Page 38 of It Was Always You

He smiled warmly and nudged her shoulder. ‘Lil, you’re the best.’

Her heart did a somersault. ‘Aye and don’t you forget it.’

TRACK 17

‘AGAINST ALL ODDS’ (PHIL COLLINS)

September 2022 – after Eve

Adam walked out of the staff room and took a long, deep breath. His colleagues had been lovely, very supportive and kind. He had found himself fighting to swallow the lump lodged in his throat on numerous occasions. But just being here, in the school building with its familiar smells and sounds, seemed to ease his pain ever so slightly. His first lesson of the day was going to be the hardest. The class of fifteen-year-olds had been with him since they started at the school. They were his favourite class of all. Not that a teacher should have favourites. They were by no means the brightest kids, but they were passionate. Before he had taken compassionate leave, they had been running through Romeo and Juliet as a play. The kids had struggled with the language at first but acting the scenes out had helped their understanding immensely.

He walked into his classroom and wiped the board of all the notes made by previous supply teachers. He rolled down the next panel and stopped dead. Scrawled in bubble writing across the board was the message:

Welcome back Mr Armstrong, weve reely mist you.

He chuckled and shook his head. ‘It’s good that I’m back if that’s how they’re spelling these days,’ he said aloud. Feeling unable to wipe that section of board clean of the touching sentiment, he stepped away, leaving it in full view.

The bell sounded to notify the pupils of the beginning of the school day and with trepidation he waited for their arrival. The first to enter the classroom was probably the graffiti artist herself. Jenny Milton. Her bleached blonde hair and heavily made-up face hadn’t changed.

‘Mr Armstrong!’ She ran over and stopped short of flinging her arms around him. He inhaled sharply, panic washing over him at the thought that she might follow through but fortunately she stood in front of his desk with a big grin on her orange face. ‘You got our message then.’ She pointed to her handiwork.

Adam breathed a sigh of relief when he realised she wasn’t going to hug him. ‘I did, Jenny. Thank you.’ He thought about mentioning the atrocious spelling but decided against it.

More pupils filtered into the room and crowded around his desk, placing envelopes down, which Adam presumed were condolence cards. It was very sweet. ‘Are you all right, sir? We… you know… heard about Mrs Armstrong. It must’ve been awful.’

‘Yeah, we’re really sorry, sir. If we can do anything just tell us.’

‘Shall I hand the books out, sir?’

‘It’s good to have you back, sir. That supply teacher we had was shit!’ With a loud gasp the whole class fell silent, and everyone’s focus was turned to the owner of the foul mouth.

Adam cleared his throat and stifled a laugh. ‘Okay, Tom. I think that’s enough now.’

The spotty teenager bit his lip and cringed. ‘Sorry, sir. Sorry for swearing, I mean. I’m not sorry for what I said though ’cause it’s true!’

Jenny Milton punched him hard on the arm and glared at him. ‘You’ll get us all detention, you spotty weasel,’ she hissed. Tom chuntered under his breath that the whole class had thought it and he’d just had the guts to say it.

Once everyone was seated and the books had been handed out, Adam took a deep breath. He had prepared a speech to deliver to the class, but it felt a little contrived now.

He blinked a few times to get rid of the tears stinging his eyes and began. ‘Okay, kids, we have a lot of catching up to do. But first of all, I just want to say how great it is to be back with you all. It’s been a rotten time for me. Losing someone you love is never easy. I loved my wife more than anything in this world, and so you’ll have to please excuse me if I get emotional at any point. I’m trying very hard not to bring what happened into the classroom, but as my best friend has informed me, I’m a teacher, not a robot. But I want to get on with life now. I want you all to do well in your exams, and you were making great progress before… well… you know. So, let’s get cracking, eh? Onward and upward.’ Silence fell on the usually rowdy group.

Suddenly, Jenny Milton stood and began clapping. She was immediately joined by Tom. Then, one by one the rest of the pupils stood and joined in the applause. Then came whistles and cheers. Adam was taken aback as the class of loud-mouthed and leery teens showed their appreciation for his words. He soaked up the positive energy coursing around the room. He was back. And it felt good.

Lunchtime came around quickly and Adam heaved a long breath of exhaustion as he flopped into one of the threadbare, squashy armchairs in the staff room. Resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, he closed his eyes. Someone patted his back and sat in the chair beside him. He glanced up into the eyes of Diane Silverman, Head of Performing Arts. She was a good friend and had been at the funeral.

‘How are you holding up, Adam?’ she asked with a kind smile.

He rubbed his face. ‘I’m shattered. I honestly don’t remember ever being this tired after a morning of teaching.’

She nodded. ‘I can imagine. You’ve been through a lot. I hear you got a standing ovation during first period.’ She grinned.

His eyes widened. He’d forgotten how fast news travelled around school. ‘Erm, yes. That was a bit of a shock.’

‘They adore you, that lot, you know. I’ve lost count of how many times Jenny Milton has asked for your address so she could bring you some soup.’

He pulled his brows into a frown. ‘Soup?’

Diane giggled. ‘Yes. Apparently, she’s heard that you’re supposed to bring chicken soup to someone in your situation as it will, and I quote, “help to heal your soul”. Bless her heart.’