Page 38 of Hot to Go

‘Look at you speaking Spanish.’

‘Your influence is finally rubbing off on me. Laters, bro.’ He looks at me staring out the window. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out with that girl. I really am. Was she fit?’

‘Super fit. She had eyes like…chocolate buttons.’

‘Poetic. Wordsworthy.’ He stops to study the emotion etched in my face. ‘Do you want me to scroll through those Aurelies? Did you get a picture of her?’

I shake my head. All I have is what I can remember in my concussed brain. I scan through every bit of information she shared with me. I don’t even know how long she was staying or what airport she flew in from. I didn’t even know her last name. Maybe I could research champagne estates in Nice. LinkedIn? But at what point does this turn me into a stalker?

‘It’s cool. Let’s just hope she gets in touch, eh?’

‘Yeah.’

PART TWO

LONDON, SIX WEEKS LATER

EIGHT

Suzie

‘I’m afraid you can’t park there, Miss. Are you new? Are you staff?’

For a moment, I’m hoping this man thinks I’m young enough to look like a student, but I realise he’s also implying that I could be a stranger here to kidnap a child. I must be staff. I have a coffee cup, smart shoes and a mild look of terror lining my face.

‘I am new and staff and I’m so sorry, my parking is dire.’

We both turn to look at the car and it’s a good thing I don’t teach maths because my angles are all off.

‘You’re not drunk, are you?’ the man asks me, laughing. ‘With this lot, I wouldn’t blame you.’ He snarls at the students walking through the gates with their blazers and collection of Nike rucksacks and sparkling new school shoes. I look down at the tape measure hanging from this man’s belt, the scruffy paint-stained polo shirt and then up again to the huge smile. It immediately puts me at ease. ‘Site supervisor, my name’s Mark. This place is reserved for Trevor, the lab tech, because he’s gota dodgy hip. Go round the back, near PE, and park there. You’ll thank me because you won’t get caught up in all the traffic later when all the parents come to get their little darlings.’

‘That feels like a trade secret you don’t tell everyone, Mark.’

‘Yeah, Fred in Science can wait in a queue for all I bloody care,’ he says, winking at me. ‘Have a lovely first day, Miss…’

‘Callaghan. Suzie Callaghan.’

‘I dated a Suzie once,’ he tells me.

‘I thought you looked familiar,’ I joke.

He chuckles. ‘Oooh, we’ve got a lively one here, you’ll fit in just fine.’ He laughs. ‘Oi! YOU! Get off the gate and walk in like a proper human being.’

I get back in my car and do exactly as I’m told. The first day of work never gets any easier; having to muster up all that confidence, present all the positive facets of your personality and pretend to know what you’re doing. I’ve done this for six years now since leaving university and I love the spark of it, every day being different and sometimes hilarious. But teenagers are unpredictable and unforgiving beasts. It’s not even like walking into a lion’s den. It’s like walking into a room of very unimpressed cats who may attack, may engage with you but most likely will sit there and think you’re not all that. I am also conscious that this school is in South London, and about one thousand students bigger than my last, smaller Brighton-based school. These are bigger and cooler cats. I gather all my bags and teaching paraphernalia and get out of the car to hear a voice echo through the playground.

‘MISS CALLAGHAN!’ It’s Beth, standing excitedly next to her Fiat Punto.

‘WHY, HELLO, MISS CALLAGHAN!’ I shout back.

A child who looks like a new Year 7 given the size of her rucksack, looks at us petrified before scurrying away. What is this school? Why do the teachers have the same names? At leastmy first day at Griffin Road Comprehensive will be all the better for having Beth here.

I walk over to her and embrace her tightly so she can feel all my fear and worry. ‘I was going to call to see if you wanted a lift in?’

‘Oh no, I was on school runs. I haven’t even had breakfast. How are you? How are you feeling?’ She may not have eaten anything but Beth’s jollity is everything here. She was a teacher before me and she’s never let the job faze her. I like that she strolls in here with her New Balance, a couple of cloth bags and her hair bundled into a bun, ready to take it all on.

‘Nervous.’

‘Don’t be. You have me. You look so posh, by the way. How has your tan lasted?’ she asks.

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