mail boxes, which were painted cream with brown specks where the paint had been chipped off, clutching a mug of coffee in her right hand. Her left was holding a neat A5 memo topped with the school logo and a few words of Latin she had never got around to finding out the meaning of.
‘A whole-school assembly,’ she announced to no one in particular. ‘I wonder what’s got up old Hag-greaves’ nose this time,’ she added before sipping her coffee.
About twenty teachers were sharing the staffroom with her, most of them having a chat on some decrepit chairs that looked like they had been cleared out when their Victorian owners had decided to spruce up their country home. A couple of men nattered by the metal sink as they rinsed out their mugs, while a woman recoiled and twitched up her nose before hurriedly closing the fridge door.
‘It’s probably a lecture to warn the kids about the perils of chewing gum, about how it’ll stick to your ribs if you swallow it. Whatever it is,’ continued the young woman after another sip of coffee, ‘at least it gets me out of touch rugby with Grade 10. There’s that kid, David Higgins, drives me nuts.’ She moved over to a small settee. ‘Shove up, Paul,’ she ordered a brown-haired colleague wearing a pair of specs containing enough glass to construct a champagne magnum. ‘He refuses to catch the ball. Says it’s dirty. It’s been on the grass, it’s got mud on it. And people spit on the pitch. How can he be expected to touch something like that? Nuts,’ she repeated, shaking her head. ‘Even listening to Hag-greaves for half an hour is better than suffering that.’
‘I was going to give Grade 12 a test on cell metabolism today,’ commented Paul gloomily, shuffling his glasses along his nose. ‘I feel sorry for the students, they’ve been preparing for weeks. It’s a bit unfair on them to have it cancelled at such short notice.’
‘Sure. They’ll be well miffed they’ve missed that.’
‘It’s all right for you two,’ came a man’s voice from across the coffee table. ‘You can guess what I’ve got first thing. A double free. That means I won’t get the homework marked ready to give back this afternoon.’
‘Should have marked it last night, like a good boy.’
‘That’s all right for you to say, you’re a PE teacher, you never have to mark any.’
‘And there’s no such thing as a free period,’ returned the young woman. ‘It’s correctly referred to as a non-contact session; if the thought police are listening in, Hag-greaves will have you strangled with your own guts.’
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ came a soft voice from behind the young PE teacher. A grey-haired woman crouched down so that her eyes were level with her sitting colleagues’. ‘But the assembly could be being called for something serious, don’t discount that. I don’t want to sound prissy, but you might regret speaking so lightly about it if it is.’
‘The last disaster to hit the place didn’t have us all trooping into the hall to have Hag-greaves put us to sleep,’ commented the young woman in the burgundy skirt. ‘And disasters don’t come bigger than that.’
‘No. No, they don’t,’ agreed the grey-haired woman sadly as she stood up straight.
7
Hart and Redpath spent an hour wandering around the school, watching it wake up. Teachers were arriving, dumping their bags in their classrooms before checking their pigeonholes in the staffroom and preparing that all-important first caffeine fix of the working day. The secretaries went to settle their belongings in their offices and then off to powder their noses. And then the students drifted in and out to fetch and carry books and knick-knacks from their lockers. Some of the older ones looked distressed; it was amazing how the news had begun to leach out already.
The two men took a stroll to survey the grounds. Centuries ago the school had been the country home of some knight of the shire and so all
‘A whole-school assembly,’ she announced to no one in particular. ‘I wonder what’s got up old Hag-greaves’ nose this time,’ she added before sipping her coffee.
About twenty teachers were sharing the staffroom with her, most of them having a chat on some decrepit chairs that looked like they had been cleared out when their Victorian owners had decided to spruce up their country home. A couple of men nattered by the metal sink as they rinsed out their mugs, while a woman recoiled and twitched up her nose before hurriedly closing the fridge door.
‘It’s probably a lecture to warn the kids about the perils of chewing gum, about how it’ll stick to your ribs if you swallow it. Whatever it is,’ continued the young woman after another sip of coffee, ‘at least it gets me out of touch rugby with Grade 10. There’s that kid, David Higgins, drives me nuts.’ She moved over to a small settee. ‘Shove up, Paul,’ she ordered a brown-haired colleague wearing a pair of specs containing enough glass to construct a champagne magnum. ‘He refuses to catch the ball. Says it’s dirty. It’s been on the grass, it’s got mud on it. And people spit on the pitch. How can he be expected to touch something like that? Nuts,’ she repeated, shaking her head. ‘Even listening to Hag-greaves for half an hour is better than suffering that.’
‘I was going to give Grade 12 a test on cell metabolism today,’ commented Paul gloomily, shuffling his glasses along his nose. ‘I feel sorry for the students, they’ve been preparing for weeks. It’s a bit unfair on them to have it cancelled at such short notice.’
‘Sure. They’ll be well miffed they’ve missed that.’
‘It’s all right for you two,’ came a man’s voice from across the coffee table. ‘You can guess what I’ve got first thing. A double free. That means I won’t get the homework marked ready to give back this afternoon.’
‘Should have marked it last night, like a good boy.’
‘That’s all right for you to say, you’re a PE teacher, you never have to mark any.’
‘And there’s no such thing as a free period,’ returned the young woman. ‘It’s correctly referred to as a non-contact session; if the thought police are listening in, Hag-greaves will have you strangled with your own guts.’
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ came a soft voice from behind the young PE teacher. A grey-haired woman crouched down so that her eyes were level with her sitting colleagues’. ‘But the assembly could be being called for something serious, don’t discount that. I don’t want to sound prissy, but you might regret speaking so lightly about it if it is.’
‘The last disaster to hit the place didn’t have us all trooping into the hall to have Hag-greaves put us to sleep,’ commented the young woman in the burgundy skirt. ‘And disasters don’t come bigger than that.’
‘No. No, they don’t,’ agreed the grey-haired woman sadly as she stood up straight.
7
Hart and Redpath spent an hour wandering around the school, watching it wake up. Teachers were arriving, dumping their bags in their classrooms before checking their pigeonholes in the staffroom and preparing that all-important first caffeine fix of the working day. The secretaries went to settle their belongings in their offices and then off to powder their noses. And then the students drifted in and out to fetch and carry books and knick-knacks from their lockers. Some of the older ones looked distressed; it was amazing how the news had begun to leach out already.
The two men took a stroll to survey the grounds. Centuries ago the school had been the country home of some knight of the shire and so all
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