‘As in the biblical sense? That what you’re trying to say?’ Robyn objected crossly. Just because she and Mason had had a fling, did he think she wasn’t averse to putting it about with anyone who looked her way? Robyn found herself pulling herself up to her full height, her arms folded. ‘You really shouldn’t listen to tittle tattle, Mason.’
‘Only way I get to know what’s going on in this place.’ Mason sniffed gloomily. ‘Petra was always ready to spill the beans on what was happening; the latest goings on. So, Robyn,youtell me then.’ He lowered his voice hopefully. ‘What’s the deal with you and George Sattar?’
Robyn paused, could already hear her Year 7 class champing at the bit along the corridor. Much as she quite liked the idea of leading Mason down a rabbit hole of conspiracy, she really needed to nip this staff room gossip well and truly in the bud. ‘So, more than likely, Mason, George Sattar will soon be my uncle.’ She paused for effect, enjoying the look on the head’s face.
‘Your uncle?’ Mason stared.
‘Well, OK, my step-uncle.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Mum is going to marry…’
‘George Sattar? That’d make him your stepfather, not your uncle.’
Robyn tutted again. ‘Will you let me finish? Kamran Sattar, George’s eldest brother, is in love with Mum, has asked her to marry him and she’s said yes.’
‘All a bit sudden, isn’t it? And Kamran Sattar for heaven’s sake? The enemy of this school and the village.’ Mason was cross. ‘Howcouldshe?’
‘Howcouldn’t she, Mason? He’s lovely; he’s everything Jayden Allen isn’t.’
Mason, always a huge fan of her father’s music, sniffed again. ‘Bet he can’t sing like Jayden…’
‘And, best of all, he loves Mum.’
‘So now you’re on the Sattar side with regards St Mede’s? Happy to have this place razed to the ground?’ Mason gazed round at the dank snot-green-painted corridor, at the peeling walls, as if it were Buckingham Palace. ‘My school…’
‘Ah, Mr Donoghue, there you are.’ George Sattar himself was walking towards them. ‘Robyn.’ He smiled in her direction, planting a chaste but somewhat proprietorial kiss on her cheek before turning back to Mason. ‘We have a meeting, I believe?’
* * *
While she generally enjoyed teaching English to the younger classes, 7BW were not Robyn’s favourite set of kids. Eight months into their new school, there was a bunch of them already flexing their behavioural muscles, seeing how far they could go, how much they could get away with. This particular class would probably, she anticipated, become the class to watch out for once they became the dreaded Year 9s in a couple of years. Having said that, they were still fairly malleable, as long as she showed them she wouldn’t put up with any nonsense from the get-go.
‘You’re late.’ Robyn looked up from her computer as Stanley Wilcox rushed into the classroom.
‘Been to the dentist, Miss.’
‘Fine, OK.’ Robyn turned back to her laptop.
‘And then we had a bit of a problem…’
‘Right, OK, Stanley.’
‘We had to wait for the IRA.’
‘Sorry?’ Robyn raised her head, staring at the boy.
‘Yes, the IRA, Miss. It were right exciting.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘This bloke told us to wait in the car and not move cos we could bedeadif we did.’
‘Right?’
‘And then two big blokes came and me nan had to hand over the car keys while we waited on the side of the motorway.’
‘Goodness.’ She knew there was a growing organised crime problem in the village of Little Micklethwaite, but hadn’t realised the IRA were involved. Mind you, nothing these kids and their families got up to surprised Robyn any more.
