‘Hi,’ I said, not knowing what else to say.
‘What do you want?’ said Mark, taking his hands out of his pockets and turning to face me full on. It was an aggressive stance, with very little of his usual polite student demeanour. I was taken aback, but quickly recovered.
‘I need to know what’s going on and someone said to ask the kids in the school. I picked you Ruth, because you look like you know.’ I spoke to Ruth rather than to Mark. He might be bigger than both of us, but I knew who was in charge.
‘Where did you come from?’ asked Ruth.
‘Carpenders Park, near Watford,’ I said, ‘I would have stayed there, but Frank’s family was here.’
‘Who’s Frank?’ she asked.
I paused, thinking carefully before speaking, trying to frame my words to capture our relationship. ‘Frank was eighty-four and also lived in Carpenders Park… He and I became friends over the autumn and winter, and we travelled here together… Frank died the night we arrived.’
‘Oh,’ she said, there was a wealth of comprehension in her voice. ‘How much do you know?’
‘Nothing! I don’t know anything,’ some of my frustration was leaking through. I swallowed. ‘I need to know what’s going on. Why does this place feel wrong? Why is the school so strict? What’s with the soldiers at the gates? Why does it feel like they are watching me all the time?’ It all came out as an incoherent muddle. Stumbling and stuttering, I ground to a halt.
I stared at them in mute appeal but got nothing back but a nod. ‘You have good questions; we’re not supposed to have the answers. We’ll check back with you.’ with that Ruth stepped back and then they both turned and walked briskly away. The encounter was over. I had no answers and a whole load of new questions. Had I made a mistake asking her for help? But my gut told me no. Besides, I needed to trust someone.
I watched them disappear out of sight ahead and wandered slowly home, ‘we’re not supposed to have the answers’ she had said, as if she did, but was wary of telling me. What type of trouble could she get in for just answering questions?
I had to wait until the next week to find out. Both Ruth and Mark gave me no indication during class that they wanted to talk so I left them alone. I continued to teach and began to reach out to the other teachers, hoping to make some connections. I was cheerful and friendly, and every afternoon, in the meetings that seemed to proliferate the timetable, I made copious notes and made sure to ask relevant questions to show I was listening. In truth, I would have been driven out of my mind with boredom if I hadn’t been assiduously writing, occasionally breaking off to draw vines and flowers in the margins during pauses in the tedious explanations of policy and procedure. However, I must have impressed the headmaster, Gordon, because he walked over one morning as I was prepping my lessons.
‘Good Morning Zoe,’ he said, peering over my shoulder, ‘how is it going?’
‘Fine, thank you, Sir,’ I replied.
‘You seem to be very diligent in your preparations,’ he said, ‘it’s a work ethic, we appreciate.’
‘Thank you, Sir,’ I said, feeling simultaneously patronised and pleased. I worked hard, and I liked it to be recognised.
‘There was some trouble when you arrived, I recall,’ he said, ‘but things seemed to have worked out nicely.’
‘I like the efficiency, Sir,’ I said, ‘how well-organised everything is.’ It was true, it was one of the things that had most impressed me when I arrived. I didn’t need to add that I found the restrictions stifling and the meetings mind-numbingly dull.
‘That’s good,’ he replied, slightly absentmindedly as he looked around at the rest of the teachers His gaze focussed back on me ‘We need people to step forward and take positions of responsibility within the school,’ he said, ‘we’re looking for someone to administer the exams and analyse the data produced.’ He smiled as if conferring a favour.
I winced internally, that would be an enormous job, the extra administration alone would eat up all my free periods, and I knew that senior leadership in schools were apt to ask for reports at very short notice. If I accepted, I would be opening myself up to working even later into the evenings and weekends. However, it was important that I kept on the good side of management here, and if I had a position of responsibility, I would naturally be associating more with people in charge and might therefore find out more.
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘I would be glad to help.’
Gordon, nodded, pleased, ‘Excellent, I’ll set that in motion.’ He turned abruptly and I wondered how soon I could get out of there.
The forms for the new job arrived the next day. The school receptionist handed them to me with a smile.
‘Moving up in the world I see,’ she said. The receptionist doubled as the headmasters PA and was part of the inner circle of management. There were several forms, but also a letter detailing a significant pay rise. I was impressed; I hadn’t negotiated a pay increase and therefore hadn’t expected it.
When I did eventually get a miniscule nod from Ruth, I was ready. I’d had a week to clarify my questions. Although I had lots of minor questions; about the school, the source of all the resources, the council, at heart all I wanted to know was whether it was worth staying.
As we stood on the same footpath, Mark handed me one of the town maps. He indicated the allotments at the northern edge of the town. ‘All the students are expected to work in the allotments after school and Saturday mornings,’ he said, ‘can you find a pretence to meet us there?’
‘I could bring some seeds,’ I said, ‘I have spare packets.’
‘No, don’t do that,’ said Ruth quickly, ‘seeds are like gold-dust, keep them,’ she paused, ‘and don’t let anyone see that you have them,’ she added.
‘Perhaps I could ask for compost to make some raised beds in my garden?’
‘Perfect,’ said Ruth, ‘we have plenty, left over from autumn.’ she looked around, flashed a rare smile and they both quickly walked away.
I wanted to set up Saturday so I would be above suspicion, so at lunch, I made a point of engaging Stephen, the English teacher, in conversation. He had been open and informative before, and was also a keen gardener. We had already exchanged several reminiscences about dahlias and other plants we had grown pre-outbreak, and I knew that although it was still only the middle of March, he had begun working on his garden.
‘Stephen,’ I called, as he passed by with his tray of food from the canteen, ‘Can I ask a question?’
He detoured around a sofa and took a seat next to me at the table. ‘Of course, what’s up?’
‘I’m thinking of setting up some raised beds on the patio, I’d like to make a shady fern garden,’ I said. ‘Do you know where I could get some compost to improve the chalky soil?’
‘Good idea,’ he said, suddenly enthusiastic, ‘I don’t think anyone has tried a fern garden yet; you should be able to get a wide variety of plants from the surrounding houses.’
‘And the compost?’ I asked again.
‘Oh, that’s easy… the allotments have loads.’ He took a bite of his sandwich and after a pause continued, ‘You need a permit from the council, and they need to approve your gardening project, but David is pretty laid back about issuing them.’
I finished my last gulp of coffee, ‘Great’ I said, with a large smile, ‘thanks so much.’
In the afternoon I got permission to leave at 4pm… I didn’t really need to, but James had a habit of making snarky remarks if he noticed someone had left before five, even though he knew that everyone worked late into the evenings at home.