He’d worked in Boomtown long enough to know that all the city’s schools were pretty much the same. The buildings were a uniform collection of characterless 1960s concrete that if fitted out differently, could equally have served as an abattoir, tax office or mortuary. The school playing fields with their sparse grass and leafless trees gave this part of Boomtown one of its few green spaces but the effect was spoiled by the large all-weather pitch – essential given the perennial rain in Boomtown - which had been covered in a rust-brown layer of crushed clinker from the iron works. When it was first built, the green theme of the playing fields had been extended to the school’s doors and window frames but over time, the fresh green paint had faded to an anonymous shade, well-suited to the unadorned concrete of the building.
But we all know that a school shouldn’t be about its buildings, it should be defined by its people. But that was the next problem - it was sometimes hard to tell the staff from the pupils. Everyone at the school wore grey – the pupils because that was the colour of the uniform and the staff because … ? He couldn’t understand why they didn’t at least try to add some colour – some rebel streak – to their clothing. It wasn’t just the way everyone dressed either, pupils and staff all walked around with the same downtrodden, hunched-shouldered gait, as if they were permanently dragging rocks behind them. When the school was gathered at morning assembly, the dull expressionless faces made it look like everyone was wearing a mask.
There was only one time of day that did have a little atmosphere - lunch time. As the streams of pupils swooped on the dining room from all parts of the school, the level of conversation rose in anticipation of the catering disasters that would be served up that day. Soggy chips were the norm and the only way to distinguish custard from gravy was that the gravy was usually sliced a little more thinly. Occasionally attempts would be made to shake up the menu. There was the famous pizza incident – something that was certain to go down in school folklore. The pizzas that were served up that day by the beaming kitchen staff completely lacked any flavour – but it hadn’t taken long for some bright spark to work out that they made quite dangerous frisbees. A few serious injuries were sustained before teachers managed to restore order in the dining room that day. Goes without saying that pizza never featured on the menu again.
Because everyone took maths – his subject – he at least had the benefit of a large and airy classroom. Generally, he was able to keep the room fairly smart and tidy. The only thing he couldn’t keep control of were the small wads of chewed paper that peppered the ceiling. He knew this represented a huge showdown between him and his class – and it was clear to all that he was losing. He never saw anything get launched upward to stick on the water-stained ceiling tiles but a quick tally at the end of each day told him that more had been added. He suspected the problem was the pair of columns that supported the wide ceiling – without fail, the trouble-makers in each class would sit behind the columns and even if he kept moving as he taught, there was always at least one member of the class that was sat in his blind-spot. He figured that was their opportunity to launch yet another soggy wad of chewed paper, but despite all his efforts, he’d never been able to catch anyone in the act.
And so that was it for most of his working life – a generally bland job in a bland school, with bland colleagues and bland and unruly pupils. Except – and even before this next thought was fully formed, he inwardly felt a twinge of guilt – there was Mary. He was pretty sure she had always been at the school but it was only when she entered the fourth form that he had noticed her. She was tall and with her long raven hair, she looked much older than her sixteen years. And worst of all for him, she always sat in the front row, stretching out her long legs, staring at him……
He constantly fought an inner battle to rationalise the situation. Of course she’d be looking at him –– he was the teacher. Hell, every member of the class should be looking at him!! But as each lesson dragged on, he could feel those deep hazel eyes burning deeper and deeper….The bell that sounded the end of class never seemed to come soon enough and after a communal sigh of relief the pupils would begin to shuffle out. But not Mary, she always took her time pulling up her stockings before putting her things away. She’d drop something on the floor and slowly bend to pick it up is if drawing out the torment for him. He’d move towards her – he wasn’t sure what his intention was but if he’d been asked, it was to hurry her along to her next class. But every time, just as he got near, she’d gather up the last of her things and smiling at him, would leave the room. As this little drama repeated itself, that smile had begun to morph into a laugh. Was she mocking him?
The thought of that taunting laugh stayed with him all day and afraid that he might reveal something to his colleagues, rather than spend the final hour in the staff room, he mumbled some excuse about having to leave early. As he walked home, he began to imagine Mary’s life outside school. He pictured her at home as night fell, dressing in her tightest jeans, her make up carefully applied to maintain the pretence of her age. Midweek, the bar wouldn’t be so crowded and she needn’t worry about money – she’d be offered smokes and a light and be plied with drinks by the boys that hovered in the gloom around the pool tables. As she slowly soaked up the music-filled atmosphere, she’d play a couple of games of pool and although she didn’t need their help, she’d enjoy the close contact as the boys tried to steady her hold on the cue or work with her to line up a shot. When the mood took her, she’d leave with one of the boys and in her wake, a trail of disappointment. The boys in the bar lived with the hope that maybe next time, she’d choose one of them to leave with. The teacher knew he could never head out into the night with Mary of the Fourth Form.
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Brilliant, Colin...