The thought of something this awful happening to lovely, kind, positive Phil was heartbreaking. He’d reached out to her as a friend, even though she’d only met him once.
Mam continued, ‘So, in the end he sold up the lovely house and moved back to Dublin, and what could he do but try to pick up his life as best he could. And that’s the story. Some people make the choice to bounce back, some can’t.’
What had hers been? If she were honest, it had been to run away. Just then her phone pinged. She rummaged round in the tote bag with the princess cats on it.
‘Oh my God, it’s Phil. That’s serendipity.’
Cassie read aloud:‘Please present at Oakdale national school, eleven a.m. on Thursday morning.Shit. That’s only two days away.’
‘They’re desperate, that’s what it is. Sure, the dogs in the street know that the poor teachers are priced out of the housing market. Anyway, that’s great.’
Cassie felt a combination of excitement and panic.
‘How do you prepare for a temporary teacher post? Do you think I need to look up some extra online training?’
‘Not a bit of it. Look, you can knit, crochet, sing, play guitar, use glue and scissors—’
‘Mam, I think that’s more the pupils than the teachers.’
As usual, Mam was wildly, unrealistically optimistic. But maybe that was for the best. She needed a cheerleader, not a heckler. She’d borrow Mam’s confidence to get started, and after that, life could take care of itself.
‘So, what’re you going to wear for your interview?’
‘Same as for Phil’s, I was thinking.’
‘Oh God, no. Not jeans. Not to an interview. That’d suggest you were unreliable.’
‘But lots of teachers wear jeans.’
‘Look, when you’re made permanent, you can wear an Elvis costume to work if you want, but in the meantime look respectable. I’m telling you, head teachers can be sticklers, that’s why they’re in the job. So, trust me, go for plain boring black trousers.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Err on the side of caution.’
What would the world be like if humanity had always erred on the side of caution? We’d never have migrated out of Africa, never have set sail towards a distant horizon. Still, she did need a new pair of black trousers.
Chapter 15
She’d decided on a smart pair of ankle grazer trousers, which she’d teamed with a navy blazer. It was the costume she’d worn on a bank commercial a few years ago. God, she should’ve watched more educational TED Talks, she should’ve boned up further on the latest educational theory and formed opinions of her own. Oh well, too late now.
She knocked at the glass window of a little beige office where a tired-looking lady in a baggy pink cardigan was staring at a desktop screen. The woman’s gaze suggested she’d had it up to the back teeth with hassle and just wanted a quiet life, which Cassie found rather reassuring. Perhaps someone too high-powered was the last thing they wanted. The woman glanced around wearily.
‘Hello?’
‘I’m Cassandra Kearney, I’ve an appointment to see the principal.’
The secretary’s pale blue eyes focused on someone behind her. She heard the sound of air being inhaled through nostrils and swung round to find herself excessively close to a balding middle-aged man with heavy eyebrows and deep stress lines on his forehead.
‘Roger Newcombe, please come in.’
The tall, bespectacled figure held out his hand formally towards her, which was a little awkward given their proximity, then indicated an adjoining door. He led the way into an office about the size of a department-store changing room, where the air felt thick with chalk dust and years of responsibility. He squeezed in behind a desk, which had the effect of either keeping her out or barricading him in. There was a little sign saying: ‘Roger Newcombe, Principal’ on the desk, as though he needed reminding himself of his position. He leaned back in his chair and paused.
‘This is a fine school you have here, Rrr— Mr Newcombe.’
‘Well, we try. It’s all about budgets, of course, making them stretch .?.?. I don’t know what they think I am.’
The last bit felt almost as though he’d forgotten she was in the room. His no-nonsense square glasses gave the impression that whatever he gazed upon would be viewed in an entirely serious light. He was wearing a green check shirt and knitted tie that some fashion-forward art students might have worn ironically, though probably without the egg stain; however, this clearly wasn’t the case with Roger Newcombe. Clothes were purely functional and, all in all, Roger Newcombe was one of the most thoroughly responsible people she’d ever met, although he was probably no more than five years older than herself.
