He’s so different from the teacher I remember. Back then, he always seemed so in charge, relaxed yet confident. Now, he feels much quieter, almost subdued. Still, he’s a great teacher—passionate about helping students feel the music and understand the emotional layers behind each piece. He’s just as inspiring as I remember, but there’s that something special that seems flattened out, like he’s carrying a huge weight around with him.
One thing he has made clear is that he really doesn’t like Daniel. Every time we talk, I catch James glaring at him, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. It’s fascinating to see this darker side of him, and I can’t help but wonder what’s
Yes, Miss
going on beneath the surface, the emotions that run deeper.
My thoughts drift to Daniel, the maths teacher. He has been especially ‘friendly’. I can tell he thinks a lot of himself—a real ladies’ man. I can imagine that when he was younger, he would have been quite the heartbreaker. At six feet tall with sandy hair and strong shoulders, he certainly has the appearance. But he carries the air of an older man who has refused to move on from being a player.
His ruddy complexion hints at someone who enjoys more than just the odd drink.
I’ve been invited for Friday after-school drinks, and I’m looking forward to it. Others are going too, which will be nice, but I still sense that James is unsure if he’ll attend, given his non-committal murmurs.
I find myself lingering after the last bell, organising homework that doesn't really need sorting, in the hope of catching James on the way out. As if I had summoned him, he appears at my classroom door, his tie loosened and hair slightly dishevelled from running his hands through it all day—a habit I've noticed when he's deep in thought. He looks at me with his deep brown eyes and a slightly guarded look on his face.
"So, you're going then?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
"To the after-work drinks? Yeah, seems like a good way to get to know everyone." I slide the worksheets into a folder. "You decided if you’re going yet? It would be nice to have a friendly face." I smile at him, hoping he’ll say yes. In truth, I still find stuff like this daunting, as I've not really had much chance to get to know the other teachers.
He sighs, looking down at his shoes. "I suppose I should. Team spirit and all that." He looks up. “So long as I don’t have to sit near Daniel.”
I laugh. Something obviously went on between them for him to hate him so much, and I’d love to know what it was that caused so much animosity.
“What's he done to you? He’s been nothing but welcoming to me.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he has,” he huffs. “Let's just say he is fond of younger women and gets quite chatty about his escapades. It’s so derogatory and crass.” James grimaces as he recounts the staff room talk the morning I started.
I pack up my bag and close down my classroom, and we head to the school entrance to sign out.
As we step out of the school gates, the beautiful September afternoon shines around us, and we fall into step beside each other.
“I want to thank you for your support this week, James. It’s been really nice. I wasn’t sure if you would have
Yes, Miss
remembered teaching me. You were always my favourite teacher.” It feels natural to call him by his name now rather than Sir.
I had feared that coming back home, coming back to the school, would dredge up unpleasant memories. But focusing on the happy memories I had here, as well as knowing I can talk to the headteacher and James, has given me some peace and reassurance. He’ll never know how much that means to me.
“Isabelle, as if I’d have forgotten you. I always wondered what had become of you. It’s been great to see you’ve thrived.” His stride has slowed to match mine as we walk in step to the pub. “The students seem to like you,” he adds, smiling at me. “That’s half the battle won right there.” I huff out a small laugh, taking in the trees that line the road, noting how some of the leaves have started to lighten to a pale yellow—autumn’s on its way. My favourite time of year.
“So, what are your weekend plans?” I ask, curious to know what he actually does with his time out of school.
“I’ve got a charity rugby match tomorrow morning, and then not much else...” he trails off.
“Well, that explains a lot,” I say, suddenly covering my mouth with my hands, not wanting to have said that out loud. I cringe and start laughing as he turns to me, wide-eyed and surprised. “Shit, no… Erm… I meant…”
Alexandra Ravensbrook
I’m more than a tad flustered for the first time in a long time, reverting to the eighteen-year-old schoolgirl I once was.
I clear my throat as he stands still, arms crossed, highlighting his broad shoulders as his jacket stretches across them.
Taking a steadying breath, I say, “I meant I had noticed you seem to have bulked up in the last few years, which I now assume is due to rugby.” I let out the rest of my breath; glad I hadn’t somehow fucked up my explanation and hoping he’ll gloss over my verbal fumbling.
He smirks as he nods slowly. “Yes, after my divorce I took up rugby to give myself something to do. I had played at uni, and it's been great. They’re a nice group of guys. We have a match tomorrow for the local hospice. You should come. You get to ogle thirty men covered in mud and grass stains,” he teases, his eyes lighting up with amusement.
