Polly (6 page)

Somebody whistled in slow appreciation.

‘Miss Fenton?'

‘Yes Laurel Lap-top?'

‘Was that 1812?'

‘Yes, and you don't have to commit it to the silicon memory of that machine. Switch it off, if you please, and tune in to this: David Copperfield.'

With copies distributed to each member of the class, Polly said ‘Chapter One' while her eyes sparkled olive at the students. They read in silence until the end of class.

‘Ladies! Lay-
deez
! Upper Four – attention this instant! Lucy Howard, back to your place.
On
your chair, young lady – do
not
soil that desk with your derrière. Quiet. Angela, excuse me,
Angela
! How do you fancy detention tomorrow? You don't? Well then, shut it! Thank you. How gracious you all are. This is Miss Carter, who's taking Miss Fenton's place for a year. She'll be your form teacher as well as English teacher to some of you. Alison Setton, bring me that paper aeroplane. Now!'

‘Miss Reilly thinks she's so cool when really she's naff.'

‘I
am
cool, Alison, you just can't handle it – detention tomorrow – you can sew position tags on to the new netball vests. This, as I said, is Miss Carter. You are all to be cordial, friendly and SILENT.'

Megan Reilly fixed the class with an uncompromising stare, patted Jen on the shoulder and whispered to her that she was hoarse already, bless the blighters.

‘A word of advice,' she disclosed in quiet warning, ‘don't smile until half term.'

She patted the new teacher again and left the room, remonstrating to Jesus, Mary
and
Joseph when she heard the decibel level soar just as soon as she'd closed the door.

Jen Carter stood behind her desk and in front of a blackboard. She'd never used a blackboard before. At Hubbardtons they had expanses of wipe-away white. And odourless, non-toxic coloured markers.

She'd never heard such a racket.

She'd never taught a class with more than twelve students to it.

She'd never taught only girls.

She'd never met blighters.

How in hell's name was she going to gain their respect, how ever was she even going to get their attention?

Don't smile.

How long was it till half term?

She turned to the blackboard and began to write her name in long, sloping letters. The din continued, subsiding only temporarily when the chalk grated at a particular point on the board. It was like the volume being switched off. And then switched on, twice as loud, immediately after. She turned back to the class.

‘Quiet, please.'

Did she say something?

Dunno. Couldn't hear it if she did.

Bet those teeth are capped.

Yeah. And those boobs are definitely plastic.

‘Ladies,' she tried, ‘quiet?'

Ha! We've got her, she's cracking.

Come on, let's all hum.

Yeah! And sway slightly.

‘Per-lease!'

Jen turned back to the blackboard and stared at her name. Amazingly, the volume was cranked up a further two notches. Brainwave. She took a deep breath and then dragged her fingernails across the blackboard (capped teeth were impermeable to the screech) before spinning on her heels. The class, still soothing their jaws with their hands, were silent; momentarily at least. Fixing her eyes on the clock at the back of the classroom, Jen spoke from the pit of her stomach in deep, curdling tones.

‘Shut. The fuck. Up.'

8.40 a.m.

Respect!

‘Don't you
ever, EVER
make me swear again,' she told thirty pairs of awestruck eyes.

‘K
ate, please may I use the phone?' asked Polly.

‘Sure,' said Kate and, disconcerted by Polly's sludge-green eyes, she placed a wand of raw spaghetti between the pages of her book and discreetly left the kitchen as if she had been just about to anyway.

‘Hullo?'

‘Dom?'

‘Hullo, Pollygirl – how
are
you? How's it going? What am I saying! Hold on. Max?
Max
! Quick! I'll pass you over. You take care, Miss Fenton – them yankies can be wankies. Max?
Max
! He's in the frigging bath, Polly. Would you believe it? Call back in five mins, yes?'

‘'Kay.'

‘Hullo?'

‘Meg?'

‘Po-lly!'

The women shrieked at each other nonsensically down the phone for a moment.

‘Max is in the bath.'

‘So I'm your second choice – charming!'

‘Dear Miss Reilly,' soothed Polly, knowing Megan meant no mischief, ‘I've just finished my first full day. It's the first chance I've had to use the phone. I can't be too long – just give Max enough time to dry.'

‘How are you, girl? What's it like?' asked Megan while she located Polly on the school photograph and stroked her with her little finger. ‘Is it incredible? Have you met Tom Cruise yet?'

‘Yes,' said Polly, ‘and no.'

‘Anyone who looks remotely like him? Brad Pitt, at a scrape?'

‘No,' said Polly, ‘and no. Or not that I've met so far, I'm afraid. There might be, but I'm jet lagged beyond belief. Do you know, this place, Meg, is so, so beautiful. There's so much space for the children – in class and out. Guess how many I have in a class?'

‘Can't! Tell!'

‘No. More. Than. Twelve.'

‘Jee—'

‘And they're all impeccably behaved. They're even
quiet
before class!'

‘—zus. No wonder That Carter Woman looks so shell-shocked.'

‘Everything OK?'

‘If you call Upper Four OK.'

‘Say no more. What was for lunch today?'

‘Lunch? Pie and mash, or mashed ratatouille and mash. And some clumpy pink mash for pud.'

‘Do you know what I had? Ask me!'

‘I say, Miss Fenton, what did you have for lunch?'

‘I had Caesar Salad with a selection of cold cuts and a freshly baked roll.'

‘Stop, stop – that's just not on.'

‘Well, I could have had vegetable burritos, if that makes you feel any better.'

‘No it bloody doesn't.'

‘Or there again, chicken papardelle with tarragon cream. The Federal Government subsidizes the food while making guidelines about fat content and protein quotas.'

‘I'm weeping.'

‘That's not all, Meg. There were four different types of coffee to choose from, and as many teas. And that's not counting the decaffeinated or detanninized strains! All fresh, I hasten to add, and free. No plasticated liquid from vending machines here. And, do you know, we have those fantastic swirly machines with fresh juice churning around available to us. All. Day. Long.'

‘I'm over there!'

‘No you're not,' said Polly quietly, ‘you're over
there
– over the sea and far, far away. I better go, Max'll be waiting. Will you write?'

‘I have done already. Posted it at lunch-time,' Megan paused and continued forlornly, ‘when I went to the newsagent for a chocolate fest in lieu of lousy lunch.'

‘Polly? Polly? You there? That you?'

Speak some more. Let me listen.

‘Polly?'

‘Oh, Max.'

They hung on to their respective receivers with eyes closed and hearts bursting. They could hear each other breathe. How fantastic.

‘I couldn't phone till now,' Polly explained, ‘I've had every minute organized.'

‘I know,' Max soothed, ‘I'm sure. I imagined. What's it like? School and where you're staying?'

‘Lovely – everywhere and everyone. So friendly and welcoming. The school is magnificent and the children are a dream – only I hope I don't wake up. I just talked shop with Megan so she'll fill you in, if you like. How's Buster?'

‘Fine, I presume – I haven't heard anything to the contrary.'

‘Will you phone The Jen Carter Person and just double-check everything's OK at the flat?'

‘'Course I will. Can I have your number there? Thanks.'

‘God, you sound so close it's cruel.'

‘You in your pyjamas, Polly?'

‘No, silly, it's only six o'clock here. In fact, I'm in a frock because it's something called Formal Meal tonight.'

‘Which knickers are you wearing?'

‘Hold on a – let me check. The pair with the blue roses.'

‘Divine.'

‘Funny fellow.'

‘I miss you madly, Polly.'

Oh my God, I haven't actively missed you yet Max, because I haven't actually had time to. That's terrible of me.

‘Polly? You there? I was saying how I miss you.'

‘Do you?' she said sweetly.

‘I do,' Max confirmed softly, not registering Polly's pause.

‘Oh dear! Do you know, I haven't said “I do” to you yet, have I!'

‘No, actually, not in so many words. Do you still have your ring?'

‘Maximilian, would I mislay something as precious as that?'

I must take it from the back pocket of my jeans and put it somewhere safe.

‘You'd better go, Polly. Better not take advantage of your hosts.'

‘'Kay. Will you phone soon? Will you phone on Saturday?'

‘Absolutely. Night night.'

‘Night.'

Polly walked slowly to her room. She went to her jeans and slipped her hand into the back pockets. And then those at the front. She fell to her knees and walked a methodical circle with her hands around the chair over which her jeans lay. She looked under the bed. And in the bin. And in the pockets of her other jeans. And in her jacket pocket. She looked behind the bedside table. She went to the bathroom and searched through her toilet bag. She went back to the bedroom, bit her nails and her lip and muffled a strangled yelp by hurling herself on to the bed. Burying her face into the pillows she sobbed. She bit, she hit them. She cursed herself. She stabbed at the bed with her fist. She cursed Great Aunt Clara. She swore profusely. She all but wore herself out. Finally, she sat cross-legged on the bed, snorting through a heavy nose and rubbing hard at itching eyes.

I can't have lost it!

It seems you have.

I haven't even said yes, yet, I haven't said ‘I do'.

It seems you haven't.

Max, who's been at the centre of my world, is offering me lifelong security, he's going to provide me with my own family at last. And I haven't even bloody accepted his offer. I can't tell anyone I'm engaged unless I've formally agreed to be. I can't tell people unless I have a ring to show them. As proof. And I can't tell Max that I'll marry him if I have to tell him that I've lost his ring.

You haven't even told Megan yet, either, have you? Wonder why. No time to think on it now. Wash your face and make haste for Formal Meal.

‘Jennifer Carter speaking.'

‘Oh, um, hullo, er, my name's Max Fyfield – I'm, er, Polly's—'

‘Sure! Max, hi there, nice to speak to you.'

‘I just thought I'd give you a bell to see if you've settled in OK? All all right with the flat?'

‘Everything's cool here, thanks. Your Polly's left me these little notes every place. Feel like I know her.'

‘And Buster? He's OK? Not terrorizing you? Just roar at him if he is – and ignore him if he replies.'

‘Buster's adorable. He's on my lap right now.'

‘Ah, super. Polly will be pleased. Have you met Megan Reilly yet?'

‘Sure, she's shown me round the school and has been real sweet.'

God, how Megan'll cringe if she ever hears such terminology!

‘Great, great. And how was school? Those girls can be a handful. An excess of intelligence and money, I fear.'

‘I think,' said Jen, ‘that we have arrived at an understanding.'

‘Good, good,' stumbled Max, ‘well, I just phoned to see that everything's tickety boo.'

‘What's that? Tickety
boo
? Ha!'

‘Yes, ha! I'm glad you seem to have settled. Do call if you need anything.'

‘Sure. Many thanks, Max.'

‘Bye then.'

‘Bye now.'

Jen heaved Buster so that he stood on his hind legs on her lap.

‘All I need,' she told him, ‘to make my picture perfect, is one Chip Jonson.'

I
f it had been Megan Reilly, and not Polly Fenton, who was at Hubbardtons, she would have swiftly traded ten Tom Cruises, and gladly forfeited the hope of Dominic Fyfield, for even a chance with Chip Jonson. But for Megan, who is in London, in the staff room, listening to Jen drone on about how wonderful her boyfriend Chip is, the man is merely a name. And a seemingly daft one at that.

Polly has not yet met him, for if an athletic trainer rarely has reason to venture from the gym complex, seldom does he need to cross right over the playing fields to the main school buildings. And four days into her stay, Polly would be unable to locate the gym or the drama building and has no need, as yet, to visit either. She has now met her junior and senior students and has begun to weave her infectious love of literature and language deep into the fabric of her classes. She's had no need to holler for Jackson Thomas, much to his chagrin. He hopes to grab her off duty, off her guard (just grab her, really), at the House Raising this coming Sunday. They'll be building a house for Jojo Baxter, who teaches journalism and hockey. Everyone's invited. Polly's been invited. She's looking forward to it very much.

‘They'll build a whole house? In a day?' she said to Kate, incredulous.

‘Yup,' Kate confirmed as if there was nothing untoward about the concept at all, ‘I'm down to bake pies. You want to help?'

‘Absolutely,' said Polly, ‘I could make a bakewell tart.'