Star Teacher by Jack Sheffield Page B

worry, Mrs F, we’ve all got crosses t’bear,’ said Ruby with feeling, ‘it’s jus’ that mine’s a reight ’eavy one.’
    â€˜So what exactly is the problem?’ asked Vera.
    â€˜Well … it’s m’
motions
, Mrs F.’
    â€˜
Motions!
’ exclaimed Vera. Ruby was a dear friend, but bowel movements were not an ideal topic for discussion.
    â€˜Yes, Mrs F. Ah don’t know if ah’m comin’ or goin’.’
    â€˜Really?’ said Vera with forced sympathy.
    â€˜Yes, it’s m’motions … like ah used to ’ave when ah were courtin’ my Ronnie. Y’know, all them ’ot flushes and feelin’ giddy an’ suchlike.’
    The penny dropped. ‘Ah, your
e
motions!’ Vera looked at her friend with a new intensity. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said, smiling and nodding knowingly. She knew what it was that was causing concern for Ruby … and it had nothing to do with bodily functions.
    I was in the entrance hall after thanking Valerie Flint for her work when Vera stepped out of the office and gently closed the door behind her.
    â€˜I’ll say goodnight now, Mr Sheffield,’ she said. ‘I’m having a chat with Ruby – she’s got things on her mind.’
    â€˜Is there anything I can do to help?’
    â€˜Not really. It’s more to do with, well … affairs of the heart.’
    â€˜So, Ruby’s not unwell?’
    â€˜No, she’s fine.’
    â€˜I see,’ I said … though I didn’t.
    As she turned to go back into the office Vera paused and smiled. ‘Let’s just say, Mr Sheffield, that you can’t beat
a fine romance
.’
    I was none the wiser as I drove home.

Chapter Four
The Solitude of Secrets
    A staff meeting was held following Mr Gomersall’s visit to school to discuss the issues relating to the proposed closure of Morton School.
    Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
Friday, 25 October 1985
    Vera was in her kitchen staring out of the window beyond the manicured lawns of Morton Manor. The cool fingers of autumn had touched the trees and the leaves shone bronze in the morning sun. Teardrop cobwebs were strung like pearls through the hedgerows while the gauze of mist caressed the soft earth like a soul stretched tight in sorrow.
    Fantasie in F Minor
was playing on her radio and its heartbreaking opening melody always brought tears to her eyes. For Vera, Schubert’s piano duets were among his finest works, but on this particular morning it did not soothe her troubled mind. There were decisions to make … important ones. However, for now they would have to remain a secret.
    She glanced at her wristwatch, checked her appearance in the hall mirror, made a minute adjustment to the Victorian brooch above the top button of her silk blouse, smoothed the seat of her pin-striped business suit, picked up her royal-blue leather handbag, said goodbye to her three cats and then to Rupert, in that order, and strode out to her Austin Metro.
    It was 8.15 a.m. on Friday, 25 October and Vera had something important on her mind.
    On my way to school I called into Victor Pratt’s garage to fill up with petrol. I parked next to the single pump and Victor, elder brother of Timothy and Nora, lumbered out.
    â€˜Fill her up, please, Victor,’ I said and handed over a £10 note. ‘And how are you?’ I added, then wished I hadn’t. As usual, he had an ailment.
    â€˜Not good, Mr Sheffield,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Ah’ve got shootin’ pains in m’shoulder.’
    â€˜I’m sorry to hear that.’
    â€˜Ah’m in agony,’ he went on. ‘In fac’, ah’m a martyr t’me misery.’
    I considered this to be somewhat melodramatic, but pressed on regardless. ‘Perhaps it’s sciatica,’ I suggested in an attempt to be both informative and sympathetic.
    â€˜No, it’s