Teacher's Dead (13 page)

‘Mrs Martel, Jackson hasn’t been to school for the last couple of days because he’s being bullied. I’ve never seen him so frightened, he wouldn’t have come in today if I wasn’t with him, and I can’t let him come back if something isn’t done about it.’

‘Is this true, Jackson?’ said Mrs Martel, and this made me think, why is it that the first reaction from adults is to doubt you when you tell them you’ve been bullied?

‘Yes. It’s true.’

‘And who’s doing the bullying?’ she asked.

‘Terry Stock and his gang. I don’t know their names, another boy and two girls.’

‘And you don’t know their names?’ asked Mrs Martel again. Now my mother was beginning to feel how I felt. She got angry.

‘He just told you, didn’t he? He said he knows one of them but he doesn’t know who the others are.
What do you want, names, addresses and dates of birth? Come on, he’s doing his best.’

‘I understand,’ said Mrs Martel. ‘But you must understand we have to correctly identify the culprits before we can do anything. I know it’s a difficult time for you both but if we make mistakes it only makes thing worse.’

‘Just do something,’ said my mother. ‘Or I’m taking him home.’

It was good to see my mother sticking up for me. She was always so laid-back until she found that laid-back wasn’t working for her, then she turned into a do-it-now-before-it-does-you type of person. But I was also beginning to see Mrs Martel’s approach. She turned to me.

‘If we went into the playground now, Jackson, could you identify the other three?’

I knew I could. ‘Yes.’ But I didn’t want to. ‘But I really don’t want to. Do you know Warren Stanmore, miss?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, he knows who they are.’

She was a bit surprised. ‘I know him. Does he have something to do with this?’

‘No, miss. But the first time they picked on me he was there. He saw it, but he ran away.’

‘OK. Just a moment, please,’ she said, then left the room.

My mother and I began to whisper to each other
whilst she was out.

‘Where do you think she’s gone, Mum?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is she’d better get something done.’

‘Let’s just hope her best is good enough.’

Soon Mrs Martel was back.

‘Right. We’ll get to the bottom of this whatever it takes.’

She talked a little about the school’s no-bullying policy and then Warren Stanmore came in. I could see that he didn’t want to be there.

‘Good morning, Warren,’ said Mrs Martel.

He was gloomy. ‘Good morning, Mrs Martel.’

‘Now, Warren. I understand that you witnessed an episode of bullying involving four pupils and Jackson Jones. Can you tell me what you saw?’

Warren stood as if it was he that was in trouble, hands joined behind his back and head bowed. The words struggled to leave his mouth.

‘One day last term I was talking to Jackson Jones in the playground and Terry Stock came up and slapped him in the back of his head. He began to say some stuff to him but I went, I didn’t want any trouble.’

‘OK, so it was Terry Stock, and who was with him?’

‘Priti Shah, that’s his girlfriend, and Alex Morris and his girlfriend, Lola, Lola Muir.’

Mrs Martel wrote the names down and asked, ‘Did you see anything else, anything at all?’

‘No,’ said Warren. ‘When they came all I wanted to do was get away.’

‘OK, Warren. Thank you very much. You’ve been very helpful. You can go now.’

Warren left, but in all the time he was in the room he’d hardly looked at me. I wasn’t sure if he hated me for naming him or if it was just the way he acted in such situations, because he didn’t seem to look at any of us. When he was gone my mother and Mrs Martel came to an arrangement. I was to take the day off school and report to Mrs Martel the next morning; she was going to speak to the group. I was so relieved, I didn’t want to be at school that day anyway.

My mother was extra nice to me that day. She spent a lot of time making sure I was feeling well and asking me if there was anything I needed. That was cool, but I didn’t need kindness. I was feeling much better until the next morning when I had to go back to school. I went on my own and managed to go straight to Mrs Martel’s office without being spotted by anyone, friend or foe. She was sounding very positive.

‘Well, Jackson, I’ve had a word with Terry Stock and his friends, and although they didn’t have much to say for themselves I have had assurances from them that they will modify their behaviour and stop their outbursts.’

This teacher speak didn’t exactly fill me with
confidence and I made my feelings known.

‘Modify their behaviour? Stop their outbursts? Mrs Martel, you can’t believe them, I bet they didn’t use that kind of language themselves, and just because you ask them to modify their behaviour and stop their outbursts doesn’t mean they will.’

‘I told them that I’ll only be giving them one chance. If they are reported to me again all four of them will be excluded. Not only will they be excluded but if any of them are violent they will be reported to the police for assault. So you see, I am taking this very seriously.’

I was beginning to believe her. It sounded as if she was taking a zero-tolerance approach, which was just what I needed. Then she spoilt it all.

‘Jackson,’ she said.

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Is it true that you’ve been seeing Lionel Ferrier’s mother?’

‘Who told you that? It was them, wasn’t it?’

‘Does that matter?’

‘Yes it does. Who told you?’

She walked to the large window and spoke with her back to me, looking out of the window.

‘I know you have an interest in this whole Lionel and Ramzi thing, and most of us thought that what you were doing was harmless, but going to visit Miss Ferrier is very dangerous, and I gather that you even had her to your house for dinner. I appreciate that
this may be none of my business, you’re doing this in your personal time, but you have to draw the line somewhere. What does your mother think of this?’

‘She’s cool,’ I said. ‘She even cooked the food.’

Mrs Martel turned to face me and for the first time I saw that she could be an angry head mistress.

‘You may think it’s OK, your mother may think it’s OK, but it’s not OK. Just take a moment to think how Mrs Joseph would feel if she knew that you were getting so close to her husband’s killer.’

‘She does know,’ I said.

‘She does?’

‘Yes,’ I said. I was getting excited. ‘Of course she knows, she was there. I wouldn’t have done it without asking her first.’

Mrs Mertel walked over to me, disbelief clearly showing on her face.

‘You mean to tell me that Mrs Joseph and Miss Ferrier sat at the same table with you and your mother and ate food together?’

‘Yes.’

She walked back to the window and began to speak to me as she looked out of it again.

‘If you have any problems with Terry Stock and his friends let me know immediately. I will not tolerate any bullying in this school. You can go to your lesson now.’

I said, ‘Goodbye.’

She said, ‘Goodbye.’ But she didn’t even turn round.

After school I thought it was time for me to report in to Mrs Joseph. I called my mother to tell her I’d be a bit late and then I called Mrs Joseph to arrange a meeting at the sports centre but she insisted that this time I should go to her house. From the outside Mrs Joseph’s house looked like our house – all houses look the same in our area – but inside it was like a library. From the moment the door was open all I could see was books. The hallway was full of shelves that were full of books, the front door couldn’t fully open because of them, and so it was up the staircase.

‘Hello, Jackson. Come in,’ said Mrs Joseph.

‘Wow. So many books. Have you read them all?

‘No,’ she replied. ‘I like reading but I’m not this mad about books. These were Edgar’s, he was crazy about books. He used to say that he never read all of them but he knew what they were all about, and he knew where to look if he needed to find something out. I didn’t believe him though.’

‘What, you thought he was lying?’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean they were just for show?’

‘No,’ she said, waving her arms about. ‘I mean I think he read all of them.’

‘Wow,’ I said again as she led me into the front room.

The front room was so full of books the walls could barely be seen. The seats were like museum pieces, old looking, with cloth upholstery with flowered patterns on them, and an oak table in the centre of the room had a large vase full of flowers on it. As I sat down though I noticed something was wrong, something was different. It was the arrangement of the chairs. One was pointing towards a bookshelf, the one I sat on was placed straight in front of another one, and one just looked out into the street. Mrs Joseph sat on the one in front of me and I couldn’t resist asking.

‘Why are your chairs in these positions?’

‘Oh, that,’ she replied. ‘I’m so used to them it’s just normal for me. It’s not so much about why the seats are like this. There’s something else, haven’t you noticed?’

I looked around the room, then I got it.

‘No television. You’ve got no television.’

‘That’s right. Most living rooms are arranged around the television, all the chairs face the box, but when you take away the box you have the freedom to arrange the room to suit yourself. It’s really liberating.’

‘So you don’t have a telly?’

‘There is one, it’s under the stairs somewhere. It’s only small, so if I want to watch a programme I drag it out. I’m not really interested in most of the things on television nowadays. I listen to radio, classical music or talk radio, and it doesn’t really matter where I sit to listen to that. I just make sure I have a radio in every room.’

That impressed me, I stored it somewhere in my mind as I did with many of the things that I planned to consider once I had my own place, then I began to tell her about my encounters with Terry Stock and his crew, and my visits to Mrs Martel.

‘You did the right thing,’ she said. ‘You must report bullying as soon as you can. But why did they just pick on you like that?’

‘I don’t know. Some kids are like that. They just want to show off in front of their friends, or they just want to humiliate others.’

‘So what happened when you went back to school? Did they bother you again?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I saw them and they saw me but they stayed far away from me.’

‘There you go. Hopefully they’ve learnt their lesson. Do you want a drink?’

‘No thanks, I’m OK. I want to ask you something.’

‘Go ahead,’ Mrs Joseph said.

‘What do you think now that you’ve met Miss Ferrier?’

‘I thought she was a rather nice woman who has had a very sad life.’

‘And you felt absolutely no anger towards her?’

‘Absolutely none. I wouldn’t mind meeting up with her again.’

Mrs Joseph’s response was impressive, I thought.

‘So what did you think of my mum?’

‘She’s great, you suit each other.’

‘Don’t tell her that,’ I said. ‘She thinks that
we
suit each other, me and you. We had a joke about you adopting me, or me having two mothers or something like that.’

She smiled. ‘I’m not anti-kids but if I wanted any I would have had them a long time ago, and as nice as you are I don’t think I would pass the test to adopt you. I think you have to like the idea of being a parent, and neither I nor Edgar ever did.’

Just then my mobile phone rang. I went to turn it off but I could see by the display that it was my mother. I apologised and answered it.

‘Hello, Mum.’

She sounded tearful. ‘Jackson, come here as quickly as you can. Something’s happened.’

A shudder went through my body. ‘What’s happened, Mum? What is it?’

‘Just come.’

‘Tell me, Mum, what is it?’

‘Someone’s thrown bricks through the front
window and there’s paint all over the front garden. I’ve called the police.’

‘I’m coming,’ I said.

I told Mrs Joseph what my mother said. She called a taxi and she insisted on going with me. When we arrived there was a police car outside the house with a few onlookers. The main front window was smashed and there was paint all over the front door and in the front garden. We ran inside, where my mother was just finishing an interview with a policewoman.

‘Mum, are you OK?’

‘Yes, I’m OK. Come here.’

I went to her and she put her arms around me and hugged me.

‘What happened?’ said Mrs Joseph.

‘I was in the kitchen when I heard something, I didn’t know what it was, it wasn’t very loud, so I came into the front room, but I couldn’t see anything. I was just walking over to the window to have a look outside and a brick came right through and just missed me. I couldn’t believe it. I screamed and got down and lay on the floor but nothing else happened. Then one of the neighbours knocked on the door to see if I was all right. There’s the brick there.’ She pointed to a brick that was still on the carpet. The policewoman bent down and picked it up.

‘I’ll take this, she said.’ She handed a piece of paper to my mother. ‘Your crime report number is on there.
You’ll need that for your insurance company, and my phone number’s underneath it if you need me. Are you sure you have no idea who may have done it?’

‘No,’ said my mother.

‘Let me know if you come up with any ideas.’

I had an idea who it was but I stayed silent.

‘I’ll see myself out,’ said the officer.

‘This is disgusting,’ said Mrs Joseph to my mother. ‘So what was the first noise you heard?’

‘I didn’t realise it at the time but it was the paint hitting the front door and landing in the front garden.’

‘Disgusting,’ said Mrs Joseph again.

Mrs Joseph stayed for a while. She made my mother sit down whilst she made her tea followed by a few glasses of something alcoholic, which I thought was very good of her. I didn’t know how to act under these circumstances, so it took some of the pressure off me, and I think it helped my mother having another woman around. Mrs Joseph didn’t leave until the double glazers had come and fitted a new window and the small group of people outside had gone. She offered to stay for the night but Mum thought she had done enough.