My Name Is Not Jacob Ramsay (19 page)

"I'm sure it'll be fine and Helen will put her back in her place," Rebecca soothed, trying to comfort him with her reassuring words.

"Well, she didn't consult her either."

"I don't know what to say, Mike. I don't know how I can make it better," Rebecca said, calmly and with a helpless expression on her kind, beautiful, pale face.

Michael and Rebecca sat on their sofa, both with laptops, feet on the coffee table and television on.

Michael's iPhone sounded out. He eyed the screen which read 'Jacob Ramsay'. He retrieved the phone and took the call.

"Hello?"

"Hi Jacob. How you doing, mate?" sounded the familiar Scots accent of Detective Malcolm Crowe.

"Hey. I'm good. You?" Michael replied, exchanging a look with Rebecca who pretended not to listen.

"Yeah, great, great. Wondered how you are and if you wanted to meet up this week."

"Erm, I'm unsure. I was thinking I might ease off for a little while. To take a break. You know?" Michael said quietly, coming across a touch nervous.

"Oh, oh right. Okay. No problem. Well, we were just seeing if you wanted to catch up. You give us a call when you feel you can make it, okay buddy?" said Crowe.

"Cheers. That sounds good. I'll be in touch."

"Cool. See you, mate."

Michael lowered the phone and thought for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rebecca looking at him.

"You should have told them about the boy at school and the Taliban thing with Patricia's policeman boyfriend," Rebecca observed, closing her laptop.

"Completely forgot. I'll speak to them. Maybe I'll call Dad." Michael said, turning to look at her.

"Call him now or you'll leave it too late," she ordered, as Michael slid his phone into action again, scrolling into his favourites list. He found 'Mum and Dad'.

Michael's father was at the dining table with his own laptop and a scanning device. A lot of old photographs and negatives were strewn across the table. He squinted through his gold-rimmed spectacles at an old fashioned black and white photograph of himself as a sixteen-year-old police cadet when his old Nokia mobile phone rumbled upon the table, vibrating and sounding out the familiar ringtone. He took the phone and depressed the green button to take the call.

"Hello Mikey, you all right?" Edward said.

"Hey, Dad. I have to tell you about something that happened at work. It's crazy."

Michael told him about Abdul, Patricia and her boyfriend, PC Norman.

"What a goon! Well, play it out. See how it unfolds. He may not have reported it at all. He does seem the type of twit who would do such a thing. Can you not call your undercover contacts and have them stop it from going further?" Michael's father asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Michael admitted.

"I'll have a word with Simon next door, and maybe Geoff," Edward replied, as he slid a negative into his machine.

"Mad Geoff?"

"Yes. He knows a few top blokes in that area. He's a great contact to have and he always pops round. Surprised we haven't seen him this week actually."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Oh, I bought this great thing the other day in Aldi. It's a scanner that scans negatives. Found some really old ones. I've got loads! I'll email you a few pictures," Edward promised.

"Oh, brill. Okay. I'll keep you posted on what happens at the school."

"Listen, if it gets too much and it's keeping you awake at night, you go sick. You're a loyal member of that team, Mike."

"I know. I'll speak in the week," Michael muttered.

"See you later. Bye, Mikey."

"Bye Dad." Michael ended the conversation and put his phone beside him on the sofa.

It was nearing the end of the Senior Leadership Team meeting at the referral unit's main site. Helen and Catherine were there, as well as PC Norman, two other female Deputy Heads in their late fifties, a sixty-year-old female Assistant Deputy Head and the Head Teacher, Josephine Golding, a tall, black woman in her late forties.

Michael thought she could kill kittens with her ever-present glare.

She came across as a soulless woman and had a divide and rule approach to her so-called management style, whether it was with the children or her staff. She never praised anybody or anything. Never a 'please' and certainly never a 'thank you'. In fact, at the beginning of every inset day, without fail, she would always state how disappointed she was with staff and pupil behaviour, yet, simultaneously, buoy herself up at how great she had made the school look. Gaining an outstanding OFSTED inspection and other great-on-paper tick-boxes.

At their last inset day she had reeled off a speech about how a cup of cold coffee had been placed on top of a set of staff lockers and had been knocked, spilling the drink into two separate lockers. She wasn't complaining that the coffee had spoiled staff belongings, but the fact that the coffee had stained the newly purchased lockers. After spouting her disappointment, Josephine Golding would then expect new staff members to stand up in front of the entire workforce and introduce themselves.

One new teacher actually stood up, said her name, followed it with, "I think I have made a mistake in coming here," and put on her coat and left, never to return.

Josephine was either behind her closed office door or standing at the end of a corridor, arms folded, with a completely hostile body language package or stance and glaring look, just staring at teachers, who struggled with unruly pupils. Pupils who wandered aimlessly, sparked up cigarettes, kicked doors and banged on class windows. Josephine stared at loyal, creative and hard-working staff, some of whom put up displays to make the place look relatively attractive. She would give them and the display a look of utter disapproval, often accompanied with a sigh, loud enough to be heard at the other end of the corridor. Josephine sometimes released a tut that could be heard at the opposite end of the school, due to the echo created by the wide corridors and cold, solid walls.

She wasn't even a Head Teacher, in title anyway. This was a self-appointed title. Her correct job title was Centrally Funded Alternate Provision Manager. It didn't quite have the same ring as Head. She was a devious, calculating woman, yet also incredibly insecure. She was a bully.

"Lastly, I'd like to express my concern about a situation that's arisen in our staff team and a young, innocent pupil," said Catherine. She nodded her head as she looked at each person in turn.

PC Norman reclined on his seat, leaning back, knowing that what was about to be said was definitely going to include him. He was nervous, yet bizarrely smug with it, too.

"I know what you're going to say, Catherine, and I've allowed PC Norman to deal with this matter," said Josephine Golding, in her nasal tone.

"How do you know about it?" asked Helen, curiously.

"What do you mean, how? PC Norman told me," Josephine snapped.

The other Deputy Heads turned to Helen and Catherine, each with a knowing expression and an equal smugness.

"Patricia undermined me, Josephine. She undermined Helen and the rest of the staff team. She totally undermined me as a manager," Catherine informed her, passionately.

"Patricia did what we all would do, Catherine, and that was to report a possible threat," answered Josephine.

"A possible threat to whom? There is no threat."

"That's right. Michael Thompson said it was a nothing conversation that was completely taken out of context," Helen said, supporting Catherine.

That angered Josephine and, strangely, the rest of the Deputies.

"And you believe Michael Thompson, do you?"

"Yes. Yes I do," Helen declared.

"You put too much trust in him. He's just a Learning Mentor!" Josephine said.

"Exactly," chimed one Deputy.

"He's not just anything at all, Josephine. In fact, he's a very good Learning Mentor and an extremely loyal member of my team. He set up the place with me." Helen frowned and wondered why her colleagues were so anti Michael.

They were so sycophantic and probably disliked one another, yet were as devious and backstabbing as each other. They took as much money as they could. Each was nearing retirement and striving to gain those management points that added to their pension.

Helen was different. She had a life outside of school. She was a seasoned traveller and had always said to Michael, "Work to live, not the other way around." Helen had shielded her close colleagues within her team from the ever bitter and distrusting Josephine. Despite being open with them, she would never disclose what a deceitful game player she really was as she didn't want her team to be filled with any form of hate for the woman. It was unhealthy. Helen in fact, took the full brunt of Josephine's angry, negative state of mind.

"I don't know what the fascination is with him," Josephine went on, looking at some paperwork before her.

"There's no fascination, Josephine. Michael's a talented, good thinking and kind young man. He goes above and beyond what is expected of him. I don't know why you dislike him so much," defended Helen.

"So what about the boy? What about Abdul?" chirped Catherine.

"What about him?" PC Norman leaned in.

"Yes, what about him?" sided Josephine.

"Well, it is a nothingness," Catherine shrugged.

"It certainly is not. I don't call a potential terrorist a nothingness, do you?"

"A potential terrorist? Says who?" Helen cried out.

The other deputies were alarmed, tilting their heads in a timed fashion, giving a sense of robotic motion.

"Patricia had reported what she felt to be a concern. If a member of staff is offended or concerned by something, then it is concerning and offensive. Plain and simple. It is council policy to report this particular incident."

"There wasn't an incident, Josephine!" called Helen, interrupting her Head Teacher, infuriating her even more.

"Yes, yes there was and that's the end of the matter!" Josephine raised her tone.

"It's a silly, unprofessional and unkind thing to do." Helen stood up for what she believed.

"It's the right thing to do!" shouted Josephine.

The other Deputies and PC Norman nodded their heads as Helen winced with pain, placing a hand across her chest. She scrunched up her face.

Michael's father leaned against a work-surface in the kitchen. He spoke on a cordless telephone, pushed on his gold-rimmed spectacles and pinched a biro between his fingers, ready to write something. His eyes searched the kitchen top and he tightened his face, disappointed in trying to locate something that wasn't there.

"Hello Geoff. Thanks for getting back to me. I spoke with Michael and he said the boy's name was Abdul Rah-Maan, that's right. Yes. Does it match what you've got?" asked Edward, as he thumbed some letters and envelopes. He examined one and flipped it over to press his pen down hard onto, trying to write an address. Edward rested the envelope on a copy of the Yellow Pages, sighing, shaking the pen and then breathing on the nib before he pressed it down hard again to write. "Thanks Geoff. Mike can't get through to his contacts at the moment, so I'll pass this onto the bloke down the road who's their guvnor. See what they can do." 

A little later, Josephine and Helen were in the same meeting room, alone.

"I will not be spoken to that way and I do not like Michael Thompson," Josephine announced, watching Helen pack a couple of folders into her bag.

"You don't know Michael Thompson."

"What does he actually do? I don't get the appeal. I don't trust him," she continued.

"You don't trust anybody, Josephine!"

"Will you stop? You and your bloody, goody two-shoes team. Can't do anything wrong, can they?"

"Well, it was them who won you your outstanding OFSTED, Josephine. It was Michael's class that OFSTED inspected and gave great approval to. A class he doesn't even teach! He's not even a qualified teacher, yet OFSTED adored his lesson! They even wanted to steal the curriculum and timetable that he was an integral part in developing. That's only a fraction of what Michael does." Helen defended her wonderful colleague. A colleague she regarded so highly and dearly.

"I don't bloody trust him and I think he's a waste of money. He's on a lot of money, too."

"Oh, Josephine, he's not on a lot of money at all!" What a load of nonsense.

"Helen, he is on a lot of money!" Josephine yelled.

"What, twenty-one grand? I think he's worth triple that. Can you honestly say you're worth ninety-two thousand?" Helen bravely said, receiving a horrid scowl.

Josephine pointed her forefinger at Helen. "Yes, I do! Yes I am worth that! And more! I'm moving Michael to another department," she yelled.

"No you're not."

"I am! There's too many in your team as it is."

"There's not enough in my team, as it is." Helen was in total disbelief that this conversation was actually occurring.