Authors: R J Gould
“Do sit down,” he said, directing David to a drab beige
armchair that had seen better days. Mr Edwards sat next to him on a matching
seat. On the coffee table between them were three delicate enamelled boxes
adorned with colourful paintings of pagodas and trees with twisted branches.
David looked up and Mr Edwards began. “We have a problem
with Rachel. She was caught smoking this morning when she should have been in
class and that’s the second time within a few days. When Miss Franks told her
off I’m afraid she called her a f…ing bitch. It’s unacceptable and I see no
option but to suspend her.”
“I agree that sort of behaviour is disgraceful, Mr
Edwards, but there are extenuating circumstances. You see, my wife walked out
on us last Saturday and Rachel has reacted with considerable anger. That’s no
excuse for her smoking or her rudeness, but I’m sure you accept it at least to
some extent explains things.”
“I’m sorry to hear your news, Mr Willoughby, and yes, of
course something like that is going to affect behaviour.” He looked down at a
sheet of paper with handwritten notes. “However the first smoking incident took
place before last weekend and my staff have been complaining about her
insolence for quite a while. Apparently today she announced she’s quitting the musical,
too.”
“Well, she hasn’t mentioned that to me. Look, I accept
your dissatisfaction, but I’m worried about the effect a suspension might have
on Rachel. You see the situation with my wife is particularly severe. She’s in
a relationship with a family friend, someone we’ve known for years. And Rachel
was very fond of Jim Wainwright, she trusted him implicitly.” David was
surprised to see the headmaster reddening, obviously a sensitive soul. He
pressed on, sensing the chance of a rethink. “Surely you appreciate my point,
Mr Edwards?”
“I’m not in a position to comment on the personal
details, Mr Willoughby. However perhaps I should mention that Jim Wainwright is
one of our governors, a highly valued member of the team. It would have been
better not to have known the name. I suggest we focus on Rachel’s behaviour.”
“It’s a tough time for her. Would you put the suspension
on hold?”
Mr Edwards paused, took off his glasses and placed them
on the table. He looked across at David who for a brief instant felt as if he
was a pupil himself.
Finally the headmaster responded. “Yes, I’ll agree to
probation instead of suspension, though with conditions. I’ll want Rachel to
apologise to Miss Franks and to write me an action plan to set out how she
intends to improve her behaviour and performance. She’s an able girl, Mr
Willoughby, and she’s in danger of substantial underachievement.”
“Thank you, Mr Edwards, I appreciate your decision. I’ll
make sure she does both things you’ve asked for.”
“One other point though. She needs to be made aware that
if she steps out of line, however slightly, that will be it and she’ll be
suspended.”
“Fair enough, I’ll make sure she behaves properly.”
The headmaster stood and David did likewise. “You might
want to help her put together her plan of action,” Edwards suggested. “I want
to see something that sets out how she intends to make a sustained effort to
improve.”
“I’ll do that too.”
The Headmaster shook hands with David while making
uncompromising eye contact. “She’s in a room by reception, I’ll take you there.
She can’t go back to classes today but we’ll see her and her plan tomorrow.”
David glanced at his watch on their way out. It was 11.56.
He’d told Mary he’d be back by 1.00 at the latest and he might still make it. Mr
Edwards led him to a tiny windowless room, as near as a school could get to
having a cell. There were two plastic chairs, one occupied by Rachel and
another by a teacher who was marking exercise books on his lap. “You can go
home now, Rachel,” the Head said before David had a chance to speak. “If you do
what your father and I have discussed we’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned and
left without waiting for a reply.
“Hello Rachel, shall we go?” She nodded and followed
David out to the car.
The journey home was silent until David turned into their
street. Then Rachel spoke. “I’m sorry, dad. Things must be hard for you and
it’s not fair for me to make it worse.” David glanced to his side and saw tears
rolling down Rachel’s cheeks. He pulled up into the drive and switched off.
“We need each other to get through this, Rachel, but
whatever happens you know I’m here to support you.” They leant across the
handbrake to cuddle and Rachel shook as she sobbed. He couldn’t leave her at
home alone in this state, Mary would have to wait.
He made ham sandwiches for lunch and while they were
eating, outlined his conversation with Mr Edwards. The key messages were the
need for an apology and an action plan. As soon as she’d finished eating Rachel
opened her bag, took out a pad of paper and a pen, and got going.
“This is easy,” she said as she wrote.
1. No smoking
in school or nearby
2. Polite
attitude towards all teachers
3. Work as
hard as possible
4. Give in
homework on time
She tore out the piece of paper and handed it to David. “Done
it.”
“Well, if you stick with these that would be great, but
they’re a bit open-ended.” He’d attended countless meetings to set SMART
objectives and decided not to burden his daughter with a process that she would
probably encounter far too often in the future. He chose an intermediate path. “Perhaps
you could give an indication of how you intend to reach these actions.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel replied, a glimmer of outraged
teenager reappearing. “I’ve said I won’t smoke, will be polite and will work
hard. What more do they want?”
“Break them up a bit. For instance, which subject will
you have to work hardest in to be successful? Who do you need to be polite to? Is
there a teacher you’ve been particularly rude to, maybe the one you swore at
today?”
“Yeah, the fucking bitch.”
“Rachel!”
“Only joking, dad. OK, back to the drawing board. I’ll
take it upstairs if that’s all right.” She stood and planted a kiss on David’s
forehead.
It was gone 3.00 and he’d forgotten to call work to
apologise to Mary. A difficult conversation was now needed. Luckily a friendly
voice answered the phone. “Hello, Dorothy. Would you track down Mary and
apologise for me, I’m not going to make it back in this afternoon…Yes,
everything’s fine now, just a spot of bother at Rachel’s school…Tell her I’m in
all day tomorrow so we can meet whenever is good for her…No, I don’t need to
speak to her now…Oh and Dorothy, out of interest could you let me know how many
post-its there are in one of those little packs?”
Everything was the same as ever – Isobel pushing the pram
in a vain attempt to stop her baby crying, Lawrence washing his BMW, Mrs Grant
nurturing her flowers and plants with care beyond the call of duty.
“Hello Mr Willoughby, and how are you today?” asked
Stanley Entwhistle.
“I’m fine thanks.”
David put the Sunday Times on the counter and took out
his wallet.
“No Mail on Sunday again?”
David wondered whether the Jane and Jim news had got
around, it must have done by now. Perhaps Stanley was seeking confirmation of
the gossip. “I don’t think I’ll be buying it anymore,” David announced.
This Sunday turned out to be identical to the previous
post-Jane ones. On their return from stay-overs at friends, the children
embarked on half-hearted homework while David ploughed through the newspaper. A
near silent evening meal was followed by television viewing as all three did
little more than hang around waiting for the new week to begin.
Back at work on the Monday, at least the uncomfortable
sessions with Mary had come to an end. David was tackling her strategy for
restoring the finances of his department. His staff were devising new rules,
codes of conduct, terms and conditions, information booklets and application
forms. At the regular Monday morning meeting, a committed young member of his
team expressed concern that the complexity of applying for financial support
would result in people giving up. While this might address the problem of
over-budgeted expenditure, the cost would be great hardship for many families. He
was right and David was dismayed by his own indifference to the fact.
Lunch provided a pleasant break from work. It was
Jabulani’s second autumn in England and like the first, the weather was awful.
He read from a Bill Bryson book that he’d brought in. Bryson described his
arrival in England as feeling like he was now living inside a Tupperware box.
“When I first read it I thought it was funny, now I
realise it’s true.” Jabulani went on to describe the contrast to the sun and
heat of Zimbabwe, with such passion that David could feel the warmth. The
conversation gave him the energy to return to his challenging afternoon tasks.
Rachel was back in Fiddler on the Roof so David collected
her after the rehearsal. “Go well today?” he asked.
“Rubbish.”
“Why?”
“The director’s making the musical into a comedy. A whole
community is being persecuted and that idiot is going for cheap laughs. It’s
like a pantomime. He’ll probably do the holocaust next year.”
“He’s your drama teacher, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he has a lot of experience of what works. Maybe
you should go with the flow.”
“He’s wrong, I’m right.”
The journey was completed in silence. Rachel announced
she was going for a walk and headed off straight from the car, stopping a short
distance away to extract a cigarette from her school bag.
David went indoors and picked up the post from the hall
floor. There was a letter from Rachel’s headteacher, Mr Edwards, which he
opened with trepidation. Since the meeting at her school over three weeks ago David
had been unable to get Rachel to talk about progress beyond a perfunctory
statement that everything was fine.
Dear Mr Willoughby
I am pleased to report that there has been a remarkable
improvement in Rachel’s attitude and performance in school over the past few
weeks. The action plan she presented to me was realistic and well thought out,
and she has tackled the points listed with gusto.
In particular she has worked hard in those subjects
that until recently she has shown no interest in, with Biology and French marks
rising significantly. Teachers now report on a polite, well-mannered girl. She
has returned to the cast of Fiddler on the Roof and much to my staff’s
amusement, she is frequently heard humming ‘If I Were a Rich Man’ with an
engaging smile as she walks along the corridors. Another song too by all
accounts, a Queen hit, the one about champions.
Thank you for your support. Let’s hope she maintains
the progress, but you are welcome to tell her that we are delighted to note the
upturn.
Yours sincerely
John Edwards
Headmaster
That’s one worry out the way, David reflected, despite the
reference to the humming. Behaviour at home had improved, too. Although she had
yet to see Jane, they had spoken a couple of times and her mother’s name could
now be mentioned without the swearing.
When they were sitting together for dinner David
announced the arrival of the letter and read it out. There was the standard
teenage dismissive response to praise.
The meal turned out to be another culinary failure.
“Eat up, Sam. I thought you liked fish and chips,” David
urged when he saw his son looking down at the plate, knife and fork stationary
in his hands.
“But what’s this?” Sam asked, stabbing with his fork.
“What do you mean what is it? It’s fish.”
“I mean what type of fish?”
“Sea bass.”
“I only like fish with breadcrumbs, cod or plaice.”
“I thought it would be nice to try something different.”
Rachel intervened. “Stop being so bloody fussy, Sam.”
“OK I’ll try it.”
“Thank you. I’ll stick to what you like best next time. What
about you, Rachel? You’ve hardly touched yours either.”
“I don’t want everyone to think I’m fat on stage.”
“That’s not likely.”
The pair of them picked at their food, only the moving of
chairs as they got up breaking the silence.
“Hang on a minute please, Rachel,” David said.
Sam left and Rachel sat with her arms folded, impatient,
anticipating a telling off.
“You know what you said earlier, that you were right and
the drama teacher was wrong…”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking about it. Sometimes in life you just
have to do what you’re told, you can’t always have things your own way.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t be silly. The world is what it is, not what you’d
like it to be.”
“That’s pathetic dad. What about people like Nelson
Mandela and Martin Luther King? Or Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg. They didn’t
think that, they changed things.”
“So did Hitler and Attila the Hun,” David added,
regretting his put down as he spoke.
Rather than ridiculing his choices, Rachel was prepared
to out-debate her father. “Of course there have been evil people. But the world
is a better place now than ever before, so on balance the effect of the people
who have tried to change things must have been positive.”
Checkmate.
It was evident Rachel knew she had won hands down. “Good discussion,
dad. Thanks,” she said with the tone of a victor. She stood up. “I’d like to
carry on, but I must do homework so I can earn some brownie points on that list
of mine.”