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The vein in her wrist pulsed under the pressure of Neill’s hand. A pink hair tie looped there was caught under it, which at one point she felt him flick his fingertip against.
She pulled again out of curiosity. He pulled back.
‘Yah - ah! You stay right there.’
Indirectly from the corner of his eye came that low husky murmur, as blood tingled in a maelstrom at her fingertips sending a strange sensation into her knees.
The two other pupils, to whom Neill gesticulated with his free hand, had taken the opportunity to query Neill on their coursework worries whilst Coleman was absent, and evidently it seemed to them as though Natalia was just in line, waiting to talk to him too.
Waiting, wondering, Natalia felt as though time itself had frozen - as if she had grown used to being close to Neill’s scent, his body heat, the vibration of his deep voice right next to her, that she was wordless from a lull into calm, than from surprise anymore.
Finally the two pupils were satisfied, picked up their stuff and filed out. Natalia exhaled as though for the first time in five minutes. How many thoughts had flown through her head! And yet by the time he turned to face her, she felt as if she’d barely been able to think at all!
‘Now, you.’
Neill stood at around 5’ 11”, not huge, but still tall against her petite 5’ 6” frame. As she raised her eyes to his, she felt rather like a timid puppy dog slowly wagging its tail in anticipation of words from its master, as her eyes wandered the manly pinpricks of his jaw and cheeks.
He let go of her wrist, but manoeuvred her with his hands on the sides of her arms, crouching slightly to address her face on, as she now found herself before his clear blue irises, encircled with brilliant whites, trained right on her.
‘What are you?’
She stared back. ‘Er… what do you mean, sir? I mean, Neill? Sorry, I keep calling you sir—’
‘I mean, who are you? You can’t be fifteen.’
She laughed softly. ‘Well, of course I am.’
He sighed and let go of her arms, stood upright and adjusted his tie.
‘Sorry, I’m coming across as rather enigmatic. I don’t quite know what to say or think. Of you.’
She could only sound another tedious ‘erm’ as she too, tried to feign casual body language, wanting to say something clever when her tongue weighed like lead.
He cleared his throat. ‘Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. With regards to, let’s say, home improvements.’
His hand loomed at her chin and flicked her tie. She blinked surprised.
‘These uniforms. What do you reckon to them?’
In a moment she felt her normal speaking mode reactivate.
‘Oh, I hate them.’
‘Me too, I think they’re ghastly.’
‘I think most of it is stuck in the Dark Ages,’ she frowned. ‘Ties are for businessmen. These jumpers hang like potato sacks, and the shirts make me sweatier than Jack the Ripper.’
He snorted. ‘Well by the sounds of it, you could go trick-or-treating tonight and go down well just like that!’
‘What kind of treat are you suggesting?’
‘The question is,’ he chuckled, ‘do I call a focus group or just go on the conviction of your words?’
‘Call a focus group. I don’t want to be responsible for the sartorial satisfaction of thousands of kids for the next three decades.’
‘Sartorial,’ he frowned as he turned to pick up his bag. ‘Don’t think I knew that word till I was twenty five. Ok, right you are. I’ll select a bunch of pupils and let you know what they think. But only if you agree that once I’ve got their thoughts, you’ll help me make the final decision on the changes. Deal?’
‘Sir Neill, is that a bribe?’
‘Or I’ll leave you wearing your rapey shirts and potato sacks for the next three decades.’
‘I only have eight months left,’ she smirked.
‘Damn!’
‘And I don’t even know if my miserly mother will want to fork out on a new uniform for the remainder of the time.’
‘Then I’ll just buy it for you myself.’ The bell went. ‘Sorry, I used up all your break. Can I make it up to you with a cup of tea again sometime?’
Her face popped a grin. ‘And biscuits?’
‘We’ll see.’
‘Aren’t you going to take your… eye candy?’ gesturing at the torn out Calvin Klein advert still on the desk.
‘I’ll leave Kate Moss for Kate Coleman.’
‘Would you?’
He laughed and threw it a cursory glance. ‘She’s already emblazoned on my retina. Moss, not Coleman,’ he glared, as he swung his bag over his shoulder and with a flash was out of the door - holding it open for her behind him - immediately speaking in loud tones to pupils in the hallway outside, as Natalia went one way and he went the other.
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*
In every lesson that followed that extraordinary English class, Natalia’s heart would swing like the door on its hinges when the teacher came in, half-hoping it would be Neill again. She had to assume by his blasé attitude to the English lesson and that as he’d said himself, he was now fully into ‘mastering, not teaching,’ and that it was a rare one-off.
Instead she found herself keeping more awareness on the mysterious wrath of Marcia at morning form, and found that keeping her head bent low avoiding eye contact as though the girl was a brooding Boerboel was the only way to prevent a bloodcurdling snarl that might trample Natalia’s nervous system for the day.
Her eyes clearly weren’t low enough when she walked in the next morning.
‘What the fuck are you looking at?’
‘I… wasn’t.’
‘Wasn’t what?’
Natalia pursed her lips. It was that bursting, laughing look on Stacey’s face next to her that irked her more than the Boerboel whose blood clearly was just… bad.
‘Stacey,’ Natalia ventured, ‘I take it you won’t need any more help with your Food Tech or Maths papers now.’
Stacey just stared, as the door squealed open by Williams and Natalia’s point seemed to be lost in the ether, probably for the best, and as they all arose, was nevertheless concluded by Boerboel:
‘I can’t stand spoffs. Never ‘av.’
‘Didn’t you get done for doing one at Cardie’s, Marce?’ Stacey murmured.
‘No, that was something else.’
Natalia was already on her coat-tails to the door for Assembly, her bolted-on, weekly tonic of sorts that would allay that stab of nastiness. It was worse than Bernard’s jeers. At least with the boys there wasn’t so much the fear of them grabbing hold of you; the class spoff was still the fairer sex with a lady’s leg to stand on. Around Marcia, she felt like fair prey that had to leg away fast.
‘Ohh-hh,’ she purred in disappointment. It was Deputy Mr Dinkey walking to the front - well, limping, by comparison to the swagger of Head-Master - to make heads droop more than usual, even teachers yawn… so pitifully feeble by contrast to the vigour of Neill was Steve Dinkey droning on in the way the school was BC, Before Charisma. So where was Charisma? Fed up of hosting Assemblies already?
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After a long dull day of teachers’ earnest exam exhortations what felt like every two minutes, the drone of a cake whisk in Food Tech last lesson was a welcome reprieve on her eardrums. But then her ears pricked up when Miss Francis dropped by to Mrs Clayton, and began muttering the magic N word.
‘Hang fire on that, because Neill says he has plans to change the uniform—’
Natalia turned off the whisk, eyeing its silently dribbling spindles as she strained to listen.
‘Oh?’ - ‘By the end of November, which I think…’ They faded into that low avian twittering that female teachers use to communicate, whilst Natalia had enough to go on. The changes were really happening! Neill was the real deal, again!
She was pulling her cupcakes from the oven ten minutes before hometime when a boy from Year 7 appeared at the door, red-faced like he’d been running.
‘Yes Toby?’
‘Mr Neill wants to see Natalia Molova,’ he panted.
She almost dropped her baking tray.
‘Natalia? Head wants you. You’d best put those down to cool.’
‘Yeah, yeah—’ Natalia stuffed three hot cakes in one hand and hurried out and up the stairs to knock at Neill’s door.
‘Come in Natalia!’
She was as florid and breathless as Toby.
‘Hi—ee!’
‘Hello.’ He was sitting in front of his computer, frowning down at her hand holding the cupcakes.
‘These are for you—’ She stepped forward to drop them onto his desk. ‘Straight from the oven.’
He looked down in surprise. ‘Goodness. So I was right on time to call you up here?’
She saw the cakes that had landed upside down, two of them fairly deformed by her grasp, and had a moment of feeling idiotic.
‘Ohh, well I didn’t have time to cool them and put the topping on…’
‘Well you’d better take them away and sort it out, young lady!’
She giggled.
He’d already chucked one in his mouth, looking back to his computer screen. ‘This is very kind, thank you. Are you having one?’ he spoke with his mouth full.
‘Oh? Just one - you have two…’
‘Sit then. Why aren’t you sitting yet?’
‘Oh,’ she quickly sat.
‘Oh? Is that all you say?’
She could sense that blue-eye stare like a dazzling laser beam across the room she was building courage to look into.
‘Make tea then.’ She hoped subtle impertinence from her mouth would have her eyes follow suit, even though no caffeine was needed right now unless she wanted to shoot straight through the ceiling.
The headless grey suit jacket gave an amused exhale and arose, as she levelled her gaze at the Yorkshire Evening Post newspaper he had laying open in front of him. Rotating her head, she recognised the shape of their school, and the words ‘Muslim’ and ‘row.’
‘Is that…?’
The kettle cranked up as he sat back down and a wiry hand turned the paper round to her.
‘Seems we’ve won some publicity for the school.’
‘KILLINGBECK PE TEACHER SACKED OVER INJURED GIRL IN RACE ROW’
‘Oh god!’
‘It’s all good. Basically says racist Luxton got dismissed. We are a proper school doing the proper thing.’
‘It says at the end she’s pursuing a legal investigation,’ her eyes on his now, that were screwed in cynicism as he folded and tossed the paper.
‘Good luck to her. That video I got wasn’t pretty. Even I was surprised that it’s exposure of an actual bigot. Worst case, I could play it in court.’
‘Do you have it? Can I see?’
He clicked on his computer as she picked up her cupcake.
‘I put it on here for safe keeping. Here—’
He swivelled his screen around and pressed play on a portrait-oriented video with black borders.
‘You filmed it the wrong way,’ her full mouth smirked.
‘Shut up you. That’s what happens when a good, virtuous Headmaster is caught unawares.’
In the video the exasperated voice of Luxton could be heard amidst bumps of wind on the mic.
‘Oh good heavens Shaziya! This is why we wear PE kits! Now we need a first aid kit! You can’t wear what you wear in - those places - here!’
He flicked it off just as the kettle clicked off. ‘See? Now tea,’ as he got up.
‘Get it up online,’ said Natalia as she swallowed her cake. ‘Anonymously on YouTube.’
Neill squinted. ‘To what, make it go viral, as the youngsters say?’
‘Make the vile vole go viral. Rub her face in it, douse her enthusiasm for legalities when half the country sees it!’
He placed their teas on the table, looking captivated as he sat down.
‘And Luxton will be wearing a niqab herself just to go out to buy a bottle of milk,’ Natalia finished, gesturing with the milk bottle he’d pushed over for her.
‘I like your thinking! But it will look like I’ve put it up?’
‘No, a rogue pupil got hold of it, of course,’ she said, stirring in her sugar.
‘Rogue pupil, as in - you?’
‘Whoever. Once in Manchester, there was an anonymous kid who leaked an audio file of two teachers, er, doing it behind a closed door—’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind hearing that? For research purposes, obviously…’
‘It was somewhere in the news a year ago. Anyway, no-one cared who put it up. Everyone cared for what it contained,’ she poised her lips as elegantly as she could over the rim of her hot tea.
‘I have a fake email. I’ll use that to set up YouTube…’
She peered over. ‘Dr Ploppy Pants?!’
‘Don’t knock it. He gets me WiFi at Moto services and a free main course at Vintage Inns. Right, I’m on YouTube. What now, tech head? Or should I call you Clarkey?’
‘Drag the file in there,’ she pointed. ‘Add a good description and tags. Muslim. Row. Controversy. Racism. Bigot. Fascist. Horror. Scandal. BNP—’
‘Hold on, hold on…’
He swivelled the screen back to him, and spent a few moments typing as she sipped, quivers of excitement running down her. It was so silent now in the room all for his sporadic keyboard jabs, that she suddenly became aware of the sound of her breaths and if they sounded sweet and sexy enough, but by the look of his crows’ feet of concentration he couldn’t even hear his own right now.
The bell went for hometime and his eyes doubled in size.
‘Oh, cupcake crumbs. I hadn’t even told you yet the reason I called you up here.’
‘I can get the next bus,’ she shrugged.
‘Oh?’
‘Oh? Is that all you say?’
He glared. ‘I had two Ohs. You had fifty. Right, that’s published. Now what, sit back and await Luxton’s funeral?’
‘Go to the Yorkie Post newspaper website and find the online version of the article. Post a link in the comments.’
He whistled. ‘Good girl.’
There was silence as he clicked.
‘Found it?’
‘Found it. Added a comment from Livid_Hussain232 about how detrimental zealots like her are to the multiculturalism of thrivingly grim inner-city Leeds.’
‘Good man.’
He sat back and did an almighty grin at her that made her knees knock. Now they were beyond secret sweets in Sunday Mass, they were legs-up in the pews, quaffing sweet tea.
He flicked his screen off and waved his hand. ‘Next executionee is O’Callaghan, your favourite manic-depressive.’
‘So she’s going?’
‘Yep.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘She’s not too happy.’
‘She never was. And what reason did you give her?’
‘I planted class A drugs in her purse—’
‘What!’
‘I’m joking. Just class B.’
‘Oh, Neill—’
‘No. It came down to her own drugs, class C for crackers. I had a good chat with her and just so happened to break her down psychologically. She ended up pouring with tears about her depression and her mass of medication and how she doesn’t feel fit to manage her class anymore. Handed her a tissue and her own resignation to sign, it was hilarious. Oh, Natalia, you should have been here!’
‘Oh, dear…’
‘She didn’t even want it mentioned to the school, talk about an Irish goodbye! New teacher Mrs Cheng starts Monday. She’s not so flash, I ran out of budget.’
‘Not so flash, as in…?’
‘She’s from Gipton.’
‘I’m from Gipton.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I just gave you my top-notch PR services—’
‘For free, precisely. Payback, so, back to the point of why I called you up. I’m organising school trips and I’m starting with Year 11, as come Spring, you lot will have so much revision on your hands you won’t have time for a single slither of fun. Around mid-November, only a couple of weeks to plan it, not long at all! So tell me, Natalia, what would you like to do?’
‘Uh?’
‘I’m letting you pick the school trip. Where do you want Year 11 to go?’
She coughed on her last mouthful of tea. ‘Are you serious!’
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