Page 3 of Autumn in Sycamore Park
‘Matthew Bridges,’ the boy said, in a weak, nervous voice.
‘Yes, Matthew, do you have a question?’
‘Yes, Miss. Is Miss Goldsmith coming back?’
The rest of the class erupted into sudden cheers, the boys clapping each other on the backs, the girls tittering behind their hands. One rough-looking boy gave Matthew a hearty back slap, to which the boy just looked down at his feet, and Jennifer got the impression she had been the butt of a joke the poor boy had been set up to deliver.
‘I’m afraid she’s never coming back,’ she said, feeling a sudden resentment towards this group of devils in Tesco Back-to-School clothing. ‘She’s never coming back again. In fact—’
Don’t say it, don’t say it,whispered a voice of reason that Jennifer was quick to stamp out.
‘—she’s never coming back, because she’s joined a cult and run off to South America.’
A little girl at the back began to cry, and Jennifer immediately felt like the worst teacher in the world. She smiled, clapping her hands together, and said, ‘That was a joke! She’s fine … as far as I know. She’s just retired. It happens. You’ll retire one day, when you’re old and grey.’
Two girls were now crying.
Near the front, a tall boy with a sensible, mature look in his eyes leaned forward and whispered, ‘Miss, first class is geography. Why don’t we watch a DVD?’
Jennifer was tempted to berate him for trying to do her job, but as he nodded at a box of DVDs next to a large, widescreen TV in the corner, she understood.
He was trying to save her.
‘Great idea,’ she said, hurrying across to the box and pulling out a documentary on Ancient Egypt. It wasn’t geography, but what did it matter? They probably didn’t know the difference … or so she hoped. ‘Get your notebooks out, please.’
Her hands were shaking as she slid the DVD into the player, and to her relief the disc automatically started to play. The sensible boy, along with two others, jumped up and began to run around the classroom, closing the curtains, while the other kids shuffled their chairs forward.
As another boy switched off the lights, Jennifer sat down on a stool in the semi-darkness and breathed a sigh of relief.
She could do this. She really could.
And she didn’t need a swift glass of wine to pull it off.
By lunch time,things had begun to take a turn for the better. After half an hour of watching the DVD on Ancient Egypt, she’d set them to drawing pictures of Egyptians in extravagant, scribbled headdresses, which took the focus off her long enough that she could begin to get herself together. With the kids busy in their activity, she was able to mingle, learn a few names, pick up on some of the class dynamics.
Matthew Bridges was the class whipping boy, the butt of all the jokes, the poor kid whose very appearance made school life a never-ending minefield. The kid sitting next to him, Gavin Gordon, the resident disrupter and bully, had seemingly altered his seating position after Miss Goldsmith’s departure, hoping Jennifer wouldn’t notice. Quickly picking up on the vibe, however, she moved him to sit further to the back, among a group of bigger boys less likely to put up with his teasing, and giving Matthew—during class time at least—a little respite.
Overall, though, they seemed like nice kids. With the exception of Gavin and a couple of other rowdy boys, they were polite, called her Miss, and didn’t give her much backtalk. There were a pair of identical twins—Becky and Kelly Jarder—whom she couldn’t yet tell apart, but otherwise, she was surviving with at least tentative ease.
‘You made it to lunchtime without handing in your papers,’ said Miss Clairmont, standing by the door to the dining hall, a Paw Patrol apron tied around her waist. One of the dogs—Jennifer couldn’t guess at their names—had its eyes obscured by some old scorch mark. ‘It’s tough when you’re starting at a new school, isn’t it?’
Jennifer smiled. ‘It’s a work in progress,’ she said.
‘Miss Goldsmith had them from Reception to Year Two, and kids always bond with their first teacher. I’m Amy, by the way. Of course, you have to call me Miss Clairmont in front of the kids, otherwise Old Downton Abbey will have a fit.’
‘Is that his nickname?’
Amy glanced from side to side and smiled. ‘I didn’t tell you,’ she said. ‘The kids were straight on it a few years back when the show came out. The first kid to say it to his face got suspended, so it went underground. Now the show’s finished, it’s died out among the kids for the most part, but us teachers have longer memories.’
‘He’s certainly a little stern.’
‘You’ll get used to it.’
‘If I survive long enough.’
Amy smiled. ‘I’d worry more about Rick than the kids.’
‘Rick? You mean, uh, Mr. Fellow?’
