Page 41 of Worth the Wait
Nathan gave another nod, though that wasn’t strictly true. The garage wasn’t exactly bursting at the seams with business. Half the regulars were now taking their cars elsewhere because they clearly didn’t trust a sixty-five-year-old bloke to service their vehicles properly, or because they’d figured out how to change a spark plug from a ten-minute YouTube video and a Halfords loyalty card.
Still, Nathan said nothing.
He was used to this. Sitting across desks. Trying not to look like the worst version of himself. Trying not to let his past bleed into Alfie’s present.
He’d turned up.
That had to count for something.
“I wanted to reach out to you about a few concerns we’ve had around Alfie’s start here at Worthbridge Academy.” Mr Ellison folded his hands on the desk as if he was about to say something that might not land well. Then he addressed Alfie. “How do you think it’s gone so far, Alfie?”
Alfie shrugged, slouched even lower in his chair, and let out a grunt that could’ve meantfine,don’t care, orscrew you. Hard to tell. But if Nathan had to bet, he’d put money on the latter. Alfie had a knack for turning apathy into an art form.
“We appreciate how challenging it can be for a student to join partway through the term. Especially when he’ll be choosing his options. There’s a lot of change for Alfie toprocess. New environment, new routines, new faces. So yes, we’re making some allowances where we can.”
Nathan gave a nod. He knew what was coming.
“But we are picking up on a consistent pattern across subjects. His teachers have all raised similar concerns.”
“Which are?”
“Mostly around behaviour. It’s not extreme. Yet. But we’re seeing refusal to follow instructions, low-level disruption, lack of engagement. There’s also some ongoing uniform issues—”
“That’s my fault,” Nathan piped up. “They were out of the blazers, not coming in for a couple of weeks, so I said it’d be alright to wear the hoodie to school as it’s cold.”
“We don’t allow hoodies in school, and we’ve given him a spare blazer which he’s refusing to put on.”
Nathan glanced down at Alfie’s bag. Inside was a scrunched-up blazer.
“Don’t want no reject blazer,” Alfie spat. “You want me to get a beating?”
“We’ve also had more of that,” Mr Ellison said, widening his eyes at Alfie. “Backchat, that’s escalating.”
He gave Alfie a quick look. The kid stared ahead, stone-faced.
“I know this isn’t easy. Uprooting. Starting over. Adjusting to new expectations. And possibly some changes at home, too?”
Nathan felt his jaw tighten but nodded again, hoping the man would steer clear of that thread.
“We’re all here to help Alfie settle and succeed, and we want him to feel like he belongs here. But we also need him to meet us halfway. Right now, that give-and-take balance isn’t there.”
Nathan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the plastic chair. He hated thissetup. The desk, the notepad, the soft-spoken concern dressed up as professionalism. He recognised the script too well. It was the same tone he’d used on green lads straight off the bus at Catterick. Lads with chip-on-the-shoulder attitudes and fuck-all trust in authority. He’d been one of them once. Back then, the officers had called it “having a word.” What they really meant was:you’re already on the scrap heap, son. Don’t make us regret giving you a shot.
And now here he was. On the other side of the desk. Listening to that same language used abouthisboy. Didn’t matter that he’d made it out. Didn’t matter that he’d worn the uniform, led lads through hell and back, or trained recruits who’d never seen their dads sober. In this room, withthisteacher, he was another bloke who’d fucked off for most of his kid’s life. And now his kid was acting up.
There was no way that wasn’t his fault.
“I wanted to bring this to you early,” Mr Ellison said. “Before it spirals. He was in isolation today, which really isn’t ideal for new students. It removes them from the classroom environment, from peers. It sends a message. And we don’t want that to be the tone of Alfie’s first week.”
Nathan looked at his son staring blankly at the floor.
He swallowed down the burn of failure creeping up his throat.
He hadn’t been around to teach the kid how to do this. How to show up. How to not self-sabotage.
And now he was trying to parent from behind the curve. Starting the race three laps down.
“I get it,” Nathan said. “I want him to do well here, too. That’s why he’s here.” He nudged Alfie’s arm gently. “You’ll do better, won’t you, Alf?”
