Friendship or not, watching her enter the classroom with that terrier-after-a-rat expression on her face still sent a frisson of foreboding up Rosy’s spine. It normally pre-warned of some ridiculous demand that Marion would insist was necessary for the sheer lifeblood of the school and she would, unfortunately, often be partially right and wholly successful. Rosy was tempted to close her eyes and hope she’d go away, but if she did that there was a strong chance that when she reopened them Marion would have organized all the children into ranks based on parental income, made them hold up posters about how Penmenna was the best school in the worldever, and uploaded the photos onto Instagram.
Marion marched her way in and started putting small bits of paper into the children’s individual drawers. Presumably for them to pass on to their parents who, when they were new, always eagerly checked the drawers at pick-up time; at least for the first week until they realized that small slips of paper tendedto be ransom notes – demanding time and/or money in return for playground kudos and a little less parental guilt.
Having finished, and it was fair to say she did it at speed, Marion came over to Rosy. Completely ignoring the fact that Rosy was in the midst of a teaching activity, she started to bark at her.
‘Thank you for letting me do that.’ As if there had been a choice. ‘But it really is desperately important to get some new blood. All my best ladies went in July, and honestly, the lot I’m left with, well, they couldn’t organize a fire in a match factory. I’ve tried everything in the run-up to this term, incentives, days out, even an online star chart and PTA member-of-the-month award. But they’re all so wet. No gumption or initiative. Beth had a meltdown this morning because she couldn’t work out how much of my personalized PTA scent to spray on each note – a spritz is exactly as it sounds. I had to do three myself just to show her. Then she had the cheek to begin to question why. Pah! I shut that down fairly quickly, I can tell you. And to cap it all off I caught her popping these onto Sheila’s desk for her to do after school, something about not wanting to disturb your teaching. Ridiculous. Sheila, for goodness’ sake! I’m not sure how that woman manages to breathe and walk at the same time, and then Beth’s palming off this job on her, which is really quite a responsibility. Ludicrous.’
‘I am teaching, Marion,’ Rosy responded, nodding her head towards the rapt faces of the small group of children sitting on the floor with her. Although she did concede that Marion might have a point about Sheila. The school secretary was an institution at Penmenna but was barely capable of turning the computer on. In fact, experience had taught Rosy that things ran a lot smoother when she didn’t.
‘Yes, but they’re hardly going to master counting on the first day, are they, dear? And besides, as I said, I need new bloodfrom the latest intake of parents so just wanted to remind everyone about the meeting next week, to welcome them into the fold, as it were.’
A small squeal emitted out of the mouth of Ashleigh, one of the youngest in the class, at the word ‘blood’, which when followed by the word ‘parents’ led to her starting to sway.
Rosy arched her crossest eyebrow at Marion before turning to soothe Ashleigh.
‘That one’s parents are bound to be useless.’ Marion shot a dismissive look at Ashleigh, who was starting to cry. ‘Oh no, no, no, no. No!’
Before Rosy could intervene, Marion was racing across the classroom to where Ellie and Sam were standing by the sand tray. A large brightly coloured jeep was held aloft in Ellie’s hand, Alfie was bawling loudly and Sam was looking all deer-in-the-headlights.
‘Absolutely not, young man. What do you think you’re doing?’
Oh, dear God, Marion’s new bond with Rosy obviously was making her far too comfortable in the classroom. Rosy signalled Pippa, the teaching assistant, over to help with the group she was with and went to intervene before Marion did something illegal.
‘Of course she walloped you with it you, stupid boy! Good girl, Ellie. Angelina was quite right. You have to stand up for yourselves in school. Or they walk all over you. All girls together, eh? Do stop your bawling, young man, for goodness’ sake – you’re giving us all a headache. Come on, Ellie, your friend too – odd-looking boy but I’m sure you know what you’re doing – I think you’ve just won the sand tray for yourselves. Go on, the rest of you, go and play somewhere else.’
‘Mrs Marksharp! I’ll take over here, thank you.’ Rosy didn’t think she had ever had to raise her voice in such a fashion, not in all her years of teaching.
‘Oh no, don’t worry, Rosy dear, I have it all in hand. In fact, now the leaflets have been done I can stay and help in the class if you like, we’re so lucky to have young Ellie. Her father is quite a catch, you know. Oh, of course, you’ve met him. Quite a catch.’
‘Alfie, come back here, love. Ellie, you stay right here too. Marion, out, out now! Although I will want to speak toyouafter school.’
Once Marion had gone, Rosy had de-escalated the sand tray situation and had made a mental note that Ellie, who hadn’t been to the day induction the previous term, could need quite a firm hand.
The morning then reverted to the calm it should be. Time whizzed by and it wasn’t long before story time was over and the parents came in to pick up their babies. Being the first day, Rosy and Lynne handed over the children individually, reassuring each parent on how the day had gone. Rosy had to explain to Alfie’s mum why he had a large red blotch on his forehead on the very first day, but thankfully she was remarkably understanding about it whilst a parent behind her muttered something about karma.
She saw Lynne hand Sam over to Sylvie, who was hiding behind big sunglasses but whose grin was infectious as her son bowled into her legs, so excited by his morning. She saw Alex trying to start a conversation with her, but Sylvie seemed to smile politely, nod a bit and make her excuses. Rosy had wondered about the two of them this morning, but now her interest was definitely piqued. Marion was right, Alex did seem to be rather eligible, and it wasn’t often that a handsome single father pitched up in the playground. She felt almost sorry for him; she gave him maybe another two days before the rest of the mothers worked out he wasn’t married and moved in for the kill. Interesting that Sylvie seemed to be showing no interest whatsoever. The playground, the parent side of it anyway, wasoften a bit of a soap opera, and she was interested to see how this chapter would unfold.
And there he was standing in front of her as Ellie stood by her side. This bit she hated, but she needed to make it quite clear that Ellie had been aggressive today and that such behaviour had no place in school. Privately she thought Alex might want to keep an eye on Ellie’s number one female role model as well.
Even though the first day for Class One was only half a day, it was always an exhausting one. With the new intake gone home there were only a few of the older children left in the class for the day so Rosy left them with Lynne for some focused literacy work and headed off to her office to start organizing some of the logistics for the new term.
Being a village school with a small roll meant that instead of the seven classes – one for each academic year – that a larger school might have, Penmenna School had four main classes, divided largely by Key Stage. Class One, overseen by Rosy and Lynne, had the Reception age children and some of the younger children that would be in Year One but were better suited to a little more Early Years teaching before moving up to Class Two. Class Two was taught by Sarah Fielding, who would be retiring next year, and was the sweetest teacher Rosy had ever encountered – perfect for teaching the five-, six- and seven-year-olds in her care. The remaining two classes were overseen by the most contrasting teachers one could imagine. Harmony Rivers had the younger ones, those that would be in Years Three and Four, and Amanda Adams was responsible for the eldest children in the school, and used distinctly Victorian methods to get them through their final-year SATs. Amanda was pretty fierce, but remarkably fair, and Rosy knew that she regularly went above and beyond for those children in her class but without making a fanfare about it. Unlike Harmony, who wouldlike to dab every child with sage before they came through the door if Rosy would let her and make sure everyone knew why.
Rosy knew that every school had its share of different teaching methods, and it was fair to say that Penmenna was certainly diverse, but she did enjoy shepherding this raggle-taggle bunch. Most days.
Amanda rapped authoritatively at Rosy’s door, which was open, and waited until Rosy called her through. The expression on her face so grim that even Rosy was startled and wondered what she had done wrong.
‘Miss Winter.’
‘Rosy.’ She knew she would never win this battle over first names; Amanda wore formality as most women wore knickers, as a matter of course, and never removed in the workplace.
‘I’m afraid we have to talk. I appreciate that this is our first day teaching, and it’s only lunchtime, but I’m afraid I do believe speed is of the essence in situations such as these.’
Oh no. Please don’t let Marion have gone to Amanda’s class after Rosy had kicked her out. The last time she had done so Amanda threatened union involvement, although if she did let the two women battle it out, it would be a close call as to who would win. Amanda Adams in the blue corner dressed in pinstripe and sporting a fetching ballerina bun or Marion Marksharp in the red corner, in a new season Cath Kidston dress spotted with ladybirds and her trademark fuchsia lipstick. If they could just hold off a couple of months then she supposed it would liven up the Christmas Fayre.
Pulling herself out of her daydream she tried to focus on Amanda’s very concerned face. She did hope Toby’s mum hadn’t sent him in with only a bar of Caramac and can of Red Bull for lunch again. Last time Amanda had felt compelled to ring her and dictate a recipe for vegetable soup down the phone. Rosy had sent her on a training course immediately afterwards aboutworking with parents and to Amanda’s credit, she had managed to rein her judgement in and made a real effort to build bridges with the parents. It was just a shame she always looked like she’d be more at home jangling keys in a prison camp as she did it.
‘Which situations, Amanda? Here, do sit down.’
