Teacher's Dead (15 page)

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s OK, Miss Ferrier.’ I said. ‘It’s only me, Jackson.’

‘Wait a minute,’ she said, and I waited.

I knew that the first thing I had to do was apologise for waking her up so early, so in my head I was running through possible wordings of my apology. She called me again, I looked up, and the world turned gold. Another warm shower, another bucket of urine in my face.

‘Miss Ferrier,’ I shouted through the mist. ‘It’s me, Jackson.’

‘I know it’s you, now go away before the weather turns again.’

‘Miss Ferrier, what’s wrong? I thought we were friends, what did I do?’

‘You know what you did,’ she shouted. ‘You went and told the film company where I live. Just because I went to your house that doesn’t mean we’re going to start making films together, you know. I trusted you, I thought you were different; I even let you come in my house. Who told you to go giving my address to the television people? I don’t want to be on any freak show.’

I shook my head to get rid of as much of the bodily fluid as I could and began pleading with her.

‘Honest, Miss Ferrier, I didn’t tell them anything. I only found out about the film yesterday. I was just walking past school and I saw them filming.’

‘Go away,’ she said. ‘And don’t come back round here. I thought you were different, I thought that I could trust you. You are just like the rest, I should have known it.’

I could see I wasn’t going to win the argument, so I took my jacket off, slung it over my shoulder and walked home.

I managed to get into my room and change my clothes and then I locked myself in my bedroom and washed them. I was desperate to hide my misfortune from my mother, so I hung the wet clothes in my wardrobe to dry. I couldn’t tell my mother about what had happened but the next thing I did was call Mrs Joseph and tell her everything. She was sympathetic, but the mention of urine still brought a giggle. Things didn’t get easier. As we were ending the call she asked if I could do her a favour.

‘Jackson, could you give me her address?’

I was astonished that she’d asked me.

‘I just told you that she was blaming me for giving the TV people her address and now you want me to give her address to you. She’d kill me.’

‘I see your point, but I think there’s a big difference
between the TV people and me.’

‘I’m not sure if she’ll care about that. She just hates me again, and I don’t want to stir things up again.’

‘Listen, Jackson,’ she said, sounding like my mother. ‘Can you trust me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, trust me, then.’

‘I’m confused,’ I admitted.

‘Trust me, I really need to speak to her – if there’s a problem I’ll take the blame. It will be OK.’

I thought about it very hard. Then I said, ‘No.’

‘Come on. Look, I know she lives on Fentham Road, she told me, so all you have to do is tell me the number. If I just took a walk I could probably find out anyway.’

I thought about it very hard. She was right, she could find it anyway, and I was sure that Miss Ferrier would still see her as a friend, unlike a television company. Then I said, ‘Number thirty-five.’

She said, ‘Thanks, Jackson.’

I said, ‘She’ll probably never speak to me again.’

I could almost hear her already putting on her coat when I told her the number, so I was worried, very worried. And I was even more worried when I didn’t hear from her for the rest of the day.

Once again I woke up tired after another night of very little sleep, but this time I had to go to school. How
things change. I actually used to love going to school, and I was one of the few people I knew who loved Monday mornings, but not any more. I had the Terry Stock lot on my mind, and I wasn’t in the mood to exchange smiles with the head teacher. As I entered the school I saw Priti Shah and Lola Muir, the girls of the gang.

‘Hello, Jackson,’ said Priti.

‘Don’t come anywhere near me,’ I replied, trying to sound threatening.

They just giggled to each other.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Lola. ‘We’re not going anywhere near you. Why would we want to do that, why would anyone want to do that?

‘Just leave me alone. That’s all.’

‘Or you’ll tell your friend Mrs Martel and we’ll get something really horrible like detention.’

‘I have nothing more to say,’ I said and I walked away.

It was just starting to rain, so I went into the school building to stay dry. That’s what I told myself I was doing as I headed in, but the truth was I didn’t like the idea of being in the playground. As well as my new enemies I had become a bit of a joke to many of the other kids. I was the nerdy kid who fancied himself as a cop and couldn’t fight his way out of his shirt. As I was walking down the main corridor I saw Mrs Martel coming towards me. I really didn’t want
to have to speak to her either but it was too late to change direction or nip into a classroom.

She stopped directly in front of me with the grace of a soldier on parade.

‘Good morning, Jackson,’ she said as if she was addressing a multitude of people.

‘Good morning,’ I mumbled.

‘Are you unwell?’ she asked.

‘No, miss.’

‘Is there something wrong?

‘You know what’s wrong, miss. You know I think you shouldn’t be agreeing to be in that film.’

‘Now, Jackson. I think you’re a nice boy but I can’t look for your approval for everything I do in this school, and there is nothing in the film, as far as I know, that offends other people.’

I felt it was important for her to know the strength of my feeling.

‘I think you’re wrong, miss.’

‘And I think you’re wrong, Jackson.’

‘But, miss –’

‘Look, Jackson,’ she interrupted. ‘Just leave it, will you? What’s done is done; soon it will be on television and then you’ll see that it’s just a bit of entertainment.’

‘Entertainment, a bit of entertainment, and you think that’s OK?’

‘Forget it.’

‘I won’t forget it, miss.’

‘If you can’t forget it, get over it. Good morning, Jackson,’ she said, walking away.

The good thing about not having lots of friends at school was not having lots of distractions. On the other hand being on your own in a corner of a playground that was full of kids playing with each other was a very lonely place to be. But it was a good time to think. Not having to fit in with any group in the classroom meant that I was able to focus on my work. It wasn’t fun but I was very productive that day. As I was leaving the school I saw a couple of vans belonging to the film company. On the far side of the road cameras were set up and Alice was loitering on the pavement. My plan was to say nothing but as I walked past them Alice recognised me.

‘Hi, remember me?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t know you.’

‘You remember me, I saw you here yesterday.’

‘Oh yes. I remember now. What are you doing today?’

‘We’re just getting some shots of kids leaving the school.’

‘Please make sure I’m not in any of those shots. You didn’t tell me that you spoke to Mrs Joseph.’

‘You didn’t ask me,’ she replied. ‘I spoke to her today too.’ She passed me her business card. It was embossed and had a small photo of her on it. ‘If you
ever change your mind give me a call.’

After all I had said to her the day before I felt this was a bit of an insult, but I didn’t want to lose my cool, not with all the kids passing. But I wanted to give her a piece of my mind. I put the card in my pocket, and said, ‘If you ever change your mind – give your conscience a call.’

I arrived home to be greeted by the bare wood of our front door. I made a mental note to finish the job.

I went into the house, hung up my coat in the hallway and walked into the front room. What I saw not only surprised me, it also frightened me. My mother, with Mrs Joseph and Miss Ferrier, all sitting together. I did a reality check.

‘Mum, Miss Ferrier, Mrs Joseph. What are you all doing here?’

‘Well, I live here,’ said my mother.

‘And I’ve just popped in to see how your mother was,’ said Mrs Joseph.

‘And I’ve come to apologise,’ said Miss Ferrier.

‘Apologise for what?’

‘For my latest downpour, and for not believing you. Mary has explained everything to me and I’m sorry for thinking you gave the film people my address. They did all that research stuff they do, they probably got it from the voters’ list at the town hall.’

‘And I found your clothes in the wardrobe,’ said my
mother. ‘I’ve given them another wash and put them on the line. The fresh air will do them good.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ I said, unable to hide my embarrassment. I turned to Mrs Joseph and Miss Ferrier. ‘It’s OK. I’m just glad that you both turned down the film.’

Mrs Joseph stood up.

‘We’re not doing the film, but tomorrow morning we are doing breakfast television.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

‘You’re doing what?’

‘Breakfast television,’ she continued. ‘The film company are making a film that’s more about drama than the truth, and there are so many rumours going around. Some people think Miss Ferrier’s a witch, some people think we hate each other, some think that I am mad for not wanting revenge. I had a phone call from my lawyer who said I had been invited on after the press found out about the film being made. We’ve talked about it, and we think that the best thing we can do is show unity and put the record straight, once and for all.’

I was flabbergasted, but unlike the so-called docudrama I could see the sense in this and I told them so. I then begged Miss Ferrier never to shower me with gold again and she promised she wouldn’t. I then begged all three of them to allow me to go with them to the television station the next morning, only to be
greeted with three speeches on how important it was for me to go to school. I tried to convince them that it was a special occasion, that a morning off wouldn’t herald the end of my education, but they were united in their dismissal of my excuses. The only good thing was that they were on air early enough for me to watch them before I went to school.

Considering that it was me that originally brought them together I felt very left out that night. I warmed up some leftovers from the fridge and went to my room, leaving them to talk about stuff I supposedly didn’t understand. I had some homework to do but I opted to spend most of the night looking through a decorating catalogue, trying to decide on a new colour for the front door. It was hard being the man of the house.

I had set the alarm on my mobile phone to ring early in the morning. I heard it, but I heard it somewhere in the distance, like background noise in my dream. After a prolonged snooze I jumped up and called my mother but there was no response, so I got up and went to her bedroom and knocked on the door, but there was still no response. There was also no response when I shouted downstairs, at which point I realised that she had already left. I turned the television on and a woman who looked too happy for her own good was making an announcement.

‘Our next item concerns the tragic story of the teacher who was fatally stabbed in his own playground. The story hit the headlines earlier this year and two young boys are serving long sentences for the murder. But who would have thought that the mother of one of the killers and the wife of the murdered teacher would become friends? They’ll both be joining me, after the news and weather.’

I ran around the house readying myself for school
and then I headed for the kitchen. I had two choices. I could attempt to cook myself something quite substantial, which I thought I deserved, or I could just grab myself something quick and easy. I went for the quick option, the super-quick option. I simply grabbed a box of cereal and took it to the living room, where I just thrust my hand into the box and scooped up mouthfuls of crispy stuff. It was almost time to leave for school when the weather was over and the happy lady was back on screen.

‘And now. If your husband, or one of your relatives, was murdered by a boy, could you become friends with the boy’s mother? That’s exactly what happened after the murder of Edgar Joseph, the school teacher who was killed by a pupil at Marston Hall school. Mary Joseph was seen as a caring wife in mourning, Lisa Ferrier was seen as a neglectful mother who didn’t care about the upbringing of her son. In a remarkable twist in this real-life drama they have struck up a friendship, something which some people find rather hard to understand given the circumstances. They both join me on the sofa now. Let me start with you, Mary. After the loss of your husband you must have done a lot of grieving. The whole country sympathised with you and his killers became figures of hatred. What made you want to befriend the mother of one of his killers?’

Mrs Joseph looked very relaxed, almost as if she
had just come out the swimming pool.

‘Well, it wasn’t my idea; it was the idea of a young friend that Lisa and I have in common. When he put the idea to me that we should meet I hesitated at first, but then I thought about it and I thought, why not? She hadn’t done anything to me. So it made sense. I had already realised that Lisa was not the monster they were painting in the media and I have always tried to look behind the headlines, even when the headlines concern me.’

‘But it has been difficult for you,’ said the presenter. ‘Didn’t you feel anger towards Lisa? What do you talk about when you’re together?’

Mrs Joseph smiled. ‘No, I don’t feel any anger towards Lisa, and, shock horror, when we get together we talk about the things other women talk about. This morning for example we were talking about you.’

‘Is that all?’

‘And we were taking about coming on the show, and what to wear. We are both ordinary women. We can’t all be TV presenters.’

The presenter wasn’t amused. ‘Don’t you ever talk about the death of your husband?’

‘Maybe once,’ said Mrs Joseph, ‘when we first met, but we have a lot more in common than the tragedy that visited us.’

The presenter picked up a newspaper that was on
the table in front of her.

‘A couple of days ago a national newspaper accused you of joining the killers’ side. They said you are a traitor to the cause of the victims of crimes.’