‘It’s fine,’ I hear Murad say. ‘S’a revision meeting, not a lesson. No one’s ever said we can’t eat in those.’
Zan laughs. ‘Hosmer’s going to say it in like, five seconds. No eating in classrooms.’
‘No, it’s no eating inclass,’ says Murad. ‘This isn’t a class, per se.’
‘Oh, per-say?’ Zan giggles. ‘Just put it away! Seriously, you want to provoke Hosmer? Why give her the chance to make your life a misery when you know there’s nothing she likes more?’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘Is it just you and Murad at this revision class?’ I ask Zannah.
‘Yeah, these sessions are voluntary. Everyone else was a no-show. And you thinkI’munmotivated. Shh, listen.’
‘This is going to be brutal,’ says Recorded Zannah. ‘I’m going to film it: your blood dripping down the walls after she’s cheffed you. Here we go. Too late to back out now!’ There’s another wobbly shot of the panini, then grey fuzz, then Murad’s trainers again.
‘What’s that on the desk?’ I hear an Australian voice ask.
Camilla Hosmer: head of History and a walking, impossible-to-solve, pros-versus-cons dilemma. She’s conscientious, well organised and expert at transferring knowledge of her subject from her brain to her pupils’ brains, which can’t be said of most Bankside Park teachers, unfortunately. She’s also a vigilant and passionate enforcer of every tiny rule on every single occasion, even if it makes no sense. The word ‘flexible’ is not in her vocabulary. Murad knows this better than I do. I suspect his panini stunt is a deliberate attempt to entertain himself and Zannah by winding her up so that there will be less time for History revision.
‘It’s a panini, Miss,’ says Murad in the video clip. The visuals have disappeared. I think I’m looking at the underside of a desk: just semi-darkness with a few bumpy imperfections in it. ‘Bacon, avocado and Brie. It’s delicious. Want some?’
Deliberate cheek. This isn’t going to end well. I’m fairly sure that my being here is something to do with the forthcoming unhappy ending to this little scene.Cheers, Murad. It’s not like I need to earn money or anything.
‘This is a revision session, not a bistro,’ I hear Miss Hosmer say.
‘But, Miss, I’m starving.’
‘Get out! Now.’
‘All right, I’ll put it away, Miss.’
‘I told you to get out, Murad.’
‘But look, I’m putting it in my bag. There, it’s gone.’
‘Take it out of your bag, put it in the bin and then. Get. Out.’
‘Miss, I’ll go if you really want me to, but I’m not throwing my panini away. If I do that, I can’t eat it later, can I?’
‘How would you like it if I told your parents I’d caught you eating a bacon sandwich?’ Miss Hosmer snaps at him.
‘What do you mean, Miss?’
Murad says something else, but I can’t tell what it is. Zan’s voice obscures it; she whispers something.
‘You know what I mean,’ says Hosmer. ‘You’re letting yourself down, and you’re letting your family down.’
‘Why? Because he’s eating bacon?’ Zan’s voice. She sounds angry.
‘Oh – do you think my family’s Muslim, Miss?’ Murad laughs. ‘My dad kind of is. But my mum isn’t. She’s whiter than you, and a hippy. And we all eat bacon.’
I look up at Zannah. ‘Fucking hell,’ I say.
‘Watch,’ she orders.
Her recorded voice in the video says, ‘Why have you turned bright red, Miss? Is it because you’ve realised you’ve messed up and you owe Murad an apology?’
‘Throw the panini in the bin, and then leave this classroom, please,’ says Hosmer. She doesn’t sound angry any more, just cold and remote.
