Page 27 of Autumn in Sycamore Park
‘Okay, coats on, everyone, please. It’s getting cold out there.’
Nothing felt better than watching her pupils leave on a Friday afternoon. Several of the teachers had already planned to go to the pub, and the offer was extremely tempting. As Jennifer watched the last bus leave, however, she turned to see Greg Downton walking across the car park towards her, a sheet of paper in his hand.
‘Um, Miss Stevens, a word, please.’
‘Yes?’
‘Is this yours?’
He held up her original print of the letter and flapped it about. Jennifer groaned; she must have left it on the photocopier.
‘You do know, don’t you, that pushing your … activism on to the kids isn’t really appropriate?’
Jennifer felt her cheeks burning. Amy had suggested it was a good idea, but Jennifer had neglected to run it by the Church first.
‘It isn’t activism, it’s just a notice. There’s no obligation to do anything. And anyway, it’s a good cause. That tree is four hundred years old.’
‘About time they planted a new one, then.’
‘But what about the harvest festival? If they decide to cut down the tree, they’ll have their crews in there at the same time. It’ll be so noisy.’
‘Well, we should have had it at the Community Centre on Porter Street, shouldn’t we?’
Downton was clearly still stewing. After the council had agreed to relocating the school festival to Sycamore Park, he had put it to a vote among the teachers. Only Maud, himself and Old Don Jones had voted against. Amy, bouncing like a rubber ball, had stuck up two hands, because, ‘One’s for Clara! She’d have loved the festival to be in Sycamore Park! It was her second favorite place after her classroom!’
Downton, who still had the final say, had reluctantly agreed to the relocation.
‘I think the school should have more interest in community events,’ Jennifer said, sensing a weakening of Downton’s exoskeleton. ‘It’s good for the kids to have more awareness of the world around them.’
‘Well, run it past me first next time,’ Downton said. Grumbling under his breath, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and headed for the staffroom.
In the end,Jennifer declined the offer of a drink in the pub, preferring to go down to the high street to do a little food shopping for the weekend. Trying to convince herself she wasn’t on some sort of reconnaissance mission, she tried really hard not to be near to the museum just as it closed, pretending to browse the listings in an estate agent window as the doors opened and Gavin Gordon’s mum came out, still wearing her staff uniform, a bag over her shoulder.
‘Oh, hi there,’ Marlie said, spotting Jennifer. ‘It’s Miss Stevens, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, ah … hi. I was just doing some dreaming. Houses aren’t cheap around here, are they?’
‘They’re not cheap anywhere anymore,’ Marlie said with a sad smile. ‘Even rent is through the roof. We’re barely hanging on.’
‘It’s nice that I’ve bumped into you,’ Jennifer said. She thought about the bag of flour Gavin had upended over the Jarder twins in home economics class and wondered how she would explain it. ‘I—’
‘Oh, is it about Gavin?’ Marlie’s face brightened. ‘I don’t know how you do it, but he’s a different person since you put him in charge of your class’s cake stall. It’s all he talks about. Instead of tearing about the house, he’s been drawing out all these plans, making price lists … I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Jennifer had to force herself to speak. ‘Um … really?’
‘And it’s Miss Stevens this, Miss Stevens, that. All the time.’ Marlie took hold of Jennifer’s hands. ‘I’d like to thank you for the positive effect you’re having on my son.’ Then, quickly checking her watch, she added, ‘I have to go. I have to run to Tesco then get to the youth club to pick Gavin up before six.’ She sighed. ‘It’s tough … without his dad.’
Jennifer gave a sympathetic smile. ‘You’re doing your best. That’s the most important thing.’
Marlie nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said again.
As Jennifer watched her hurry away, she wondered how she could get Gavin to translate his newfound home attitude to the classroom, before Downton decided to expel him. It had taken a white lie—blaming it on a slip—to get him off a week’s detention for the flour incident, and Gavin was already an honorary recipient of Downton’s favourite label—prison-bound.
It wouldn’t be easy, but as Jennifer found herself growing back into the person so long suppressed by Mark’s presence, it felt less of a worry, and more of a challenge.
She glanced at her watch. Five thirty.
The food shopping could wait until tomorrow. Just enough time to run home, take Bonky out for a walk, then make a banner for tomorrow’s protest.
