Teacher's Dead (14 page)

That night I slept very badly. I heard every time my mother turned in bed. I felt as if I was looking after a delicate child. I was also feeling guilty because I had pretty strong ideas about who had thrown that brick,
but I kept my cool. I wanted to stay home the next day but my mother thought that I had already missed too many days off and ordered me to go to school. So I went, and the first thing I did when I got there was go to see Mrs Martel.

‘Come in, Jackson,’ she said from the other side of the door. She was sitting at her desk behind large stacks of papers. She pushed some of the papers aside to make room to rest her arms.

‘I think I know why you’re here. I told you that I wouldn’t tolerate any bullying in this school and I meant it. Tell me what happened?’

‘It’s not just about bullying, miss, it’s worse than that. Terry and his idiot friends attacked our house last night.’

I could see by the look on her face she hadn’t heard about the attack.

‘What do you mean, attacked your house?’

‘They put a brick through our window and it just missed my mum.’

‘Did you call the police?’

‘Yes, my mum did.’

‘So why weren’t they arrested?’

‘Because no one saw their faces. They were dressed in hoodies and they got away, but I know it was them.’

‘Did you run after them?’

‘I wasn’t there. I got a call after it happened and I went straight home.’

I was beginning to know her well. I predicted what she would do next, and I was right. She stood up and walked over to the window.

‘Did they do anything or say anything to you in or, for that matter, out of school?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then there’s not much that I can do. They’re no angels, we know that, but it may not have been them. If I don’t have any evidence, then I can’t do anything about it. You must know that, Jackson.’

‘But they did it, miss.’

Mrs Martel continued to look out of the window. ‘Get the evidence, give it to me or the police, and I promise you we’ll nail them, but until then there’s nothing I can do.’

I began to get that feeling again, my body temperature rising from the tips of my toes and the pit of my stomach, and I could feel tears coming again, but I wasn’t going to cry in front of Mrs Martel.

‘Can I go? I said.

‘You came of your own free will, you can leave of your own free will, but be careful. Stay out of the way of Terry Stock and if you do come across them turn and go in another direction.’

I had no time for that teacher’s speak.

‘Can I go?’

‘Of course you can.’

As I walked out, I was getting hotter. The school
secretary said goodbye but I ignored her. I walked into the playground. By this time I was burning up, and when I saw Terry Stock hanging with his friends I just jumped on his back and put my right arm around his neck.

‘You smashed our window,’ I shouted as I tried to strangle him and kick him at the same time, but all his friends just laughed. At this point I realised that I had forgotten something; I couldn’t fight and I was probably the weakest boy in the school. Terry just walked in circles with me on his back as if I wasn’t there.

‘Has anyone seen that Jackson Jones by any chance?’ he said sarcastically. ‘He’s around here somewhere.’

I used all the strength I had to try to strangle him but he just raised his shoulder, causing
me
pain, and continued to speak.

‘Someone help me, I’ve got to find that Jackson Jones,’ he said.

I flapped around on his back like a fish out of water until he just shook me off and I fell to the ground like a rucksack.

I was no fighter but I was angry.

‘I hate you. You came round our house last night and smashed our windows, didn’t you, didn’t you? I’m going to get you.’

His friends were dancing with laughter. He stood over me like a giant.

‘You can’t even fight me from behind when I’m not looking, how do you plan to get me?’

I wasn’t very tough, and I wasn’t very good at sounding tough.

‘I’m going to learn some moves,’ I said.

The laughter grew as more people gathered round.

‘He’s gonna learn some moves,’ said his girlfriend.

‘Good idea,’ said Terry. ‘There’s some judo lessons happening in town, sign up.’

I don’t know what came over me. I jumped up and threw what felt like hundreds of kicks and punches to his body but they just seemed to bounce off, and the laughter got even louder. I decided to go for his face but fearing that I would hurt myself if I punched him I slapped him. He was unmoved. He laughed, clenched his fist, and brought his arm right back behind his head. I saw the punch coming towards me, so I closed my eyes and prepared myself to be knocked out, but the punch didn’t come. I opened my eyes to see Mrs Cartwright the history teacher holding his arm back.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘That’s enough of that. Who started it?’

‘It was him,’ said Terry.

‘Was it?’ asked Mrs Cartwright.

I saw no reason to deny it.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Are you going to apologise?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Right. Report to Mrs Martel,’ said Mrs Cartwright.

I took the blame for starting the fight, so I was the only one to face Mrs Martel. She told me that she knew that I would get myself in trouble after I left her office and that I had to think before I acted. She said I was a thoughtful young man who used to be a model student but she thought I may be losing my way. I wasn’t very happy with her view of things, after all I was the victim, but I listened to her, told her I was sorry, and then left and went to my lesson.

For the rest of that day I was the laughing stock of the school, but it didn’t bother me too much. Seeing my mother upset affected me much more, and I was feeling this urgent need to do something about it. Terry Stock and his gang were free to mock me and I wanted some revenge. It was a macho thing; the problem was I wasn’t very macho. But it was the last day of the school week so I had the weekend to think things over.

My plan was to not let my mother out of my sight that weekend; her plan was to behave as normally as possible to get me out of the house, but there wasn’t much to go out for. I had come to a dead end on the case and I wasn’t making new friends. Then my mother gave me a job; I was to strip both the old and the unwanted new paint off the front door and repaint it, but first I had to clean the paving in the front garden. I was happy to do this. I got a broom for the broken glass and some turpentine for the paving and set to work. Although there was still a light stain on the paving where the paint had been I did a pretty good job with
some moral support from passing neighbours. Then I started to strip the paint off the door with some paint stripper. I reached the point where my mind was willing but my arms were not, so I stopped. The paint from the door was stripped off but repainting would have to wait.

Turpentine and paint stripper is strange stuff; even after I showered I still smelt of the stuff, like a newly painted hospital ward. It wasn’t nice, but it was slightly better than smelling like a toilet. I decided to go for a walk in the hope that the breeze would remove the offending odour. I walked a route that took me past my school and was surprised to see lots of activity there. The gates were open and there were four large trucks in the playground. I walked towards the gate and into the playground.

‘Can I help you?’ asked a woman holding a clipboard.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I go to this school. What’s happening here?’

‘We’re from Alpha Beta Films, an independent film company that specialises in taking on tough subjects, and we’re making a documentary about the teacher who was murdered here.’

I was shocked. ‘You’re making a documentary? Who said you can?’

‘Oh, we have permission,’ she said, smiling. ‘It’s what we call a docudrama, a documentary with some acting in it to illustrate various events.’

‘You can’t make a silly docudrama,’ I said. ‘You
don’t know anything. You don’t know anything about this school and you don’t know anything about the people in it.’

The woman was still trying to hang on to her smile.

‘You’re taking it a bit personally.’

‘Of course I am, because I know that you don’t know anything. I know more about this case than you.’

‘So what do you know?’

I saw Mrs Martel walking across the far end of the playground.

‘I’m not telling you,’ I said, heading off towards Mrs Martel. ‘Mrs Martel,’ I shouted. She was walking away from me. ‘Mrs Martel.’

Then I heard someone shout from one of the school doorways, ‘Cut. Cut. Can someone get that boy out of shot?’

‘Mrs Martel, what’s happening?’

‘They’re making a documentary, and I think you just walked right into their shot. I’m supposed to be wandering around the school grounds thinking about life and looking very serious.’

I felt more heat building up inside me.

‘Miss, you didn’t tell me about this.’

‘You didn’t ask me. I know you have an interest in what happened but it’s really none of your business.’

The man shouted from the doorway again.

‘Alice, get that boy out of shot, will you? And Mrs Martel, I’m sorry about this, but could you come back
and do that walk again?’

‘OK,’ she shouted back, and Alice, the woman I first spoke to when I entered the playground, came and asked me if could stay out of shot.

‘I’m going now,’ I said, but before I left I let Mrs Martel know that I thought what she was doing was wrong, and she told me that I was getting above my station. I didn’t know that I had a station.

As Alice walked with me to the gate she told me that she had worked out who I was.

‘Who am I?’ I asked.

‘I can’t remember your name, but you’re one of the lads who was nearby when Mr Joseph was stabbed, and you also became friends with Mrs Joseph afterwards. I was told that you became a right little private investigator. Would you come on the programme and tell us some of your experiences?’

‘No way.’

‘It wouldn’t take up much time.’

‘Never,’ I said as defiantly as I could.

‘But it would be really interesting to know about your friendship with Mrs Joseph. People would want to hear what you have to say. What drives you, what you thought of Mr Joseph, what did you think of the two boys who were prosecuted, stuff like that. There’s even been talk about his mother, some say she’s a little strange.’

‘She’s not strange.’

‘You know her?’ she asked, surprised.

‘Yes I know her.’

‘That’s amazing,’ she said, making a note on her clipboard. ‘And what does Mrs Joseph think about the fact that you know her?’

I shook my head. ‘Not you as well. Why do people think it’s so strange that I know both of them? Miss Ferrier can’t be blamed for the actions of her son, and Mrs Joseph knows that. They’re both intelligent people.’

‘That’s fascinating,’ she said. ‘If you got involved in our programme maybe they would both agree to come on. We could even have a round-table discussion.’

I laughed.

‘A round-table discussion? They don’t need you to get a round-table discussion together. They’ve already spent an evening together at my house, why would they want to do it on camera?’

As I finished speaking I realised that I may have said too much. She began to get even more excited.

‘You’ve got to come on the programme. You’re passionate, articulate, and you would add an extra dimension to a programme which essentially is a programme about the human psyche and the dark forces that can afflict a juvenile mind. We promise it won’t take much time, we can do it at your convenience, and we can pay you.’

I said, ‘No, and no means no.’

Then I walked away, back to my house to spend time with my mother.

I did want to spend time with my mother but she was busy calling friends and going through what had happened to the house. So I called a friend.

‘Hello, Mrs Joseph. You’ll never believe what I saw today. I saw a film crew in school, and guess what, they’re making a film about Mr Joseph and everything that happened. Can you believe that?’

‘I know,’ she said.

‘You know?’

‘Yes. I didn’t know they were at the school today but I know they’re making the film.’

‘Who told you?’

‘They did. They approached me and asked me if I wanted to be in it.’

‘They did? And what did you say?’

‘I said no of course. They said they wanted to give me the opportunity to speak for my husband but I just said he didn’t need speaking for. I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. I suppose I didn’t think it was that important.’

‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’m just a bit surprised. I can’t imagine why Mrs Martel said yes.’

‘Who knows? I wouldn’t worry about it; she can only really talk about the school. She can’t say that much about Edgar, she didn’t know him that well, and she can’t talk about Ramzi or Lionel. I know that Miss Ferrier refused to speak to them.’

I got even more surprised.

‘What, they asked Miss Ferrier too? How do you know?’

‘They told me.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ I said. ‘Well, they asked me too and I said no. I think I need to do some more investigations. I’ll speak to you soon. Bye.’

‘Be careful, Jackson. Bye now.’

Deep down inside I was hurt. I don’t know if it was my ego or what, but I didn’t like the fact that these developments had been happening without me knowing about them. I thought I knew more than anyone else about the case, and I probably did, but I hadn’t known that a film was being made about it, I had accidentally stumbled upon it.

I woke up tired after a night of very little sleep. It was early but it suited me just fine, it was a perfect time to go and see Miss Ferrier. I knew what Sunday mornings were like on Fentham Road. Peaceful. When I arrived at her house it looked very quiet. I was
worried, if she was still asleep I didn’t want to wake her. I pressed the bell lightly but it rang really loud, and then I listened for Miss Ferrier. I heard movement, then I heard that familiar call.