Page 10 of Autumn in Sycamore Park
‘We’ll have to cancel any songs or performances,’ Greg said. ‘Unfortunately there won’t be the space.’
Amy began to sob.
‘Look at her,’ Rick muttered, leaning close to Jennifer. ‘What a crybaby.’ He leaned across in front of Jennifer, making her flinch away from his aftershave. ‘Look on the bright side, Clair. Less staying late, less working weekends—’
‘I don’t care!’
At the front, Greg clapped his hands together again. ‘Right, well, that’s about it. The meeting’s over.’
Some teachers shuffled out to head back to their form rooms or to go home. Greg disappeared into his office, and Rick pulled his jacket off the back of his chair and swung it around his shoulders with a flourish.
‘Right, ladies, I’ll be on my way. Brentwell’s finest will be lining the streets in expectation. See you later, Jenny. Enjoy your night in, Clair.’
Amy narrowed her eyes as Rick departed, then wiped her nose with a tissue and resumed her current task, which was emptying tiny paper circles out a box of pink hole punches.
‘Wow, he really likes you,’ she said to Jennifer. ‘Good luck with that.’
‘I suppose some people must find him attractive,’ Jennifer said with a smile. ‘He has a certain teenage charm. Whenever he speaks I want to swat him like a fly.’
‘You’re not really going to meet him, are you?’
‘I’d rather stay in and watch the news all night,’ Jennifer said. ‘He’s not really my type, and anyway….’
‘You have a boyfriend?’
Jennifer smiled, then let it drop. She didn’t need to go there right now. ‘I’d better get going,’ she said. ‘The dog and cat will be craving my attention. It really is bad news about the harvest festival, isn’t it?’
Amy nodded, then quickly covered her mouth with the handkerchief before she could sob all over Jennifer’s desk.
When Jennifer left halfan hour later, Rick was still hanging about in the staff car park, leaning against his car and playing on his phone as though waiting for someone. To avoid an unnecessary confrontation, she slipped back into the school before he had seen her and went out of the front entrance instead. This route would add a few minutes to her walk home, but according to an email Greg had sent out, Porter Street was only a couple of extra minutes north, so Jennifer decided to swing past and have a look at the new site of their harvest festival for herself.
At her last school, where the kids were decidedly more on the devilish side than those at Brentwell Primary, her only real memory of the harvest festival was of a couple of delinquent Year Sixes setting fire to the straw man the Year Ones had spent the entire month preparing. The wind had blown the flames on to the awning of a neighbouring fruit and vegetable stall, the fire brigade had been summoned, and the whole festival had been abandoned.
While she didn’t expect such extreme circumstances to be repeated, she hardly felt enthusiastic, and so far her struggle to survive her first week had left her with no energy even to think about it. On Greg’s official program her class was supposed to organise a cake stall, but what that entailed she was yet to work out.
She only had to consult her phone’s map a couple of times to find Porter Street, but when she turned down the narrow cul-de-sac and found herself face to face with the community centre, she felt a sinking feeling inside. It wasn’t quite the caravan Rick had claimed, but it was a cabin, probably large enough for about twenty people. In front was a weed-strewn, gravel parking area full of ruts and puddles. On one side was an abandoned car garage, its sign faded, paint peeling, while the other backed on to a recycling plant, a tall, rusty panel fence topped with barbed wire, stinging nettles growing in clumps around its base.
What joy the children would feel when they saw it. Jennifer was tempted to set the cabin on fire herself; at least that way they could get a little autumn colour. She went a little closer, wandering around the back of the cabin, where a cluster of broken bottles were choking in the weeds, and someone had spray-painted a large curse word in red paint on the recycling plant’s fence.
She sighed. Perhaps it would be better if Greg cancelled the festival altogether.
6
Hauntings
The direct routeback to Jennifer’s flat from Porter Street led down through the north entrance to Sycamore Park. The smells of fresh cooking greeted her as she approached the Oak Leaf Café. Outside, several tables were occupied, and through the open door Jennifer saw Angela bustling about in the kitchen, preparing orders.
There appeared to be no one else on duty, so Jennifer went inside, leaned over the counter and called Angela’s name.
‘Are you all right in there? Would you like some help?’
Angela turned around. When she recognised Jennifer, she gave a wide smile and clasped her hands in front of her heart.
‘If you could save my life and help with the next couple of orders, you can eat for free for the next week,’ she said. ‘The lad I had on this afternoon called in sick, and I just got a big takeaway order for a family party.’ She nodded at a line of hanging aprons by the door. ‘Come in and put one of those on.’
It had been a long time since Jennifer had done anything in a kitchen other than select a microwave setting, but Angela soon had her buzzing around, peeling and chopping, kneading, folding and basting, stirring, pouring and sprinkling. Within half an hour, they had fulfilled the current orders and had three pies baking in the oven ready for the Saturday rush.
‘Fantastic,’ Angela said, pulling off her apron and clapping flour off her hands with two hard sideways strokes. ‘You’re raw, but I could train you.’
