Page 8 of Five Things I Love About You

‘Did you need something, only I’ve got to get this done?’ I say.

‘I guess you’ve heard?’

I sigh and shake my head. ‘Heard what?’

‘About the redundancies.’

I freeze. ‘Redundancies?’ I try to keep my voice under control, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s got me worried, or that he knew something before I did. He licks his lips and smiles a slightly creepy smile.

‘There’s talk that they’re having to make some “cut backs”’ – he actually uses his fingers to make quotation marks in the air – ‘and that it’s imminent.’

I take a moment before replying. ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine though,’ I say, swallowing. ‘I mean, they can hardly get rid of the heads of department or the year heads. Can they?’ My voice has gone a little higher-pitched than I intended.

He shrugs, then sits back and folds his arms across his barrel chest. ‘Who knows how the powers-that-be think, Miranda? I suspect they’ll be wanting to cull some of the better paid jobs such as ours, although far be it from me to try and guess.’

‘Right.’ I pick up the pile of papers in front of me and tap them on the desk. ‘Either way, I do still need to finish this, so if that’s all…’ I glance at the classroom door in the hope that he’ll get the message. Luckily he does, hauling himself to his feet and coughing like a pair of bellows.

‘Well, good luck. I think they want to talk to everyone about it today so I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.’ And then he disappears, leaving me wondering whether my job – which I’m bloody good at – is as safe as I always assumed it was.

The morning flies past and I don’t have much time to dwell as I go over the text ofAn Inspector Callswith my year eleven class, sort out a scuffle in the corridor at break time which involves hauling two year nine boys to see Mr McDonald, the head, then prepping some exam practice questions. It’s lunchtime by the time I have a spare second to even give redundancies another thought – and it’s while I’m peeling back the lid of my canteen-bought tomato soup, letting it cool so it isn’t hotter than the surface of the sun, that Mr McDonald enters the staffroom and raps his knuckles on the tea table. A tin of biscuits wobbles precariously, and I focus on it, my heart hammering, wondering what’s coming next.

‘As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, unfortunately there are going to have to be a number of redundancies in the school.’ He clears his throat in an over-dramatic fashion. ‘And, well, if you hadn’t heard this already then I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’

He goes on to explain something about a reduction in the number of students joining the school over the last couple of years, and the need to be seen to be making savings where possible, and that three or possibly four senior positions are going to be cut, but I’m barely listening as I’m too busy thinking about what this might mean for me. After all, I’ve only been here for just over a year after transferring from a local state school to take up the Head of English post in what I assumed was a relatively safe role in a private school, so I’m more aware than anyone how vulnerable this makes me.

After he leaves it only takes a second for the whispers to begin –who’s for the chop? Do you think I’ll be okay? There’s no way they’ll get rid of me.I stand and move away, not wanting to join in the conjecture. I’m not in the mood for discussing it.

Sadly, everyone else is, and just as I make it to the door, I’m accosted by Jenny and Rebecca, two of the English teachers in my department.

‘What do you think of that then? Do you think we’ll be okay?’ Jenny almost whispers as she blocks my way. Her hands flutter around her mouth and I want to swipe them away. The hand holding my soup is burning and I swap it to the other side.

‘I’m sure we’ll all be fine,’ I say, blowing gently on the surface of the soup. It steams like a just-opened dishwasher, bathing my face.

‘He said he’ll be calling everyone in over the next few days,’ Rebecca says. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I guess it means he’ll be letting us know whether we still have jobs or not,’ I reply.

‘But what will I do? I can’t lose my job.’

I want to tell them both that that I’m terrified too, and that I really, really cannot afford to lose this job as it’s keeping my entire life afloat. But as their direct boss it’s my duty to comfort them, so I just smile and say ‘honestly, try not to worry. Now, sorry, but I really need the loo, can I just…’ I squeeze past and hurry along the corridor in the direction of the toilets. Once I’m out of sight I swerve past the loos and carry on towards the main doors, out into the playground, and round the back of the school to the bike racks. There’s a bench here. Exactly what view it’s meant to be taking in I have no idea as all I can see is the back of the school and the bins, but I couldn’t care less about that right now. I sit down and put my soup beside me, hoping the spring air might cool it to an edible temperature.

I can’t stop thinking about the redundancies. Three or four members of staff, mostly senior. I shuffle through my mind, trying to work out whether any other heads of department started after me, but I can’t think of anyone.

Losing my job would be a nightmare right now. I mean, there’s never an ideal time, is there? When my ex-husband Nick left twelve years ago, I bought him out of our family home using the inheritance my grandparents had left me. But I still had to take out a bigger-than-I-could-really-afford mortgage to cover the rest of it, which means I’m still paying a huge amount of money every month for the privilege of living alone. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m lucky to own a house in Crouch End where prices have more than tripled since we bought the terraced house twenty-five years ago. But it still doesn’t change the fact that I need this job.

‘Room for a little one?’

I look up at the voice and smile. ‘Sure, I’m just wallowing.’ I budge up to make room and Katy, my friend and head of music, sits down beside me. She lights a cigarette, takes a long drag and we both watch the smoke bloom out into the wind.

‘So, you worried?’ I can see her turn her head towards me and try to arrange my face into something neutral.

‘I guess.’ I try a shrug but I’m too tense to pull it off.

‘I’m fucking petrified. I mean, I’ve only been here five minutes.’

I turn to look at her. ‘Me too.’

She puffs out her cheeks and takes another drag. ‘Everyone’s saying it’s always last in, first out. Do you reckon that’s true?’

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