Roger Newcombe fixed her with a chilling stare through his no-nonsense square glasses. The pause was ominous.
‘I hope so. We want a nice quiet atmosphere in this school, don’t we, boys and girls? None of this chaos now.’
He swept out the door, leaving a waft of rebuke in his wake.
‘Right, boys and girls, you heard that. Pipe down or there’ll be trouble.’
For her, not them, but she wasn’t going to tell them that.
Rowley’s role-play was an outrageous multi-generational family caper with a farting granny, a super-intelligent dog and Rowley, of course, as the hero, complete with bionic anorak and power potion, all of which was met with hilarity and rapturous applause from the class. Just then, the bell went and the children piled out of the classroom, buzzing with excitement. Cassie sank onto the hard plastic chair and tried to breathe mindfully, when a head of copper curls popped around the door.
‘Don’t mind him,’ Maggie reassured her as they headed up the corridor. ‘Between ourselves, he’s a bit of an arse. He’s of the opinion that discipline is the foundation of an effective school.’
‘Sounds more like prison.’
Maggie laughed. ‘You’ll get used to it.’
Cassie rather hoped she wouldn’t. Just then they arrived at a door marked ‘Staffroom’. Cassie felt a jolt of anxiety, especially as Maggie seemed not to be stopping.
‘Are you not coming in?’
‘Afraid not, I’m on yard duty. Just relax, they’re a nice bunch.’
With that, she vanished out the side door, leaving Cassie alone, which felt about the diametric opposite of relaxing.
She was met with a diverse group of mostly women, ranging from the Miss Marple lookalikes to trendy young girls who looked barely out of school themselves and alternative types in eclectic outfits. She’d tell that to Mam. They all seemed deep in conversation. There was nothing random about a school. You had a rigid timetable, worked with the same people every day and paced yourself from holiday to holiday. Quite a contrast to her old life, which was pretty much the complete opposite. She made for the kettle unnoticed and helped herself to a coffee and digestive biscuit, trying to look busy and not too much like Nellie-no-friends in the corner.
She overheard two teachers, each of whom had a lunchbox in front of them.
‘Did you hear that racket?’
‘Who on earth was in charge of that? I thought there must have been a riot. Disgraceful.’ Own up, Cassie thought, better to be talked to than talked about.
‘That was me, sorry. I’m subbing for Miss Upton. We did a role-play thing, but that’s the last of the ruckus, I promise.’
They exchanged glances and seemed to agree on an attitude of sympathy.
‘I’m Denise. Would you like a flapjack?’ the younger one broke in. ‘We’ve worked out a science for getting through to lunchtime. Slow-release oatcakes and dried fruit.’
‘We teach Fifth Class; you don’t get away with anything,’ confided the other lady, who had a Joan Rivers hairdo and introduced herself as Babs. ‘By the way, have I seen you somewhere before? Your face is very familiar.’
The thought of explaining herself in the staffroom on her first day was more than Cassie could cope with.
‘I don’t think you recognise me. I just have one of those faces.’
Chapter 18
Pulling out of the car park, she experienced conflicting feelings of elation and exhaustion. Too wired to face an empty apartment, but not up to making adult conversation. There was only one thing for it.
‘Mam? Are you home?’
‘It’s Monday, of course I’m home. I’m taking delivery of the new mattress. How long will you be? Eric is out, so pick up a cake and I’ll put the kettle on.’
Cassie sighed with relief at the gift of not having to explain.
Just then her phone rang. ‘Well, how did you get on?’
For a moment she was confused by the upbeat voice.
