Page 1 of Autumn in Sycamore Park
1
A new wind blowing
Animals.
With her front foot nudging the base of the fire doors, and the hand not clutching the overloaded bag of textbooks she might or might not need lifted in readiness to force her way ahead, Jennifer Stevens paused at the entrance to Brentwell Primary, racked by a sudden tsunami of self-doubt.
Imagine them as blood-thirsty, cannibalistic animals, and things couldn’t surely go worse. In fact, things might seem better.
Another voice was more practical:think of the rent, the electricity, and the hot water you’re going to need if we get the kind of winter the TV keeps talking about. You need this job, and you’ve got this.
And still a third had something to say, making Jennifer wonder just how many of them there might be knocking about up there, waiting to show themselves at the exact wrong moment and get her committed, or worse:run, while you still can. Buy that camper van that you’ve always promised yourself and take off across Europe. You’re thirty-six, Jennifer, remember? The clock is ticking. Most people your age are married off and/or dragging balls and chains in the shape of the little darlings you get to wave goodbye to at a quarter past three each day. Be thankful for your holy singleness. You nearly screwed it up in Dottenham. Don’t make the same mistake again. Are you paying attention?
She was, at least she had thought so until the door in front of her began to open with a sudden alarming creak of its hinges. Slowed in its outward arc by a fireproof mat, the delay was just long enough for Jennifer to step backwards onto a patch of muddy grass before a paper cup of coffee, closely followed by an arm in a navy blue sweater, and then finally by the remainder of a human male a little younger than Jennifer, stepped outside.
He made straight for the steps she had so recently vacated, and might have passed her by without acknowledgement, had she not slipped in a little patch of mud and, afraid of unbalancing, let out a gasp of fright. Pausing in his stride, he glanced sideways, his face registering a hint of both surprise and shock, followed by a rather inappropriately raised eyebrow. He was easy enough on the eye, if a little young for Jennifer’s tastes, but an annoyed smirk doused any potential fire of excitement before it could really get going.
‘Oh, hello,’ he said, the condescension in his voice matching that in his face. ‘Are you the new girl?’
‘Um, thank you for not showering me with coffee. I was just considering quitting before I’d even started, but you’ve made me strengthen my resolve just enough to at least make it as far as the staffroom.’ She stuck out a hand. ‘Jennifer Stevens.’
‘Rick Fellow. I teach Year Five. You replaced Clara Goldsmith, is that right?’
‘I don’t know her name, only that she retired.’
Rick nodded. ‘All good, then. Her class are the angels. You’ll be fine.’
‘Please tell me you’re not just saying that.’
‘No, I’m not. Actually, yes I am. They’re a nightmare. They told you she retired, but that was a lie because they couldn’t get anyone to take the job. She’s in a mental institution, straitjacketed, night and day. Apparently she wails all night long about pins being left on her chair, and buckets of water propped over a slightly ajar door.’
Jennifer stared. Rick started to laugh, one hand on a metal handrail, the other barely keeping hold of the coffee.
‘Sorry, I really am joking. They’re all right, your lot. Actually, they’re so quiet they have a ready made nickname this year … the Year Trees. Old Clara could barely get a word out of them. Said those classes dragged. Probably why she was lacing her coffee with brandy of a Monday morning.’
‘That’s it,’ Jennifer said. ‘I quit.’
She started to turn, but her heel chose that moment to slip in the mud, and to stop herself falling, she snatched for the handrail by the steps, managing only to grab hold of Rick’s hand.
A moment of awkwardness passed between them before Jennifer steadied herself and regained the safety of the concrete footpath.
‘Careful, if the kids see us there’ll be talk,’ Rick said, with another smug grin. ‘Anyway, it was lovely to meet you. I hope to see you again before you run screaming from this place with your tail between your legs. I left something in my car, so I’d better get a move on.’
He hurried on down the footpath, leaving Jennifer standing by the door. She smoothed down her blouse and jacket, then headed inside, along the corridor, following signs for a reception desk. At least now she’d broken the ice with one member of staff, she felt a little better, even if Rick Fellow hadn’t left the best impression. She passed a few groups of children in sky-blue sweaters and black trousers and skirts, all of whom treated her as though she didn’t exist. She glanced across a few faces, wondering which, if any, might be in her class.
‘Hello?’ she called into the reception window. ‘I’m Jennifer Stevens. The new Year Three form teacher?’
A dumpy woman in her fifties who looked like she hadn’t smiled since childhood, dropped down a pile of photocopying with a sigh and came stumping over.
‘Yes?’
‘Jennifer Stevens?’
‘What? I’m Maud Lee. What can I help you with?’
‘Uh, no, I mean that I’m Jennifer Stevens. The new teacher?’
‘Ah. You’re the one who couldn’t make the training days.’
