The Hiding Place(10)

“Ah, Mr. Thorne? I’m glad I caught you. Everything okay?”

“Well, no one’s fallen asleep in my classes yet, so I’d have to say yes.”

He nods. “Good. Very good.”

But he doesn’t look like it’s very good. He looks like a man who has lost a tenner and found a wasps’ nest. He walks into the room and stands awkwardly in front of me.

“I’m sorry to have to bring this up on your first day, but something has come to my attention that I can’t ignore.”

Crap, I think. This is it. He’s followed up on my references and I’ve been found out.

It was always a gamble. Debbie, the school secretary from my previous school, had a bit of a crush on me, and a bigger crush on expensive handbags. For old time’s sake (and a small clutch), she intercepted Harry’s request for a reference and forwarded it to me, along with some official headed paper. Hence my glowing credentials. All well and good, unless Harry dug a little deeper.

I brace myself. But that’s not it.

“Apparently, there was an incident with one of our students outside the school gates this morning?”

“If, by ‘incident,’ you mean bullying, then yes.”

“So you didn’t assault a student?”

“What?”

“I’ve had a complaint from a pupil, Jeremy Hurst, that you assaulted him.”

The little shit. I feel a pulse begin to beat at the side of my head.

“He’s lying.”

“He said you violently grabbed his arm.”

“I caught Jeremy Hurst and his little gang bullying another student. I intervened.”

“But you didn’t use unreasonable force?”

I look him in the eye. “Of course not.”

“Okay.” Harry sighs. “I’m sorry, but I had to ask.”

“I understand.”

“You should have come to me about this incident. I could have nipped it in the bud.”

“I didn’t see any need. I thought the matter was dealt with.”

“I’m sure, but the fact is the Jeremy Hurst situation is a little sensitive.”

“He didn’t look very sensitive when he was tormenting another kid and threatening to smash his phone.”

“This is your first day, so obviously you’re still new to the school dynamics, and I appreciate your stance on bullying, but sometimes things aren’t so clear cut.”

“I know what I saw.”

He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. I sense that he’s not a bad man, just a tired, overworked one trying to do his best under difficult circumstances and generally failing.

“The thing is, Jeremy Hurst is one of our top students. He’s the captain of the school football team…”

On the other hand, he could just be a prick.

“That doesn’t excuse bullying, lying—”

“His mother has cancer.”

I screech to a halt in my tracks.

“Cancer?”

“Bowel cancer.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, “Shit,” which would, under the circumstances, be wildly inappropriate.

“I see.”

“Look, I know Hurst has some social-cohesion and anger-management issues—”

“So, that’s what we’re calling it these days.”

Harry smiles ruefully. “But with his situation, we have to tread carefully.”

“Right.” I nod. “I think I understand a little better now.”

“Good. I should have run through a few things like this with you personally. School handbooks can’t cover everything, can they?”

“No.”

They really can’t, I think.

“Well, I should probably let you get on.”

“Thank you, and thanks for letting me know about Jeremy Hurst.”

“No problem. We’ll catch up later.” He pauses. “I will still have to mark this on your record.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your personal record. A complaint like this has to be noted, even if it’s unsubstantiated.”

The pulse beats harder. Hurst. Fucking Hurst.

“Of course.” I force out a tight smile. “I understand.”

He walks to the door.

“Is she going to die?” I ask. “Jeremy’s mother?”

He turns and gives me a strange look.

“The treatment is going as well as can be expected,” he says. “But, with this type of cancer, the odds aren’t encouraging.”

“Must be tough on Jeremy, and his father?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” He looks for a moment as if he wants to say something else, then he gives another of his awkward little nods and closes the door.

Tough on his father. I take out my cigarettes and smile. Good, I think. Good. Fucking karma.


—



The English block used to stand between the main school building and the cafeteria, attached by a narrow umbilical cord of corridor that always created a heaving, sweating jam of students between classes and was hotter than the Hadron Collider in summer. We used to joke you’d end up blacker than Jim Berry (the only mixed-race kid in our school) if you stood in it for too long.