Authors: Holly Kinsella
It was such a glorious evening when Will climbed into his battered old Saab that he decided to have the roof down. As he drove out of the school gates and past hedgerows filled with fluffy white cow parsley he began to relax for the first time in weeks. He put all his worries about exam grades, the year
11s who’d been caught with a crate of vodka and the parents who hadn’t paid the autumn fees yet to the back of his mind. He plugged his iPod into the car’s ancient stereo system, switched the Rolling Stones on full blast and put his foot down.
Forty-five minutes later he parked in St Giles, right in the heart of Oxford,
then strolled down Cornmarket and into the High. Everywhere he looked brought back memories of his university days. As he passed Brasenose, his old college, he peered past the porter’s lodge and smiled at the sight of students scurrying past, laden with books. It seemed no time at all since he’d been one of them, an English scholar with dreams of being the next Martin Amis.
Just past Brasenose he spotted a chic-looking bar. There were two huge earthenware pots filled with flowers on either side of the doorway and a blackboard emblazoned with the words ‘Happy Hour.
Beer and steak for £10.’ It sounded good to Will so he pushed open the door and went in. After ordering a half pint of Old Hooky, he took out the novel he’d begun weeks ago and settled back to read. He’d only managed a couple of pages, however, when he realised someone was standing at his table. When he looked up, he was stunned to see Grace Foley smiling at him. She looked even more glamorous than usual, in a tight sleeveless dress and eye-wateringly high heels.
‘Grace,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘What on earth are you doing here? It’s bit of a way from
Downthorpe.’
Grace beamed at him. ‘I could say the same to you. Actually, Tuesday is my afternoon off so I often head to Oxford. I was at Christ Church and lots of my friends are still here. It’s good to get out of
Downthorpe now and again, don’t you think?’
Will looked at Grace with new respect. Christ Church was one of the oldest and most intellectually renowned colleges. He hadn’t realised Grace had studied there.
‘What did you read?’ he asked.
‘History.
Not that I teach it now. I took a psychology degree later on and that’s my subject at Downthorpe. It’s only five periods a week though. Once Jono appointed me as his deputy the teaching had to take a back seat.’
Will was puzzled by this. As acting head he managed to fit in five periods of English classes every week so he would have expected Grace to do more. Apart from leading the academic review her deputy head duties weren’t exactly onerous.
It suddenly crossed Will’s mind that he should ask Grace to join him. She agreed with alacrity so Will reluctantly closed his book and stuffed it back in his pocket. He was so knackered when he went to bed at night that he wasn’t sure when he’d get the chance to go back to it.
‘Is this one of your regular haunts?’ he asked. ‘I’m pretty sure it wasn’t here the last time I came to Oxford. But that was at least ten years ago. And I didn’t drink in swanky places like this then.’
‘Can I get you a drink, Madam?’ asked a pretty waitress who, with her clear skin and hair tied up in a messy knot, looked exactly like a Downthorpe sixth former.
Grace ordered a large glass of Pinot
Grigio and some olives. She looked far more suited to surroundings like this than to teaching psychology A level to a bunch of tricky sixteen-year-olds.
Will took a gulp of his beer and tried to relax. He felt strangely uncomfortable sitting in an Oxford bar with his deputy.
‘How long have you been at Downthorpe?’ he said, racking his brains to make conversation.
‘Nine years,’ replied Grace. ‘I started as a newly qualified teacher and worked my way up.
Jono Rawlinson asked me to be his number two a couple of years ago.’
Will gazed into the distance, reluctant to catch Grace’s eye. The stylish bare brick wall on the far side of the bar was filled with four massive oil paintings. The most striking showed a row of surly-looking youngsters sitting at a bus stop, while another portrayed an elderly man on a skateboard.
‘I’m aiming to be a head one day,’ added Grace. But I’m not in any hurry… Downthorpe suits me fine right now. It’s good to be so close to Oxford too.’
Will wasn’t convinced. From what he’d seen of Grace, she was fiercely ambitious. In fact, he’d be surprised if she hadn’t applied for the
Downthorpe job herself. But then again, he could hardly criticise her for wanting his job. In her position he would have felt the same.
‘Are you hungry?’ he
asked, keen to change the subject all of a sudden. The whole point of driving to Oxford in the first place had been to clear his head, not listen to his deputy discussing her long term career plans.
‘A bit,’ smiled Grace.
‘Well, why don’t you join me for supper?’
Grace beamed at him.
‘Fantastic idea. I got blown out by my… by the person I’d arranged to see. So I’m footloose and fancy free.’
He didn’t like the idea of Grace being ‘footloose and fancy free,’ but he forced himself to ignore it.
‘And how about another drink?’ said Grace. ‘Shall we order a bottle of wine?’
Will was surprised. He’d assumed that like him, Grace would be driving.
Downthorpe was in the middle of nowhere so she could hardly have caught the bus here.
‘Not for me,’ he replied. ‘I’ve got my car.
How about you?’
Grace hesitated for a moment,
then looked slightly uncomfortable.
‘It’s slightly embarrassing,’ she said.
Now it was Will’s turn to feel awkward. If she was going to tell him something that compromised her role as deputy head then he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.
‘Go on,’ he said finally.
‘It’s a bit extravagant but I tend to make an evening of it when I come to Oxford. So I get a cab. It costs a bloody fortune but it means I can have a drink and not worry about it.’
Will was so relieved that she hadn’t confessed to a drug habit or a drink-drive conviction that he ordered another glass of wine for her.
‘We’re obviously paying you far too much,’ he joked. ‘But seriously, how you spend your money is your business. Shall we get the menu? And don’t worry about getting back to Downthorpe. I’ll give you a lift.’
Grace proved to be surprisingly good company. As the evening wore on Will discovered a whole load of things about
Downthorpe that he hadn’t known before. They included gems like Molly Piper, one of the lower sixth girls, modelling for the Jack Wills fashion brand during the school holidays and Eddie Garstang, the chair of the governors, having the knives out for the previous head. Grace told Will that the bursar was a whizz at numbers but was also a recovering alcoholic and that at least two of the young maths teachers were madly in love with Henry Mead.
‘And is she interested in either of them?’ asked Will.
Grace shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’ve no idea. We aren’t that friendly. We get on fine but she’s never confided in me about her love life. How’s yours by the way?’
‘How’s my what?’ Will was miles away, wondering who Henry Mead’s admirers were.
‘Your love life. It’s the talk of the staff room.’
‘Really?’ said Will. ‘I find that hard to believe. I’m sure everyone’s far too busy with their own lives to worry about mine.’
Grace took another glug of wine. ‘Oh come on, Will. You’ve been in teaching for long enough to know that staff rooms are a mine of gossip. We’re all under such pressure. We’ve got to have something to take our minds off the day job.’
Will
gazed at Grace thoughtfully. It was hard not to like her. She was gregarious and fun, and from what he’d seen so far, a pretty impressive deputy head. And there clearly wasn’t much that went on at Downthorpe that escaped her eagle eye.
The youngest boys were having the time of their lives. Word had got round that Josh Cook’s mum had sent him a hamper from Selfridges and around twenty boys had congregated in his dormitory for a midnight feast. Ben Stirkley, the prefect in charge of them, had got wind of it and came marching in to tell them off. But once he spotted the cocktail sausages, crisps and chocolate cake he relented – but only on the condition they gave him some too.
‘And for fuck’s sake, keep the noise down,’ he whispered. ‘The other prefects aren’t as laid back as me. They’ll report you to old
Jacko if they clock what you’re up to.’
Josh’s mum had clearly thought of everything, reflected Ben as he gazed appreciatively at the feast laid out across the dormitory floor. Right down to the plastic cups, plates, knives and forks. He greedily helped himself to a bit of everything,
then tiptoed back to his room at the far end of the corridor. He was pleased to see that Joe Trent, his room mate, was out for the count. Ben plonked the plate on his desk and pulled the window up to get some air. Glancing out across the rooftops though, he nearly stopped in his tracks. The window faced directly on to the deputy head’s cottage and Ben could see two people standing on her front doorstep. Ben screwed up his eyes to try and see exactly who they were. It was hard to make anything out in the darkness but suddenly the lights were activated and the couple were bathed in light. Ben whistled softly under his breath as he saw exactly who the man was. Ace, he grinned. This was the best bit of gossip he’d stumbled across in a very long time.