Different Class (43 page)

She laughed. It even sounded sincere, until you looked at those eyes.

‘Oh, Roy. You’re such a character. But you must see you’ll never win. Better to step out gracefully than to see your career overshadowed by the kind of thing that’s bound to come out if you stay on at St Oswald’s.’

‘You mean, you think I should retire?’

‘Yes, and as soon as possible. Ill-health should give you sufficient grounds, or maybe a family crisis.’

‘You haven’t done your research,’ I said. ‘St Oswald’s is my family.’

She shrugged. ‘We’d give you full support. Full pay until the end of the year. That, on top of your pension, should leave you more than comfortable.’

I started to feel angry at that. ‘You think this is about money?’ I said.

‘No, of course not,’ said Ms Buckfast. ‘It’s always been about the School. You see, Roy, I
have
done my research. And I know that change is your enemy. But St Oswald’s
is
changing. From being a second-rate grammar school, riddled with outdated traditions, we’re going to make it into the finest independent school in the north. We’ll have the best facilities; the best, most highly qualified staff. Boys and girls, working alongside each other in the best possible environment. But for that, we need to change certain things. We need to move on. We need our
people
to move on.’

‘And you think I can’t?’

‘I know you
won’t
.’ She shook her head. ‘Look, Roy. This isn’t personal. I rather
like
your little eccentricities. But it’s time to go. You know it is. You’re no match for us, and I’d rather see you retire gracefully than leave under a cloud.’

‘I don’t mean to leave at all,’ I said. ‘I mean to die at my post, and be mortared into the brickwork, along with the other gargoyles.’

She sighed. ‘That isn’t an option, Roy. Health & Safety would never allow it.’

She has a sense of humour, I thought. What a pity her eyes are so cold.

‘We rather thought we might not need to have this talk,’ said La Buckfast. ‘But since you’re being so stubborn—’

‘Who’s this
we
?’ I interrupted. ‘Have you and Johnny Harrington merged as one, like Hermaphroditus and Salmacis? Or is it the pronoun of the New Order? Let me tell you, Ms Buckfast, we can have as many of these little talks as you like. You can sit in on as many of my lessons as you like, and observe as many dictations and silent prose translations as you can stomach, but you will not force me to retire; nor will you convince me that principle should ever give in to progress.’

That smile again. It occurred to me once more how much she reminds me of the intrepid Miss Dare.

‘Principle?’ she repeated. ‘Roy, this is
all about principles
. Listen, we’ve discussed this. We think that you may be getting too close to a group of boys in your form. Especially young Allen-Jones. We think he’s a toxic influence.’

I made the Old Head’s favourite sound. ‘There are
several
of those around,’ I said. ‘But Allen-Jones isn’t one of them. I mean, what is he supposed to have done?’

That smile again. ‘Oh, Roy,’ she said. ‘You’re so protective of your boys. I do respect that, really I do. But after the Rupert Gunderson thing—’

I said, in a few choice Latin words, what I thought of Gunderson.

The smile did not waver. La Buckfast said: ‘Yes, well. The fact of the matter is, Allen-Jones may be facing expulsion.’

I sprang to my feet. My lower back creaked alarmingly.

‘No,’ I said. ‘That isn’t fair.’

It occurred to me that my choice of words made me sound more like a schoolboy than an Old Centurion of St Oswald’s, but the events of the past few weeks have made me feel like a schoolboy in my own department. It isn’t a pleasant feeling, and for once I can’t blame Dr Devine.

‘It isn’t about fairness,’ she said. ‘It’s about avoiding disruption. Your boy Allen-Jones doesn’t fit in here. He’s a disruptive influence. Just look at Benedicta Wild. We’re trying to rebuild St Oswald’s, Roy, and that means getting rid of those things that stand in the way of progress. It may have been all right once for St Oswald’s to be eccentric, old-fashioned and full of character. But now, it needs to run properly, and it won’t if the machinery is full of old parts that just don’t fit.’

‘Old
farts
, you mean.’

‘I wouldn’t have put it that way myself.’

‘But that’s what you mean,’ I told her. ‘That’s why you’ve been shadowing me, studying my methods. I’m an old part that doesn’t fit. And I’m a bad influence on the boys.’

If I’d thought to disarm her with my candour, I was wrong. She simply smiled again and said: ‘Oh, Roy. You’re so funny. And I’ve genuinely enjoyed our little classroom sessions. But it’s time to bring this to an end before it gets ugly – for you, and for your pupils. Don’t you agree?’

I took a deep breath. ‘Are you asking me to leave?’

‘Not to leave, Roy, but to
retire
,’ said La Buckfast gently. ‘You’ve given such loyal service. But now you’re a thorn in the Headmaster’s side – no, don’t deny it. You know it’s true. Everything he’s tried to do, you’ve tried to undermine it. The Mulberry girls; Benedicta Wild; that silly garden gnome; plus banging on to all and sundry about Harry Clarke – and then, of course, there’s the Honours Boards—’

I looked at her. ‘You know about that?’

‘Of course,’ said La Buckfast. ‘We’ve known all along. Do you think anyone’s on your side? Do you believe
any
secret can be kept for long in a place like St Oswald’s?’

It must have been Winter, I realized. Only he knew about the Honours Boards. Winter, whose intervention had seemed so wonderfully well timed; whose knowledge of the internet had seemed so providential. Could this have been a set-up? A trap? Was I their target from the first?

I felt the old, familiar stab of the invisible finger, and sat down heavily on my chair. What a fool I’d been, I thought. What else did La Buckfast know? What had she told Johnny Harrington?

La Buckfast patted my shoulder. ‘I think you’ve been overdoing it, Roy,’ she said. ‘You’re looking tired and not very well. Why don’t I get you a coffee from the Headmaster’s office?’

I shook my head. ‘The hemlock bowl.’

‘Nothing so dramatic, Roy. Retirement. By the end of this term. You could claim ill-health, perhaps; no mention of anything untoward; no scandal, no unpleasantness. You’ll have a nice pension, a holiday, even a leaving party. And maybe Allen-Jones and those other disciples of yours will get another chance to settle down properly at St Oswald’s, instead of following you over the cliff. Are you sure you won’t have a coffee? It’s good. It’s the Headmaster’s personal blend.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think I like the Headmaster’s blend. Dishonesty with cowardice always turns the stomach.’

She gave me a look of reproach. ‘Oh, Roy.
All men make mistakes, but a good man yields when he knows his course is wrong, and repairs the evil. The only crime is pride.
’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘
Antigone
?’

‘I was always good at remembering lines.’

I walked home through the park again. Bonfire Night is approaching fast. Stacks of wooden pallets, boxes of papers, old clothes and loosely bundled firewood are already piling up in the allocated spot. Soon, there will be children, making effigies of teachers, dancing around the pyre and singing old songs and nursery rhymes, and playing games that the likes of Devine and Bob Strange consider offensive and obsolete – and yet, how these things endure. Bonfires lit against the dark; the yearly sacrifice to the gods.

There were three boys by the bonfire. Sunnybankers, by their clothes. I remembered those boys from the other night, smoking by the swing-set. How those boys had looked at me. How easily and confidently they had called me
pervert
. How easily these things slip away – regard, respect, authority – in the face of that talismanic word.

These were not the same boys. I could see their faces now; rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. One of them raised a hand and waved as he saw me hurry past. This time, however, I did not respond.

7

October 28th, 2005

Arriving home, I poured a drink and started to make a shepherd’s pie. I often eat when I am upset, and Ms Buckfast’s words had upset me. Not least because of Winter, in whom, I now realize, I have placed an unreasonable amount of trust.

Why should he have wanted to help? Why had I been so sure of him? Because he’d once reminded me of one of my pupils from long ago? Looking back at my actions, I see that I should have known he was hiding something. His secretive manner, his awkwardness; his inability to meet my eye. All signs of the man’s guilt – signs that I had failed to see. Now La Buckfast and Harrington have me over a barrel; their ultimatum is very clear.
Leave, or face the consequences
. Consequences which will affect both me and, more importantly, my boys. What a fool I’ve been, I thought. What a sentimental fool.

I turned on the radio, found the news. The broadcaster was talking about the death of Ronnie Barker. Another light blown out, I thought. Another dead Centurion. A bottle of stout stood close to hand, from which I added a generous splash to the mincemeat and onions in the pan. The rest served to sustain the cook. I opened another bottle. I was about to dispose of the evidence when the phone rang. It was Kitty Teague.

I should have known. La Buckfast must have suggested that she give me a call – I’ve always had rather a soft spot for Kitty, and I suppose she knew it. Anyway, I could tell from her voice that I was in for a lecture; I’ve known Kitty for long enough to know when she wants to placate me. There’s a particular cadence to her voice on such occasions, I imagine not unlike that of a snake-charmer, or a veterinarian as he prepares to administer the fatal dose to a sick dog. It works quite well with the boys, too; certainly I rarely hear the sound of raised voices from Kitty’s room.

‘Roy. It’s Kitty. Are you all right? I thought I’d just check how you were doing.’

‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ I said. ‘But I’ve had enough of that kind of thing from Harrington and his minions. Do you know La Buckfast sat through
every one
of my classes today? And all that because Our Gracious Leader’s afraid of upsetting the customers.’

Kitty made a soothing sound. ‘I know. But there’s been a complaint, Roy. We can’t just ignore a complaint.’

‘Why not? It only encourages them.’

She laughed, but without much warmth. ‘Listen, Roy. I know it must be hard to see a boy you once taught sitting in the big chair. But really, you ought to give John a chance.’

John? She calls him John now?

‘You don’t understand,’ I told her.

‘Oh but I do,’ she said earnestly. ‘I know you’ve found it hard to adjust.’ That placating voice again. I hadn’t realized how often she uses it to soothe and disarm, just as the knife is about to fall. ‘That’s really why I’m phoning, Roy. Perhaps you should seriously think about taking your retirement. Obviously, with no loss of pay, or any implication that you’ve done anything improper.’

‘
Et tu, Kitty?
’ I said.

‘Roy, it isn’t like that.’

I laughed. ‘Oh, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘Remember, I’ve been here before. I know when someone’s gunning for me. The Old Head, at least, was loyal. This one just sees St Oswald’s as a stepping-stone to something better. Strip out the Honours Boards, sweep out the chaff, sell off the old playing fields, introduce some newfangled schemes to raise the profile of the School, then move on to something else. Of course, by then it will be too late to undo all the damage. Still, what’s a career at St Oswald’s worth, next to a shiny new workstation?’

Now Kitty sounded upset. ‘Roy, I’m on your side,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I have a job to do.’

‘Then stop wasting time over me,’ I said. ‘I’m really not worth the investment.’

I know – I was rather abrupt with her. I don’t suppose it’s Kitty’s fault. But being the Head of Department has changed certain things between us. She is now officially my superior in the School – Kitty Teague, whom I first met when she was still a teacher trainee. It rankles – I would be a fool not to admit it to myself – and yet, what really hurts is the fact that she believes so sincerely that Harrington is doing what’s best – for me, and for St Oswald’s.

I was about to go back to my shepherd’s pie, when there came a knock at the door. It was Dr Devine, looking grim. I ushered him into the parlour, but he declined to take off his coat.

‘No, I’m not going to stay,’ he said. ‘It’s just to see how you’re doing, and—’ His eyes went to the mantelpiece, where Harry’s gnome was standing. ‘I see you found a home for your gnome,’ he said, in a chilly kind of voice.

I wondered if he’d made a joke, and if so, whether he was all right, but I decided not to ask. I wouldn’t say Devine is my
friend
– but I have known him a long time, and he has one virtue: integrity. I don’t always share his beliefs, but they
are
sincere and deeply held, if sometimes a little unfortunate. And he is loyal, in his way. I knew he wouldn’t betray me.