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Natalia’s eyes searched for the sinewed thighs of The Nutcracker. There she was, bending to retrieve the yoga mats from a lower shelf, her long brown ponytail almost scooping the floor. And to her surprise there was Neill, coming through the opposite door.
Or not so much surprise. Coming down deliberately to the changing rooms at Natalia’s morning PE lesson to hint something in full view of his arrow’s target? But the pertinent moment went and made itself. For as he stepped in with the anticipatory look of a question, he was obligated to wait. Standing now with a nonchalant gaze down at Barnes’ rummaging, oblivious bottom, his eyes then flicked up to Natalia’s.
She watched him, watching Barnes; the silent suggestion was deafening, just as an ‘oh!’ came from Miss Barnes bolting upright. ‘Hi, Neill!’
Natalia watched her blush, and she knew in a moment from Emma’s sudden diminutive body language that he elicited in her something of the same he did in Natalia, and she knew the hot PE teacher was fair prey to him, and he’d be making Banana Pound Cake out of her just as he intended, because everything he said he would do, he did, with a snap of his fingers, I get to work like that! Like his Harpic toilet cleaner Barnes would be nuked in a Flash, like a shit stain from the cake Natalia makes for him that ends up at the bottom of a toilet bowl… groaned over, spewed out and flushed away like his two wives.
Natalia’s gaze followed Barnes’ bottom through the Yoga class like a baby’s doe eyes trained on a cot-strung mobile. ‘I will have her by the end of the weekend. She needs to know what delicious tastes like!’ Oh boy. Oh man.
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In Friday morning’s Assembly Natalia sat like a statue amongst jiggling bodies, breath baited for the Oh-man, O-Man… Man who roused a string of Os ritually at bedtime like prayer to bless-the-bed-that-I-lay-on. He rushed to the front more flustered than her, five minutes late with his brown-blonde hair and grey jacket tails flying behind him.
‘Good morning everybody!’
‘Good morning Neill!’ with a few giggling ‘Mr Neill.’
‘Neill is fine. Let’s try that again! Good morning everybody.’
‘Good morning NEILL!’ Cue louder laughs.
‘That’s better.’
Natalia inwardly swooned at his mass-addressed cockiness.
‘Right! This won't take long, so the Year 11s can get on with their first Mock Exam. Today is the 1st of December, officially Christmas countdown! Only Eleven School Days of Christmas till 2017 is finito!’
There were whoops and whistles.
‘And on the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave me… eleven pipers! So whatever you're piping, make sure you thoroughly enjoy your weekend and catch up on anything you need to get done!’
Whistles morphed into laughs as the hall arose and Natalia raised an eyebrow. In the toilet her eye caught on the pipes, as she thought, piping? Had that been a cake reference? She pulled out her phone.
Urban Dictionary:
‘Pipe. The act of a male having sexual intercourse with a female.’
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*
Coming downstairs on the lunch bell from a gruelling Science paper, habitually using the stairs closer to the vicinity of New Age Head’s office, she caught a sight of that leather-heeled wild cat. It was parting at the doors from his PE prey, a thick paw lingeringly leaving her svelte hip as she flickered a smitten smile. All but three seconds of public interaction subtle enough to be overlooked by everyone but caught as if under a microscope by Natalia.
Neill looked up to her with an expression as though his parents had cornered him.
‘Natalia! What’s cooking?’
‘Oh, so punny,’ she said, coming closer and lowering her voice to a whisper: ‘Please be careful.’
‘Ohh, do you have a packet of rubber johnnies for me, mum?’ he returned in a low simpering tone.
She blinked around. ’I meant - with her being your staff, I don’t want you getting fired—’
‘The only thing getting fired is your oven onto Gas Mark Sex,’ his eyes flashed, ‘and the only thing getting my staff is her,’ he nodded decidedly to where Miss Barnes had just gone down the stairs. ‘So I want my Banana Pound cake - and make sure it’s a Moist Banana Pound Cake - baked and delivered to me on Monday so we can all enjoy a piece of it!’
‘Neill,’ she bit her lip, ‘I just don’t want you to mess up your, you know…’
‘Oh I won’t be doing it in my very-Brontë cottage if that’s what you think. Rather not shit on my own doorstep. Place is small enough without her muscling in, so to speak!’
Her eyes widened. ‘Well, you sound very respectful of women…’
‘Thank you, I always am. Right before and sometimes a little bit right after.’
She gaped in disbelief just as a crowd of pupils moved through. ‘Downstairs, downstairs please girls and boys!’ Neill called out casually, as he went off singing, serenading bemused passing pupils:
‘She said she can't come out Sundaaay! Because it was her baking daay!’
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*
She wasn’t sure if life’s recent blessing of hero Neill had turned something into a curse that weekend. Good God, his last comments she was too startled to think too hard about. Stroking her fingers over her phone cracks instead - even those reminded her of this cracked pact - she searched for a Banana Pound Cake recipe. Moist, he said, better add moist. Oh god, now she’s even moister. ‘Cookies and Candies!’ Now that’s American. A lady from Texas giving her life story first. Oh, fuck off. Neill will have had Barnes by the time she gets to the recipe. Now let’s see: four medium ripe bananas. What the fuck’s kosher salt? Three cups of flour, oh god, definitely American. Light brown sugar, large eggs, vanilla extract, organic walnuts. Did Aldi even stock all those?
He might lose the bet. That would be funny. Then Nonplussed Neill’d Fix It, and she could scroll recipes without going Through the Looking Crack. Although somehow she knew that’s where he was going instead. What he said in Assembly, sounded like he’d been starved of sex all these weeks of fighting fires at Thornwood and Project Smile on the Ma-loner, a teenage dirtvag definitely out of bounds for anything but a wobbly willy drawn on a footballer’s head. Now he’s going after the fittest staff member with his own staff member, oh, god, she’s moisterer.
It was raining all Saturday. Did this worsen or improve his chances? No doubt the latter, he’d use it as his way to procure her for sexercise in his bedroom alright. Go lock the door, we can make it wetter in here! He said he won’t have her in his cottage, was he joking?
She dreamt her phone was a chocolate bar, snapped in two. She was trying to put the two halves together, swiping it, to see a missed call from ‘Neill, Neill, banana peel!’ But it was Miss Barnes’ voice saying, he’s gone, best not to care! Neill’s laugh, like a vibrating hum. The hum of her phone.
Blinking her eyes open like a newborn lamb into the blue light of a real message from Neill, simply the words:
‘Better get baking.’
Oh. My.
So the bananas Head spent Saturday night pounding and drizzling a teacher and now he was going to teach-a pupil to spend her sacred day of unrest doing a paler version of the same?
She typed back:
‘Liar liar.’
A few minutes later came a picture response. It was a stubbed fag end on a saucer, on a crumpled white bed sheet next to a woman’s black thong, with the message:
‘Pants on fire.’
Oh, she’d walked into that one. Just like he’d walked into hers. Smoking in Barnes’ bedroom? Oh heavens!
She dressed in a flash, raided the kitchen cupboards, listed the missing ingredients, and offered to her mum to do the shopping.
‘You? Do the shoppin’? I don’t know if I can trust you with me purse! I’ll ‘av to come with ya.’
‘Are you serious? Like, serious?’
‘Let me get me shoes on and we’ll go down to Aldi. You can help me carry more bags.’
She groaned. Shopping for ingredients with her loud-mouthed, matted-haired mum so she could present her seedy Headmaster a gold star for jumping the sexy star-jumping PE teacher.
Bickering in the baking aisle over the bits Natalia wanted to buy, her mum relented when she was told it was for her coursework.
‘That reminds me. The new school tops you’ve been wearing, that the ‘Ed brought in. How did you buy those?’
‘Oh, you’ve only just noticed! They gave some away free at school.’
‘Mmm right.’
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Back at home, Natalia threw a tantrum in the kitchen.
‘Why does this mixer only have one spindle? And it’s slower than that old fucking NPC at the Aldi checkout!’
Five minutes of slow whisking, hypnotised by the forming bubbles, brought on a thoughtful smile. These bubbles served a purpose that summoned her out of this crummy kitchen, by someone for whom this cake had to be ‘good, good.’ She re-checked every step. Last thing she wanted to do was beg money off her mum to bake another. She stared at it through the oven door whilst her mum rattled a greasy bag of frozen chips out from the freezer.
‘Where’s me tray?!’
‘That burnt, peeling brown one? Being used. You’ll have to use the grill tray. But this isn't opening for 25 minutes!’ Natalia backed against the oven.
Her mum laughed. ‘Stick these in when ya done.’
Peeling the paper from the hot cake, it looked rather good indeed. Well, this was all educational at least. How else would she have wound up making Banana Bloody Pound Cake? Bloody, alright - her period was announcing its imminence with a dull ache in her middle and all she wanted to do was sleep. Tomorrow, The Badness of King Neill was expecting his cake-and-eat-it!
She texted him a picture. His reply:
‘Wow!’
It looked a bit plain, really.
‘Do you want it drizzled with something?’
- ‘No I’ll do that!’
Oh. Oh?
Oh, no. This was weird. He wasn’t... was he? Those suck jokes he’d made at Assembly, weren’t prep for giving the school one giant collective BJ? It would be the kind of punishment Miss Trunchbull would bake for Bruce Bogtrotter if she had a cock.
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*
Monday morning she stood at her cake wondering if she really should drizzle it in red. Red for, ‘Stop, Neill’s drizzled it in worse!’ Oh, but to imagine them jointly desecrating it, defecating into its brown camouflage and serving it up to Mrs Williams with a glass of warm apple juice!
She messaged:
‘When do you want it?’
- ‘8.45 and bring a knife.’
She knocked nervously. What did post-coital Neill look like?
Same as ever.
‘Good morning!’ he enthused.
She must have looked like the sour-faced dinner lady wheeling in the cake in Matilda because he then asked:
‘Are you... ok?’
‘Oh, just tired. From being your Oompa Loompa, Mr Willy Wonka.’
‘No comment,’ he chuckled. His eyes fell to the bundle. ‘But I’m sure it’s scrumdiddlyumptious!’
‘As much as Miss Barnes?’ she smiled.
‘Even more than Miss Barnes.’
‘What’s her actual name?’
‘Jenny! No, Emma. I can never remember. Best call her Gemma to cover both bases.’
‘You er, slept with her and can’t remember? Did you call her Miss Barnes whilst—?’
‘Pretty much.’
She chortled and chewed her thumb.
‘Emma, yes it’s Emma,’ he frowned. ‘It’s all coming back to me now.’
‘Oh, like PTSD. Well done, here’s your reward for bad behaviour,’ as she unwrapped it and passed the knife, feeling like she was in a warped dream.
She watched him slice a piece and bite down his wide row of top teeth.
‘So what are you going to do, sit and eat the whole thing like Augustus Gloop?’
‘Nope!’ He wiped his mouth. ‘I was just quality-testing. It’s lovely! I’m going to put it down in the canteen today. Meet you there later.’
‘Why, wh—’
‘You don't have a packed lunch, do you?’
‘Well, no, all my bananas went into that of course.’
‘Perfect. See you at 1.’
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*
Natalia got out of Geography late, sighing as she joined a long line into the canteen. Should she battle her way to the front with eyes of a fretful lamb searching faithfully for its shepherd’s 1pm summon?
Her minute of gnawing anxiety was shot like a rifle upon sight of the shepherd himself now up ahead, and like flagging down a grey-suited rescue ship with just her blinkless eyes, the next thing she knew his hand was on her shoulder, softly pulling her out as her heart missed a beat.
Oh goodness, here we go: lamb-leg quiver, her face like warm wool, watching as he now tapped the shoulder of Maria from Year 10 and Damian from Year 8, and ushered the trio to basically jump the queue with him. The magician with his patter, doing his Black Bull trick right here in the canteen as promised, oh Neill...
‘Come with me!’ he announced flamboyantly, guiding them toward the hot trolley, but it was Natalia his hands were centred on, and her ear he spoke into, making her neck hairs prickle with:
‘Pick one you haven’t had yet my darling.’
One tikka masala, bolognese and lasagne paid for with an ‘all on me, lovey!’ to the wart-faced cashier; his hand ghosting the back of Natalia to ensure she, in particular, wasn't going anywhere - which to her felt like a string tickling lightly through her body - irregulating her breath and making her hot in random places, as he steered them to a table.
There was Dinkey, Mrs Coleman, Miss Doris, and Neill was now ushering Imran and Amir from Year 9 to come over too, as he gestured Natalia into the seats, moving in next to her, and calling out:
‘Emma!’
‘Richard!’ Miss Barnes appeared, looking surprised. ‘Well, we have ourselves a full-on party here!’
‘Indeed, and I wanted to treat a few pupils so they can tell me what they think of the new cuisine, salad bar, desserts and all!’
‘Neill,’ Natalia tried to whisper at him amidst the chatter, ‘do you think it's wise that I sit neh—’
‘Grubs up, everybody! …And budge up, you,’ he muttered at Natalia, as Miss Barnes moved in on his other side, and he raised his voice over at two giggling Year 8s: ‘I can cover yours too ladies, if you sit here and give me your review!’
‘We’ve had ours!’
‘Well, have seconds! And dessert! Sit!’
The girls looked at each other, giggled more and joined the end of the table.
Mrs Williams passed by, open-mouthed.
‘Can we treat you, Anne?’ called Neill.
‘Oh, no, no thank you,’ she blinked and walked on.
Imran was squashed into Natalia on one side, and Neill was sitting on the other, much closer than the coach. And with another shuffle-up as the table over-filled, her bottom was crammed into only half a plastic seat, so that the side of Neill’s body was literally right up against hers like being against a radiator. Now her whole body was warm wool, and every few seconds the force of his laugh as he chatted with Emma would jolt him against the side of her shoulder, thigh and arm, in a way that she suspect he wouldn’t remotely curb nor apologise for.
‘You ok there?’ came his voice in her ear. He’ll finally hear from his now-prisoner.
‘Yeah... yeah,’ she blinked. What would others think, she next to Neill again? But no-one seemed to even look at her. She was just a sheep amongst the herd, and all eyes were on the shepherd and his staff with a frisson of laughs and happy full cheeks, telling their approval with raised brows, nods, and Dinkey’s thumbs up of ‘curry’s good!’
Manoeuvring her fork awkwardly with an oops and a sorry, she began eating as best she could with Neill’s elbow almost hitting her breast. ‘It’s great!’ she offered, but her adrenalin from being that close to him deterred her from being able to digest, masticate, taste or even see what was in front of her.
‘I’ve widened the range with classic rustic favourites, but still with options for vegan, gluten-free and all that bollocks,’ he remarked, to a few sniggers - and a stare from Miss Doris - ‘and using organic where possible, well, that’s what we’re telling you - but actually they just dump monosodium glutamate into the recipe to trick your tastebuds into thinking it’s good’ - directing the last quip leaning in toward Natalia, knock-nudging her with his knee - or practically the whole side of his body - and she nudged back with hers, laughing mid-mouthful.
What was this? Footsie, or rather, knocking knees, under the table with the Head? And what the fuck was monosodium glutamate?
‘So, what about yours then Neill?’
He muttered bluntly, ’yeah, it’s alright.’
She giggled.
‘Nothing to write home about. Fills a gap.’
‘Come on, it’s an improvement,’ she whispered.
‘Loving the salad bar, Neill,’ complimented Miss Barnes. ‘Perfectly fresh and crisp.’
After a moment murmuring with Emma, Dinkey opposite, and a pupil further down, Neill piped up louder with: ‘So what have we all been doing today?’ which he followed immediately with, ‘Natalia?’
‘A debate on the meaning of life in Geography, of all subjects,’ she replied. ‘It actually got quite lively.’
‘Oh? Worldview versus patriotism? Nature versus industrialism?’
‘That and more, so much so that some kids were actually awake.’
‘Awake to the global financial slavery system, or they just actually realised what lesson they’re in?’
Dinkey laughed. ‘Nothing like a debate to break up the monotony. I once saw a girl get so riled up by a philosophical argument she threw a chair across the room.’
‘Sadly wasn’t that lively,’ remarked Natalia, ‘I wasn’t feeling up to it this time.’
Dinkey and Neill laughed. ‘Aye this food is good. Always doing something new for the school, eh Neill?’
‘I see it as a challenge, a place to take under my wing,’ munched Neill, ‘I’ll make the league tables soar, put a feather in my cap—’
‘Then fly back down South?’ added Natalia.
They all chuckled.
‘Aye, you’re definitely a different Head than what we’re used to here. We do hope you stick around for a good bit.’
‘How long have you been here again Steve?’
‘Oh, I’ve been here for donkeys’ years, Neill—’ as Natalia and Neill shared another knee-nudge, Dinkey oblivious. ‘It’ll well be time to retire before I even know it!’
‘Gotta keep on plodding onward,’ grunted Neill, as Natalia tried not to laugh.
‘Now dessert!’ He called over to the dinner ladies teatowelling the counter. ‘Cathy darling would you be so kind as to bring over the helpings!’
Natalia’s face started to flush as she noticed Cath bringing out bowls, each steamed with drizzled yellow as it was presented to its cooing recipient.
‘Warm custard. How perfect,’ smiled Neill.
‘Oh, god…’ began Natalia.
‘Yes, warm custard is perfect.’
She stared cynically. ‘Warm custard.’
‘Yes, Natalia? Janet did me a super batch this morning with fresh Madagascan vanilla pods.’
‘Er… ohh.’
‘Why, don’t they have real custard in Gipton?’
‘I just thought... er, it doesn’t matter.’
‘What?’ he whispered. ‘Oh. Oh. Oh my Jesus God,’ he hissed into her ear. ‘You have a mind worse than mine.’
‘Shut up. No-one’s mind is worse than yours,’ she glared, knocking her knee into his.
‘Ditto.’ He knocked his knee back.
‘Ah, I never normally have dessert like, but as you’re offering, go on then!’ grinned Dinkey as a bowl was presented.
‘That’s the spirit.’
‘Cake. Very naughty!’ laughed Miss Barnes.
‘Very naughty indeed.’
‘What cake is it?’
‘Banana Pound Cake.’
‘Banana... Pound, cake?’ Miss Barnes laughed.
‘Never heard of it?’
‘No, well it looks lovely but I’m not sure I should have cake just before aerobics…’
‘Aye, Pound Cake,’ began Dinkey. ‘Has a higher proportion of fat than a normal ca—’
‘It’s made with coconut sugar, butter from manicured wagyu cows and low-fructose bananas,’ Neill interrupted.
‘What?’ Barnes laughed.
‘Have some. I insist. Natalia—’ he turned to her as she ate her first spoonful, ‘do you approve?’
‘Er, yes, it’s lovely! Compliments to the chef who I hear whisked this with only one spindle that doesn’t go over speed 3.’
‘Whisked with one spindle alright, on speed 33,’ he exhaled, addressing the table as Natalia’s eyes went to him sceptically: ‘Decided it was time for some indulgence. From a long list of options I really needed a Banana Pound. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was a hard one, so after some back and forth, I’m sure I’ll have you licking my bowls clean!’
The table resounded with genial mms and aaahs whilst Natalia frowned softly at Neill’s insidious banter. She glanced down to Miss Barnes, who seemed neutral enough, silently eating her cake.
‘So what did you think of the Mount Tropics products, Neill?’ Barnes piped up. ‘The samples? Anything catch your eye?’
‘Ah, I need to look over them again with you.’
‘Yes, lets.’ A spoon clattered into the bowl as she laughed. ‘Well that’s my treat for the year I think!’
‘Oh I’m sure you deserve more than one, Emma.’
A silky laugh was heard back, followed by Neill’s husky chuckle, as Natalia glanced to see a glimmer of nervousness on Emma’s face as Dinkey now turned in sudden intrusion on their flicker of flirtation. But he was only beginning some genial Geordie chit-chat about how to get custard just right.
Everyone rising at last, Neill sighed:
‘Off for a fag. I can’t convince you to join me, Emma?’
‘Ha, no! Cake was lovely though. New food’s excellent. Bravo Neill!’
‘Thank you darling.’
As the remaining guests thanked Neill and filtered out, he turned to the quietly bemused Natalia.
‘First time she’s had dessert here and she swallowed the lot. It’s bravo to you, chef.’
‘That was in for a penny, out for a… well.’
‘Listen. I’m in love with Miss Barnes. Don’t laugh! It’s a match. It’s just a pity for her that it’s a match striking up a cigarette in her bed whilst she can do absolutely nothing about it.’
She giggled. ‘Oh, god. And she wants to see you again?’
‘I think she thinks she can make me quit.’
‘I think she must be coco-nuts.’
‘Quite right girl. I’ll sooner quit her,’ he frowned. ‘But one question, Miss Molova-lent…’
‘What?’
‘If I’d really have put Winner Sauce onto the Banana Cake for everyone to consume, which is, utterly, and most awfully, against health and safety of running a school —’
‘Winner Sauce? As in…’
‘The special ingredient of Y-chromosome added to a dish for a disagreeable customer, taking its name from The Sunday Times restaurant trasher Michael Winner.’
‘Oh right.’
‘Would you have sat there and eaten it?’
She stared. ‘How gross! No way!’
‘And how would you have excused yourself?’
She blinked. ‘Stomach ache, of course. And I do actually have one. That time, again, you know.’
‘Ahh,’ he eyes dropped softly to her hip where her palm briefly motioned. ‘I’m sorry honey.’
‘So you wouldn’t need Winner Sauce.’
He raised his eyebrow.
‘Or, we could have had both,’ she added.
He shook his head. ‘Vile. Vile teenager,’ as he turned to walk off.
‘Ditto!’ she called after him.
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Read new chapters first on www.headmastersflame.com. Free, slick reading experience, tailored for mobile phones, where you can subscribe your email for a free Kindle book. - LS x
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