busy schedules to support their kiddies’ schools—’
‘No, honestly.’ She glances significantly at Fanny.
‘Thank you,’ Robert says again.
‘Stop! I’m just doing what I can. After all, we’re all on the same side, right?’
‘Oh, yes,’ agrees Robert. ‘Absolutely.’
She puts two thumbs in the air, cocks her head: ‘WE’RE JUST DOIN’ IT FOR THE KIDS!’
‘That’s right,’ Robert nods. ‘Kiddies first! Every time!’
Geraldine keeps the head cocked, offers the two of them a raised eyebrow, a winsome smile.
‘Super,’ says Robert. ‘Well, Geraldine, if that’s all, I know Fanny and I should be getting back to our young students.’ He lifts himself up from the radiator and, with one soft hand on her shoulder, shepherds Geraldine towards the stairs. ‘Thanks ever so much for dropping by. Lovely to see you! And send my regards to Clive, won’t you?’ Geraldine assures him that she will, though she won’t. Of course. Clive wouldn’t have had the faintest idea who she was talking about.
Robert White stands at the top of the stairs, smiling and waving until she is out of view. Afterwards he doesn’t quite dare to return to Fanny’s office. Some sense of personal preservation sends him instead to the toilet to wash his hands, where he finds that he can’t stop grinning. Maybe he rushed her a little there, he thinks, but there’s a chink, and he feels it; a chink of light in the tunnel of love; a teeny-tiny seedling from which something special and beautiful might yet grow.
Robert disposes neatly of his paper towel, checks his fingernails, and heads out to his classroom, where he orders the children to mark their own maths books and then switches a video on.
The video is called Are We Being Served? An Overview of Service Industries in the West Midlands and they have seen it many times before.
15
Robert White’s previous hostility, his fluey colds, are all forgotten now. He turns up to work every day. He follows Fanny around the school like a puppy. She spoke to him only once, on the afternoon following the incident. She made it clear (she thought) that she never wanted anything similar to happen again. But he’d wandered off with the same serene smile stuck on his lips and it’s been stuck there, now, for a week. No matter what she does. No matter how much she snaps and snarls and ignores him. She can’t shift it.
The little interlude in Fanny’s office has been re-shot in his mind, in softest focus and from all conceivable angles; it’s been given a soundtrack, and a whole lot of dialogue that was never there. He’s taken home the photograph from the Gazette , cut it out and stuck it on to sugar paper stolen from the school stationery cupboard. And this morning he brought pink roses into the staff room.
He made a tremendous drama of arranging them in a broken coffee mug.
‘They’re lovely,’ gushed Linda Tardy; gushed Mrs Haywood. They called in Tracey Guppy from washing the floor next door to have a look.
‘Bet you wish you had a young man giving you roses like that!’ said Linda Tardy. ‘I know I do!’
‘They’re revolting,’ Tracey said.
Fanny, face buried in a newspaper, gave a muffled snort.
‘Do you like them, Fanny?’ said Robert, jiggling them ineptly about. The stems were too long for the mug, and they wouldn’t balance.
‘Hey, Tracey,’ said Fanny (ignoring Robert), ‘I spotted your naughty brother Dane in the post office yesterday. He didn’t look very ill to me. Any chance he might come back to school one of these—’ She looked round from behind her newspaper, but Tracey had left the room. ‘Tracey?’
‘Ouch!’ Robert’s mug of pink roses tumbled to the floor. He looked across at Fanny, pale eyes damp with yearning, a spot of red blood sprouting from his finger. ‘I think I’m going to need a plaster.’
‘Oh, belt up,’ Fanny snapped.
‘Have pity on him!’ giggled glass-eyed Mrs Haywood, as Fanny slapped down her paper and
‘No, honestly.’ She glances significantly at Fanny.
‘Thank you,’ Robert says again.
‘Stop! I’m just doing what I can. After all, we’re all on the same side, right?’
‘Oh, yes,’ agrees Robert. ‘Absolutely.’
She puts two thumbs in the air, cocks her head: ‘WE’RE JUST DOIN’ IT FOR THE KIDS!’
‘That’s right,’ Robert nods. ‘Kiddies first! Every time!’
Geraldine keeps the head cocked, offers the two of them a raised eyebrow, a winsome smile.
‘Super,’ says Robert. ‘Well, Geraldine, if that’s all, I know Fanny and I should be getting back to our young students.’ He lifts himself up from the radiator and, with one soft hand on her shoulder, shepherds Geraldine towards the stairs. ‘Thanks ever so much for dropping by. Lovely to see you! And send my regards to Clive, won’t you?’ Geraldine assures him that she will, though she won’t. Of course. Clive wouldn’t have had the faintest idea who she was talking about.
Robert White stands at the top of the stairs, smiling and waving until she is out of view. Afterwards he doesn’t quite dare to return to Fanny’s office. Some sense of personal preservation sends him instead to the toilet to wash his hands, where he finds that he can’t stop grinning. Maybe he rushed her a little there, he thinks, but there’s a chink, and he feels it; a chink of light in the tunnel of love; a teeny-tiny seedling from which something special and beautiful might yet grow.
Robert disposes neatly of his paper towel, checks his fingernails, and heads out to his classroom, where he orders the children to mark their own maths books and then switches a video on.
The video is called Are We Being Served? An Overview of Service Industries in the West Midlands and they have seen it many times before.
15
Robert White’s previous hostility, his fluey colds, are all forgotten now. He turns up to work every day. He follows Fanny around the school like a puppy. She spoke to him only once, on the afternoon following the incident. She made it clear (she thought) that she never wanted anything similar to happen again. But he’d wandered off with the same serene smile stuck on his lips and it’s been stuck there, now, for a week. No matter what she does. No matter how much she snaps and snarls and ignores him. She can’t shift it.
The little interlude in Fanny’s office has been re-shot in his mind, in softest focus and from all conceivable angles; it’s been given a soundtrack, and a whole lot of dialogue that was never there. He’s taken home the photograph from the Gazette , cut it out and stuck it on to sugar paper stolen from the school stationery cupboard. And this morning he brought pink roses into the staff room.
He made a tremendous drama of arranging them in a broken coffee mug.
‘They’re lovely,’ gushed Linda Tardy; gushed Mrs Haywood. They called in Tracey Guppy from washing the floor next door to have a look.
‘Bet you wish you had a young man giving you roses like that!’ said Linda Tardy. ‘I know I do!’
‘They’re revolting,’ Tracey said.
Fanny, face buried in a newspaper, gave a muffled snort.
‘Do you like them, Fanny?’ said Robert, jiggling them ineptly about. The stems were too long for the mug, and they wouldn’t balance.
‘Hey, Tracey,’ said Fanny (ignoring Robert), ‘I spotted your naughty brother Dane in the post office yesterday. He didn’t look very ill to me. Any chance he might come back to school one of these—’ She looked round from behind her newspaper, but Tracey had left the room. ‘Tracey?’
‘Ouch!’ Robert’s mug of pink roses tumbled to the floor. He looked across at Fanny, pale eyes damp with yearning, a spot of red blood sprouting from his finger. ‘I think I’m going to need a plaster.’
‘Oh, belt up,’ Fanny snapped.
‘Have pity on him!’ giggled glass-eyed Mrs Haywood, as Fanny slapped down her paper and
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