Page 47 of A Class Act

‘Oh, God.’ Sorrel stared at Mason Donoghue sitting comfortably, and without a trace of embarrassment, at the kitchen table.

‘Almost, but not quite, Sorrel.’ Mason smiled.

‘I’m off.’ Sorrel made for the door she’d just come through, but Jess barred her way.

‘Oh, no, you don’t. Listen, Sorrel, Mr Donoghue is here to offer you a place at St Mede’s. Robyn and I are not prepared for any backchat.’

‘You’re not my mum.’

‘Loco parentis,’ Jess snapped.

‘That again?’ Sorrel raised an eyebrow as did Jess, the pair of them squaring up to each other like a couple of bantam hens. ‘Look.’ Sorrel glared in my direction. ‘I’m definitely not going to your school ifshe’sgoing to be there every day. How embarrassing to have your big sister there teaching, watching everything you do, knowing what you’re up to and reporting back to Sturmführer Jess every night.’

‘I’m impressed, Sorrel.’ Mason raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve obviously been listening during your GCSE World War II history module.’

‘I like history.’ Sorrel shrugged. ‘’Bout the only thing I do like, apart from dance.’

‘So, rather a bonus to have lessons with a professional West End dancer, then?’ Mason, in turn, looked in my direction.

‘Hang on,’ I said, rubbing at my knee. ‘For a start?—’

‘Perfect,’ Jess began, hands on hips. ‘You take the pair of them, Mason, and I’ll make sure your granny is right at the front of the queue when the hairdresser comes.Andgets a second helping of afters when it’s chocolate pudding with chocolate sauce.’

‘OK, OK!’ Sorrel put up both hands in a show of apparent acquiescence. ‘I don’t want to have to go to the PRU,’ she said sulkily. ‘What do I do about uniform? Do I have to wear one?’

‘Of course. Where uniform’s concerned, I’m as strict as Beddingfield High,’ Mason said seriously. ‘We have second-hand stuff.’

‘I’m not wearing second-hand,’ Sorrel protested.

‘Well, it’s either that or you shelling out yourself for a new blazer, sweater and tie,’ Jess said firmly. ‘Mum only bought you a brand-new uniform three weeks ago. You always seem to have money on the go.’ All three of us looked towards Sorrel, who, under adult scrutiny, glared back and turned away from us. But not before I’d seen her face flush slightly. Oh, hell, if it was true that she had funds, we needed to know where they were coming from.

‘So,’ Mason said, turning back to me, ‘it’s a yes from me and Sorrel, then, is it?’

‘And from Robyn as well.’ Jess smiled sweetly in my direction, but there was a steely determination I recognised from old behind it.

‘How about, Robyn, you start with us at St Mede’s on a supply basis rather than on any contract, temporary or otherwise?’ Mason suggested. ‘I’ll be there to help and support you, as will both the PE and the English department, who’ve been covering the dance and drama curriculums with me. Why don’t you come back in tomorrow and I’ll show you round again and give you all the planning documents we have? I’ll need to see all your certificates and get references from the school in whichyou did your NQT year, and I’m assuming your DBS is up to date? If not, we can soon sort that out.’

‘Of course it is.’ Jess nodded enthusiastically. ‘It was only a year ago she was teaching in schools. It’ll be like riding a bike,’ she added. ‘It’ll all come flooding back, Robyn.’

‘D’you think I can speak for myself, Jess?’ I glared in her direction. ‘Are you both not forgetting one thing?’

‘What’s that?’ Mason and Jess, as well as Sorrel, all turned back to me.

‘I’m disabled!’ I lifted my leg with its black brace towards them. ‘I need physio and rest on this leg, not starting a new job where I’ll be on my feet all day. And how the hell do you suggest I’m going to teach dance with a knackered knee?’

Mason frowned. ‘All right, OK, most of the dance lessons will continue to be covered by the PE staff and, I guess, by myself. You’d be mainly teaching drama, Robyn, which, I believe, you’re qualified to do? Obviously, it would be better if you could be hands-on… knees-on… but I’m sure you’ll be able to teach and guide the kids from the sideline, as it were. As I mentioned earlier, I’ll also need you to cover some PSHE and English lessons.’

‘Sex education and all that!’ Sorrel grinned loftily in my direction as if I weren’t aware of the meaning of the first acronym. ‘After the mad passionate affair I hear you were having with that new man of yours, Robyn, you’ll know how to teachthat…’

‘Excuse me,’I snapped, utterly embarrassed as Mason held my eye, his own full of humour. I glared at Sorrel who, despite her being my little sister, I was now beginning to dislike intensely.

‘That’s good, then.’ Mason grinned. ‘Looks like we’re making progress. OK, it’s Monday now.’ He paused, obviously thinking on his feet. ‘Not got my diary and, I’d forgotten, I’m actually outof school tomorrow, but I’ll expect you both in on Wednesday for a bit of an induction and then, on Thursday, we’ll crack on.’ He turned to Sorrel, speaking softly. ‘And, Sorrel, don’t you go thinking St Mede’s is a soft touch. My school is turning a corner: I’m determined to make it a place parents want to send their children to and I won’t haveanyonein it who disregards my rules. You play fair with me, Sorrel, and we’ll be there for you and do everything in our power to help you get where you want to be. I’m telling you now, my teachers and I won’t stand for any of the behaviour you’ve been involved in at Beddingfield High. You work with us, and we’ll work with you. If not, you’re out…’ He raised an eye in Sorrel’s direction and, while she tried to stare him out, eventually she lowered her gaze and looked away.

Mason held out a hand to me. ‘Welcome to St Mede’s, Ms Allen. I hope your time with us, until you’re able to resume your career in London, is a happy and profitable one.’

Totally exhausted by the events of the last two days – surely it must be more than two days since my entire world had come, literally, crashing down around my ears? – I tried hard to eat the utterly wonderful food Jess had put in front of me, Sorrel and Lola. While my big sister and niece both tucked in with relish to the fragrant-smelling chicken and tarragon dish, neither Sorrel nor I were able to do justice to her cooking. I knew what had takenmyappetite but, glancing across at my little sister’s set face and demeanour, knew I was a long way from understanding what was troubling Sorrel. The bottle of cheap red wine Jess had spent her last few pounds on at the village Co-op and opened in celebration of both Sorrel’s and my own new beginning at St Mede’s High School did go some way to releasing the anxiety-provoked constriction in my throat, and I was able to force down a few mouthfuls with some accompanying oohs and aahs of appreciation and approval.

‘You should go onMasterChef,’ I said, as I always did whenever I ate Jess’s delicious meals.

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