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Natalia’s eyes searched for the sinewed thighs of The Nutcracker. There she was, bending to retrieve the yoga mats, 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 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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The diagram looked like an eyeless Gonzo from The Muppets. ‘Draw and label the reproductive system below.’ First, don’t mistake it for the female one. Those droopy things aren’t ovaries. Testes, the round glands that produce sperm and male hormones. Scrotum, the sac protecting the testes and keeping them cool. Prostate, the plan which secretes fluid to nourish sperm. Sperm Ducts, Urethra… and finally, the bow itself: Penis, the organ that releases sperm into the vagina during sexual intercourse. She bit her lip as she wrote the P word, trying not to imagine it up the V word, and what colour pubes decorated the one of the lovechild of Streisand and Schwarzenegger.
Being the exam paper’s first question - after an exceedingly dull Maths mock - giggles had peppered the room upon that first page turn as Khan looked up and growled. Afterwards, Alana rolled her eyes and branded them ‘so childish, I mean, do they giggle in the shower every day when they look down?’
‘No, they don’t even wash,’ Aisha retched exaggeratedly as Adam flapped about in his oversized shirt in front of her, and turned just as Natalia was trying to pass, his staring face right in hers. ‘Don’t say anything to her, she’ll have her bodyguard teachers onto you,’ came a voice behind her, as Adam was decidedly silent - either he felt sorry for his slur in the pub or had been thoroughly policed at least for the consequences dealt. His reddened cheeks may as well be that of Ryan’s who was sidling up to pass through, as though the penis diagram was drawn on her face or something. Boys, she groaned, all silent and snarky and shameful and mysterious around females whilst the Head just ‘has her by the weekend!’
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*
Friday morning, Natalia sat like a statue amongst jiggling bodies, breath baited for that mysteriously elusive, shameless Head she hadn’t seen all Thursday and felt now, a tapping urgency inside her to know whether that Gonzo nose was about to turn skyward and she would have a cake to bake. Would she bake this in school in Food Tech? You’re baking a Banana-what-cake, Natalia? Or at home, inside the encrusted oven that was as clean as Adam’s armpits?
The hall doors swung open and 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, rushed to the front more flustered than she had been last night thinking about it all, five minutes late with his 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 Mock Exams. 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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*
‘This is a very important session,’ Mrs Williams handed out worksheets soberly. ‘We are learning about drugs as part of Pastoral.’ More like shoehorned in because of Marcia.
First, there was a page to fill in cannabis’s slang terms, as the most class participation Natalia had even seen ensued. Hash! Mary Jane! Bang! Weed! Ganja! The room became uproarious with suggestions that may, or may not have been real, till Williams hurriedly capped it at 14. Then, a page with a drawing of a plant anthropomorphised with a menacing cartoon face which may as well be Marcia herself. ‘I am illegal! I am a criminal!’ a speech bubble read. Cannabis may be a plant but it’s not all natural or harmless, it said.
‘Cannabis, more harm than told! It affects mental health, pregnancy, respiratory system and driving.’ Neill didn’t seem to have a problem, swinging his car out in front of Cheng’s. Or maybe that’s why he drives like a maniac. Cannabis can lead to addiction, anxiety, testicular cancer and infertility! Impairs brain development in teens! Lowers IQ and memory!
‘Who might offer us cannabis?’ Williams wrote on the board. School friends, came the response. Older siblings. Headmasters after dark?
‘If anyone offers you cannabis, what might be your responses after learning what we’ve learnt today? The power of just saying no!’ Williams promptly answered her own question. ‘Tell them, I know what cannabis does to your body.’
Cunts and angels, that’s all he can say. And what was that about cannananabin-droids?
‘Miss, is it true that cannabis contains cannabinoids’ - after a quick Google in her skirt - ‘that fit into the human cells like a key into a lock?’
Mrs Williams stared and tweaked the corner of her spectacles. The boys looked round.
‘The truth is, we do not know everything about this plant and how it behaves in the human body and that’s what makes it dangerous.’
‘Why don’t they find out, if it’s so dangerous?’
She frowned. ‘You can’t go round waving fire to find out how much fire burns. It would be unethical. That’s why we can only go on case examples.’
‘Aren’t there any positive case examples? Like, Google says it’s used as medicine now?’
‘Ye-es, in very prescribed, controlled situations. I believe parts of the plant are extracted for certain conditions alongside main therapy. But that’s very, very different, Natalia, from smoking cannabis given or sold to someone who has obtained it illegally.’
‘So it’s only safe when it’s legal?’ snorted Luke.
‘When the doctor sez?’
Williams frowned. ‘Yes, Luke and Ryan. Yes.’
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‘Hand in your papers on your way out,’ Allsebrook called as Physics ended, and another gruelling paper was handed in - a particularly dull one with no diagrams of dicks but energy transfer diagrams, wavelengths and frequencies, which made Natalia wonder if the faint suck of cannabis she’d had had marginally damaged her memory and IQ after all. Habitually using the stairs closer to the vicinity of New Age Head’s office, she caught a sight of that leather-heeled wild cat, parting at the doors from his PE prey.
A thick paw lingered at 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 descending the stairs 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 simpered.
‘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 stared 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.
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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, to see 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. 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. She’d risen to the bait like Gonzo had rose and grown his nose like Pinocchio. 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 ‘Ead 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 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 of 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.
Mary laughed. ‘Stick these in when ya done.’
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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 falling to the bundle in her arms. ‘But I’m sure it’s scrumdiddlyumptious!’
‘As much as Miss Barnes?’ she blinked.
‘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 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.’ She unwrapped it and passed the knife, feeling like she was in a warped dream. Then 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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*
‘What’s up? Exams are over now,’ Laura had asked in French, and now Sam was asking the same in Maths, as though the nerves of the quietest girl in the class were making too much of a disturbing jangle over the hoots and cries of every other loud idiot in the room.
‘Nothing. Maybe I’m nervous about the results.’
‘Which? You’re dead clever at everything.’
‘Science is hard. I don’t always know the answer.’
‘You couldn’t label the dick picture?’ replied Sam.
‘That’s no surprise,’ Luke suddenly sniggered, echoed by Sam and Stacey, and Natalia looked over in surprise.
‘Why, how many dicks do you see, Sam and Stacey, that you sitting labelling with the right terminology the owner with a weed-smashed IQ doesn’t even know himself? Or perhaps you can just turn to Luke right now, and you’ve got a face full of smegma right there to scrawl the words cock and balls on.’
All three stared, as Noble came back in with worksheets and there were mutterings of: ‘Perhaps! she says perhaps’ - ‘Like a nerd!’ but Natalia smiled, all through next lesson Geography, till she was held up by Mrs Tracey at the end.
‘I’ve already marked the Geography papers and yours is a stunning example, Natalia,’ she enunciated slowly, as Natalia hopped from foot to foot. ‘I’d like to ask you in advance if we can use it. When we return the essays, I’d like to—’
‘Yes, yes - it’s fine. Miss - I have to go to lunch… I mean, I’m bursting for the toilet—’
‘Oh right, ok, ok.’
She sighed as she ran downstairs and 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! …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.’ What would others think, she sitting next to Neill again? But no-one seemed to even look at her. Sam and Laura just passed by. Mrs Tracey hurried in, and out again, as though she were thoroughly and magically sheltered from scrutiny. To those at the table, 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? Why was that body scent of his so delicious? And what the fuck was monosodium glutamate?
‘So, what about yours then Neill?’
‘Yeah, it’s alright,’ he muttered.
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, with Dinkey opposite, and a pupil further down, Neill piped up loudly with: ‘So what have we all been doing today?’ followed immediately by, ‘Natalia?’
‘A debate on the meaning of life in Geography, of all subjects. 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.
‘Although Mrs Tracey already wants to use my Mock Exam as a benchmark example…’
Neill whistled. ‘No surprises there! Let’s hope the food will come close.’
‘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 that made her heart stumble. ‘It’ll well be time to retire before I even know it!’
‘Gotta keep on plodding onward,’ grunted Neill, as Natalia stifled a laugh.
‘Now dessert!’ Neill 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 began to flush as Cath brought out the bowls, each steamed with drizzled yellow as it was presented to its cooing recipient.
‘Warm custard. How perfect,’ smiled Neill.
‘Oh, god…’ blinked 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 knocked her knee into his.
‘Ditto,’ he knocked 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!’ remarked Miss Barnes.
‘Very naughty indeed.’
‘What cake is it?’
‘Banana Pound Cake.’
‘Banana... Pound, cake?’
‘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, then 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 the Head 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…’
‘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.
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