Star Teacher (19 page)

In fact I thought it might be helpful to see her on her own. Katie's feelings about her father seemed to be problematic and we needed to dig deeper.

The lecture went better than I had hoped and the students were eager to learn. During the afternoon tea break, as I walked through the quadrangle, two of them approached me. One, a young man with a serious expression and an eager freckled face, called out, ‘Excuse me, Mr Sheffield.'

‘Thanks for the lecture,' said his long-haired friend. ‘It was really helpful.'

‘We have a problem and we wondered if you could help,' said Freckles, ‘but it's a bit embarrassing.'

‘Go on,' I said. ‘What is it?'

‘Well … it's porridge.'

‘Porridge?'

‘Yes, it's all we've got left. We've had nothing else to eat this week and we've no money for food.'

‘But haven't you got a grant?'

‘Yes, but there's nothing in our accounts yet.'

‘What about support from your families?'

So it went on. I hadn't expected to be dealing with pastoral issues on my first day, but this needed sorting out. I knew the location of the Bursar's office and left them in his capable hands.

Fifteen minutes later all seemed well as I began my classroom-management workshop with a slide-show of my classroom showing the pattern of the school day. I explained how to facilitate whole-class teaching, mixed-ability group work and the vital opportunities to hear individual children read. In the end I had surprised myself. This was a good experience and I felt comfortable in the new environment of higher education.

By Wednesday morning reality had set in once again as I drove to Ragley village. The rhythm of the windscreen wipers was hypnotic. They swept away the berms of snow, but not my racing thoughts.

Mrs Parrish was waiting for me in the entrance hall. ‘Sorry, Mr Sheffield, early start,' she said and looked across to our library area. ‘I've got Katie with me. I hope you don't mind, but I sat her in the library. Mrs Pringle said she would keep an eye on her.'

There was love in her eyes when she looked at her daughter, but also something else … and I wasn't sure what it was. We left Katie reading quietly while we went into the office.

‘We obviously want Katie to be happy here at Ragley,' I said. ‘How has she been at home?'

Mrs Parrish studied me for a moment with guarded eyes. ‘Generally fine,' she said. ‘Why do you ask?'

Answer a question with a question
, I thought.

She was concerned when I showed her what Katie had written. For a few moments she didn't speak and I could see her wrestling with her own thoughts, but then she said she would choose a moment to talk to Katie about how she was feeling and would keep a close eye on her at home. After that she relaxed and soon we were chatting easily as she opened up about their plans. ‘Simon and I sold our home in Stamford Bridge,' she explained, ‘and we're renting in Ragley. The intention is to buy one of the new Barratt homes on the development further up the Easington Road. It's right on the boundary line between here and Easington School, but we would prefer Katie to come here.'

She opened her leather shoulder bag and pulled out a cutting from the local paper. She had ringed the advertisement that read: ‘
Detached 3/4 bedroom houses, £64,250. Luxury and elegance in a village setting
'.

‘Yes, these are lovely homes,' I said, ‘and convenient for your drive into college.'

‘Well, we certainly thought so … but Simon occasionally has other ideas.'

There were unspoken words that echoed around the office.

‘I spoke to my husband this morning,' she went on, ‘and if convenient he said he'll call into school at twelve o'clock. He's going in late today. Many of his doctorate students can't come until later in the day.' As she left she shook my hand. ‘Sincere thanks for sharing your thoughts, Mr Sheffield, and I'm pleased this was brought to my attention.'

As she turned towards the door I added, ‘And we managed to resolve the problem on Monday evening when your husband didn't arrive to pick up Katie.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes, it was five o'clock when he arrived and we were unable to contact either of you. I know you have busy professional lives, but if you could let us know in future we'll always do our best to help.'

There was a hint of a frown, but she recovered quickly. ‘Yes, of course.'

On her way out she spoke briefly with Vera and Joseph in the entrance hall. They both came into the office, intrigued and thoughtful.

‘A perceptive lady,' said Vera.

‘I agree,' I said.

‘She was definitely
troubled
,' said Joseph.

Vera was thoughtful. ‘It was,' she said, ‘as if she sees life through a glass darkly.'

Joseph smiled and looked at me. ‘Corinthians,' he said by way of explanation.

‘Chapter thirteen, verse twelve,' retorted Vera in an instant.

He squeezed her arm affectionately. ‘You always were better than me at our Bible studies.'

‘It's familiar,' I said, ‘but I can't recall the context.'

‘“For now we see through a glass, darkly”,' recited Joseph.

‘“But then face to face: now I know”,' said Vera, completing the next line.

Then I understood. Face-to-face meetings revealed so much, as I was to discover later in the day.

Simon Parrish arrived half an hour late for our appointment. He pulled into the car park in a 1985 ‘C' Saab 900i. With its distinctive cochineal-red metallic paintwork, it was certainly meant to stand out from the crowd.

He oozed confidence as he removed his flowing black coat and draped it over the visitor's chair. He was a tall, slim, handsome man with long, foppish brown hair, a baggy denim shirt, designer brown cords and highly polished brown leather brogues with the added affectation of steel toecaps.

He walked round my desk and stood by the window. ‘Excellent wheels, don't you think?' he said. It seemed an incongruous opening and I wondered if he was being deliberately rude to mask his nervousness. ‘Just bought it,' he continued. ‘Four and a half thousand on the clock and not much change from ten grand.'

He turned back to the visitor's chair, sat down and stretched out his long legs. ‘So, time's short – what's the problem?'

‘Thank you for coming, Mr Parrish,' I said.

‘Actually,
Professor
Parrish,' he interjected quickly with a laconic smile on his face. ‘I'm the senior guy in the Humanities Department at the University of York … but we needn't stand on ceremony.'

I remained impassive. ‘As I was saying, Mr Parrish, I appreciate your coming in and, as we were due to meet at twelve, time is indeed short.' I looked up at the office clock. ‘I'm teaching immediately after lunch.'

‘So am I, but
we
work civilized hours,' he replied curtly.

I pressed on. ‘We have a few concerns regarding Katie,' I said. I outlined some of the issues and finally I showed him Katie's writing book. He passed it back to me hastily. ‘I'm sure it's nothing,' he said, ‘and, of course, we could send her to Easington Primary School.'

‘That's for you to decide,' I said. ‘We simply want the best for Katie.'

He gave me a hard stare and stood up. ‘Can I see her before I go?'

I asked Sally to bring Katie to the entrance hall and I watched father and daughter carefully. It was a meeting of tense silences and unspoken thoughts. There was distance between them.

As he left he crouched down next to his daughter. ‘Mummy is collecting you straight from school … so don't worry.'

As he drove away I walked out with Katie to the playground while a flint wind rattled the silent shutters of my mind.

At the end of school I was surprised to see Mrs Parrish waiting outside the office door. She looked a little tense, but her news was reassuring.

‘Rosie Appleby's mother has invited Katie for tea,' she said, ‘so I'm collecting both girls now and driving to Rosie's. Then I'll be picking her up later from there.'

I thanked her for letting me know.

Rebecca Parrish sat in her car outside Rosie Appleby's house and anger built up inside her. Simon hadn't mentioned he had been late in collecting Katie on Monday evening. In fact, recently, there was a lot he hadn't mentioned. She glanced down at her wristwatch. There were no departmental meetings, so she was free … time that she hadn't expected to have. She made a decision. Home was up the Easington Road. Instead she drove down the High Street towards York.

The university car park was dark and she looked up at the Humanities Department building. Bars of light escaped from the closed blinds. She knew the way. It was a long corridor. Fluorescent lights blazed above her. The sign on the familiar door read ‘Prof. S. Parrish' and she walked straight in.

A tall, lithesome woman about thirty years old was stretching up to kiss her husband. For a moment there was a frozen tableau of the professor and the student, and for Rebecca Parrish it was as if she had been struck.

It was only later that she realized why the impact was so great.

It wasn't that Simon was holding the woman's hand and looking into her eyes. Rather it was the fact that it was a
tender
kiss, a loving kiss, soft and gentle.

This was no fling, no casual relationship. She was staring at a pair of lovers.

‘Now I know why you forgot to pick up our child on Monday evening.' Quiet words … and cold. Briefly the atmosphere was suffused with acrimony. Then Rebecca Parrish retreated from the room and closed the door.

That evening, as snow pattered against the windows of the cottage, Beth and I settled down in the lounge for the evening. We were surrounded by white noise … peaceful and calming as we sipped our mugs of steaming coffee.

Suddenly Beth broke the silence. ‘I'm thinking of changing my car,' she announced.

I was surprised. ‘I thought you liked your Beetle.'

She shook her head. ‘It's no longer suitable for these winter drives into work and there's rust everywhere.'

It seemed the end of an era. ‘What had you in mind?'

She had circled an advertisement in the
Easington Herald
. ‘Have a look at this,' she said. It read: ‘1981 VW Golf CD Diesel, 5 door, blue trim, £2,995'.

‘Three thousand pounds,' I said. ‘A lot of money.'

‘But I'm earning more now, Jack, and with part-exchange and easy terms it should be fine.'

I had to agree. It made sense.

After a meal of lasagne and a glass of wine we decided to put schoolwork to one side and unwind. We settled down shortly after eight o'clock to watch
Dynasty
, but my thoughts kept returning to my meeting with Simon Parrish.

On Thursday morning it was Mrs Parrish who called in before school. She looked pale but composed and requested a private word.

‘I'm not intending to beat about the bush,' she said. ‘I've asked my husband to move out.'

‘I see,' I said.

‘So … we've separated and Katie and I are staying here in the village. Simon is moving on.'

‘Moving on?'

‘Yes, with his new partner. Katie doesn't know yet, but we will tell her this evening.'

‘Do you mind me sharing this with the rest of the staff and Mrs Forbes-Kitchener?' I asked. ‘They all have key pastoral roles in the school.'

‘Of course,' she said. ‘I understand.'

‘I know you do,' I said quietly.

She smiled. ‘After all, we're in the same profession. I deal with this frequently. I just didn't think it would happen to me.'

‘So what's next?' I asked.

‘Well, it's my intention to keep living in the area because I want Katie to continue at Ragley. Given the disruption she has faced she will need the security your school can offer.'

She stared out of the window. ‘You have a lovely school, Mr Sheffield, and I'm grateful to you for all your help during this …' there was a strained smile, ‘… eventful week.'

At lunchtime I sat in the office looking out at the children playing in the snow on the school field. I saw Katie Parrish talking with Rosie Appleby and reflected that friendship was a simple thing when you were young. I marvelled at their innocence. It was a time of birthdays and bonfires, presents and parties; a time of freedom to climb trees and paddle in streams. In their cocoon of private space they enjoyed the scent of flowers and the breath of freedom.

Sally called in and we talked about Katie. ‘We see a lot of this, Jack,' she mused. ‘Sadly, Katie is an innocent in a guilty world.'

At the end of school Sally spoke to Katie and Rosie as they put on their coats and she was pleased that they seemed relaxed.

‘We're going to watch
Blue Peter
, Miss,' said Katie with enthusiasm.

‘It's about York Minster,' added Rosie.

Simon Groom, Janet Ellis and Peter Duncan were returning to York Minster after the great fire of 1984 to look at the restoration of the Rose Window.

Rosie and Katie walked out arm in arm, chattering excitedly.

On Friday morning rooks squawked their danger cries as the wind began to rattle the branches of their nests. When I arrived at school Mrs Parrish was talking to Vera in the entrance hall.

‘We've talked about it, Mr Sheffield, and Katie understands what is happening. She thought it might be her fault, but I reassured her it wasn't.'

‘We will keep an eye on her,' I said, ‘and whenever you wish to talk, we're here.'

‘Thank you,' she said. She looked at Vera. ‘Both of you.' As she turned to leave she glanced back. ‘You can learn a lot from a child's writing.'

We watched her drive away.

‘At least she's no longer looking through a glass darkly,' said Vera quietly.