my eyes.

‘There are going to be some changes at St Catherine’s – and when we return after the summer break some aspects of the school are going to be run slightly differently.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘I guess we’ve all been expecting that.’

It wasn’t as though we could carry on the way we were. The details of the last OFSTED inspection still echoed in the halls of the school, and were embedded in all our minds. In spite of our hard work, our commitment, the talent of some of our pupils, there was a word that had reduced that to nothing –
failing
.

‘Thank you for your application for the role as Head of English.’

I could do it. I knew I could. I could help steer St Catherine’s back on course.

‘But I’m afraid we’ve decided to appoint an external candidate. Graham Kilfern has achieved some fantastic results over at William Greaves School,’ Lewis said, ‘and I think he could really turn things around here.’

‘Sorry?’ I croaked.

‘Graham Kilfern. He will be our new Head of English, starting from September.’

That was it. I hadn’t even had a look-in.

‘OK, right,’ I said, trying to swallow my hurt pride. ‘I look forward to meeting him.’

‘I know this is likely to be disappointing for you, Amelia,’ Lewis continued. ‘As I said, we really value everything you do here. But we felt that in order to show our commitment to changing the fortunes of St Catherine’s we needed to recruit externally in this case.’

My chest felt tight. I’d worked hard preparing for that interview – surely I was well enough qualified to at least have been worthy of serious consideration?

‘How will the new appointment affect me?’

Lewis closed the folder he’d barely looked at and moved it aside on his desk, leaning forward on his elbows. ‘There are a couple of things that will affect you and the other members of staff. As I said, we respect how you teach, and we want you to be able to continue doing that in the way you have been up till now. But there are certain classes, particularly those students heading for exams, where we have not yet seen the attainment we had hoped for – and Mr Kilfern has expressed a wish to take those over and teach them directly.’

‘My exam classes are going?’ I choked out.

‘No, no,’ Lewis said. ‘Your A-level class seem to be
performing well, and we’re happy to leave things as they are. But I think we both know that there have been some issues with 10E, and a fresh approach could benefit all the students there. And all Mrs Humphries’ classes will naturally transfer to Mr Kilfern.’

I felt the breath go out of me. 10E, the class I’d nurtured since the day they arrived at the school – the chaotic group of teenagers I’d thought I might be able to bring in line over the next year. It was true that the results weren’t brilliant – but with fewer assistants for those with special needs, and only a handful of students who had English as a first language, I felt we were doing OK. They were improving.

‘But … I have plans for 10E. And I promised Isabel’s Year 12s I’d see them through.’

‘I’m sorry, Amelia. It’s not a decision I’ve made lightly. It’s for the good of the school as a whole. You’ll be taking on two of the new Year 7 classes instead.’

I sat there, mute and numb. I didn’t want to start again with Year 7s – I wanted to see my own classes through, and fulfil my commitment to Isabel’s class.

I’d done it before – walked out of this room with my tail between my legs only to get home, cry on Jack’s shoulder and realize what I should have said. Rerun the conversation with him and said all the right things. I took a deep breath, and opened my mouth to speak.

‘So if there’s nothing else, I think we’re finished for today,’ Lewis said. ‘There isn’t anything else, is there?’

I paused. ‘No. There’s nothing else.’

Ladies toilets. Now.

I texted Carly.

She arrived a couple of minutes later, as I was reapplying my lipstick.

‘Are you OK?’ she said, placing her hand on my arm. ‘Your hand is shaking.’

I saw it then – my right hand trembling as I held the tube of No.7 lip colour.

‘Not really,’ I said, putting it away in my handbag.

‘What’s up?’

I tidied my hair in the mirror and pressed my lips together to even out the colour. ‘It’s this place, Carls. You give and you give – and you get nothing back. Garrett just told me there’s a new Head of English starting.’

‘They didn’t … ?’ Carly said, leaning against the basin and looking at me straight on. ‘They wouldn’t … ?’

‘They wanted to get in someone external. But it’s not just that: they’re moving my exam classes over to this new guy – the ones that it’s most important I see through, anyway.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Carly said, shaking her head.

‘It’s crap. I feel really undermined.’

‘I’m not surprised. There comes a point where you need to put yourself first.’ She put her hand on my arm.

‘I don’t have any choice right now but to accept what Lewis is proposing – well, telling me,’ I corrected myself.

‘Don’t you?’ Carly said, tilting her head. ‘The last thing I want is for you to leave, but there are other schools around.’

‘I can’t resign.’ I shook my head. ‘Not now. I mean … we’re buying this cottage. I’m not sure we’d even get the mortgage approved without my job.’

‘You’re a great teacher, Amelia. You’d find something else. Hopefully somewhere they’d look after you a little better than here.’

I let the thought settle. ‘I can’t.’ I bit my lip. ‘I really can’t. But just in case I change my mind,’ I said, ‘the notice date – it’s the end of May, isn’t it?’

Carly nodded.

*

On Saturday morning Jack was babysitting his nephew Oscar round at his sister’s house, and I was emailing the surveyors to arrange for them to look at Arcadia Cottage. We would need to get going quickly if we wanted to keep things on track for our agreed completion date with our buyers – mid-August.