Page 2 of Autumn in Sycamore Park
‘I was moving house—’
‘Hang on a minute. I’ll call the Head. He’s in the morning meeting.’
Jennifer, feeling more and more awkward as the minutes passed, waited for the headmaster to arrive. A few more groups of kids passed her as they ambled towards class. Some of them sniggered behind cupped hands, making Jennifer tingle with the first rattle of paranoia.
Please don’t be like Dottenham. Please, please, please.
A stern man in a grey sweater vest over a greyer Marks & Spencer shirt stepped out of a door a little further down the corridor. His hair was pepper flecked and thinning down a centre line. Just like the receptionist, he looked unfamiliar to the concept of happiness, and couldn’t have been more of a headmaster stereotype if Jennifer had cut him out of a school prospectus. Jennifer smiled as he glared at her, eyes narrowing behind thin-rimmed glasses, nostrils flaring like a bull readying for a charge.
‘Miss Stevens?’
‘Yes, that’s me.’
With a sudden unexpected grin, the man clapped his hands together and gave a hearty laugh.
‘You’re young! They’re going to love you.’
‘Excuse me? I’m thirty-six—’
‘Have you been a teacher long? You can’t have been. They say teachers age at twice the rate of normal people.’ Before Jennifer could point out that she had only been a teacher for three years, having opted for a career change after years of boring office work, but that it had been three of the hardest years of her life, the man stuck out a hand and said, ‘Greg Downton. Call me Greg in private, Mr. Downton in front of the kids.’
He led her down the corridor and into a messy, busy staffroom. Calling for a moment’s attention from the other assembled teachers, none of whom looked willing to stop what they were doing, he introduced her.
‘Pay attention please, we’re supposed to be in a meeting, remember?’ When no one responded other than to close books or set coffees down, he raised his voice a level and said, ‘This is Jennifer Stevens.’ From behind a photocopier near the back, Rick Fellow gave her a little wave. ‘She’s the new form teacher for Year Three. As you know, she couldn’t make the training days, so please lend her a hand if need be. Do you want to say anything, Jennifer?’
Caught off guard, Jennifer just stared at the faces watching her. Aside from Rick and one tubby young girl who gave her a wide grin, most of the teachers were older than her and looked keen to get back on with their work.
‘Uh, it’s nice to meet you,’ Jennifer stammered. ‘I’m looking forward to working here.’
One teacher near the front, a short man with an obvious comb-over, snorted and said something under his breath as he rifled through a stack of papers. Another older woman sighed.
‘Right, well, that’s nice,’ Greg Downton said. ‘Enjoy your day, everyone. Oh, by the way, Colin Waite from Year Four got caught shoplifting last night and has been suspended for a week. He bagged the new edition of Resident Evil from Kay’s Electrics on the high street.’
‘Good game, that,’ Rick said, at the same time as the short teacher in the front muttered, ‘Send the thug to Borstal.’
‘Yes, well, can you gather after lunch for a short meeting about it?’ As several teachers moaned under their breath, Greg seemed to remember Jennifer was standing beside him. ‘Oh, your desk is back there, between Miss Clairmont and Mr. Fellow. I’m sure they’ll show you how it all works. Come to my office at nine-fifteen and I’ll take you to your class. I’m sure the little toerags are looking forward to meeting you.’
Jennifer grimaced. ‘I hope so,’ she said.
2
Sycamore Park
Greg Downton lookedaround the watching faces. ‘Stand up, please.’
The twenty children sitting around five bright blue plastic desks all stood up. A couple at the back pushed each other, one other dithering girl wanted to finish off a doodle Jennifer hoped was supposed to be Snoopy on her notebook. Greg clapped his hands sharply, and at last the class stood to attention.
‘This is Miss Stevens,’ Greg said. ‘She will be your teacher in Year Three. Call her Miss Stevens, and be polite, or you’ll be outside my office or picking up leaves from the school field every lunchtime. Is that understood?’
A chorus of muted ‘Yes, sirs,’ came from the children.
‘Good.’ Greg clapped his hands together again. ‘Right, well, it’s over to you, Jen—uh, Miss Stevens. Don’t let these …darlingsfool you with their innocence. Any dissent and you send them straight to me.’
Jennifer gave Greg an awkward nod as the stern headmaster went out, closing the door with a loud thump. She looked around the kids, most of whom were still staring at her, feeling a sudden brain-freeze. She’d survived for three years in Dottenham, and while at times that school had been a living hell, the kids alone hadn’t been the reason why she’d left.
A hand had risen from a short, frail boy with spectacles so thick you couldn’t be sure of the size of his eyes.
‘Ah, yes? What’s your name?’
