Page 41 of A Class Act

The man turned fully in my direction. ‘As I was about to say, if you’re acting in loco parentis, Ms Allen,youare responsible for making sure Sorrel is in education.’ Without waiting for my response, he continued: ‘So, you’re an actor?’

I nodded. ‘Musical theatre.’

‘Well, shewas.’ Sorrel sniffed again. ‘Can’t do much dancing at the moment with that knee.’

‘I noticed you were limping,’ the head said, holding my gaze.

‘Look, we’re here to discuss Sorrel and her schooling, not me and my career.’ I could hear myself sounding like Sorrel and closed my eyes for a second before adding, ‘I’m so sorry, that came out wrong.’

Mason Donoghue turned back to my sister. ‘And do you like dancing, Sorrel?’

‘Yes. Of course.’ She gave this nice – and really rather gorgeous – head teacher such a withering look that if she’d added ‘duh, Dude’, I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.

‘But as far as I know Beddingfield High has an excellent dance and drama department?’

‘You’re joking,’ Sorrel scoffed. ‘Excellent? It’s rubbish.’

‘Oh? Well, one of my teachers left to move over there during the six-week break.’ He turned in my direction. ‘Left me in a bit of a hole, actually. I’m having to cover some of the dance and drama lessons myself. I’m not bad with the drama side but… you know…’ He trailed off, his eyes not once leaving mine.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, giving him what I hoped was a sympathetic smile, but not overly interested in the man’s staffing problems.‘That can’t be easy. So, Mr Donoghue, I really need to know if St Mede’s is able to take Sorrel. If not, I’m going to have to go back to the education authority and hand over the problem to them. Which, I believe, means a PRU?’

‘Why don’t we have a look round?’ the head said, standing. ‘You might decide we’re not the school you want to come to.’

‘It’s not,’ Sorrel mumbled.

‘It is,’ I hissed back, smiling beatifically at Mason Donoghue while nudging my sister in the ribs.

‘Come on.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s see if we can change your mind, Sorrel.’

We spent the next half-hour on a tour of the school, Mason greeting each student we came across by name, enquiring, congratulating or censuring each one in turn while suggesting they might like to tone down the make-up, make sure they were on time for their next class, be ready for football practice at lunchtime.

We’d rounded a corridor and were approaching the science laboratories at the far end of several dismal-looking, grey concrete tower blocks when a door banged open and two boys spilled out onto the floor in front of us, arms and legs wheeling in fury as they attempted to knock seven bells out of each other. A cheering, delighted gaggle of Year 8 kids filled the now gaping science-classroom entrance, the door having been flung back against the sludge-green corridor wall by the two wrestling adolescents. A plaintive voice was reasoning and then imploring, and eventually shouting for some semblance of order but, as more of the class poured out into the corridor, it was obvious he was being ignored wholesale by the kids in his care.

‘Kyan, AJ!’ (Was no one called good old John, David or Peter any more?) Mason Donoghue leapt into action, grabbing both boys by the scruff of their necks and hauling them off each other. ‘Go back to your classroom and your seats,’ Mr Donoghueordered calmly to the rubbernecking gaggle of kids, one hand still attached firmly to each of the previously tussling duo.

And, to be fair, they did, without another word. ‘I shall be with you in just two minutes and any one of you not in your own seat, not doing exactly as you’ve been asked by Mr Prentis, will have me to deal with. Understood?’

‘Ger off me.’ The smaller but more pugnacious of the two in the head’s grasp was intent on wriggling free. ‘Get the fuck off me… You’re assaulting me… GBH… me dad an’ all ’is mates’ll be down to sort you out.’

‘Bring it on, son,’ Mr Donoghue said calmly. ‘If he’s not down to see me after school this afternoon, I’ll be up to your house before your tea’s on the table.’ He released the pair from his grip. ‘OK,’ he went on, texting something into his phone, ‘Mrs O’Sullivan will collect you and take you to Removal. You’re there until lunchtime when I want to see both of you with a written apology for disrupting Mr Prentis’s science lesson.’

Throughout this little contretemps, Sorrel had stood idly by, unimpressed by the disruption, reaching into her pocket and scrolling through her phone again.

‘Put it away,’ I muttered, once the head had popped his head round the science room door. He spent a good five minutes talking to the class and their teacher before making his way back in our direction.

‘And that’s why I’llneveragain go back into a classroom,’ I vowed, shaking my head at the very idea.

‘Bit different from your own schooldays?’ Mr Donoghue asked with a grin.

‘No, I was actually referring to the year I spent as a teacher just after lockdown.’

Mr Donoghue paused, actually stopped walking back in the direction of his office, Sorrel trailing on behind. ‘You’re a qualified teacher?’

‘Iwasa teacher.’ I shuddered slightly. ‘Never again.Never.’

‘And your chosen subject?’ he asked, sounding like the presenter ofMastermind. ‘Your area?’

‘My subject?’ I glanced with some suspicion towards the man. ‘English, dance and drama.’

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