The room erupted with good-hearted protests. At a stroke, Hamsby had broken through the seriousness of Bill Williams’ passing and managed to re-establish the light-hearted mood of before.
Patricia Patel readied herself for school. It might be a staff development day but she had no intention of going in wearing jeans and a sweater. She pulled out the close fitting red piece she was wearing the first time she had seduced Roger Davidson. He’d get the message. He’d better.
“The job of deputy must be the worst in this place. You’re in charge of the admin, discipline and the general running of the school. The rest of you experience the joy of teaching while I’m able to swan around with the local member.”
Again the staff were amused. The public stoush between the headmaster and the local Conservative MP, Alistair Fitzsmythe, was the stuff of legend. When Fitzsmythe had openly attacked Hamsby’s staff and students because of an incident in Swindon town centre, he came out all guns blazing in defence of his people. When he got the staff and students involved back to school, he ripped into them.
“Don’t you ever let me or my school down again. You understand?” They did.
As Roger Hamsby surveyed his staff, he knew that he was about to cause a major stir. Charlie Page was good but Hamsby also thought he was an arrogant shit. He’d thought of Jack Deans but Deansie was too much the family man to take on Deputy. Deidre Palmer was smart.
“But just imagine having to deal with her every day,” he had thought to himself.
Fran Wilcox was a possible, she ran the science department like clockwork and her staff admired her. She was a bit young but he could hardly use that as an argument. She would certainly want it, that’s for sure. She had said as much last term.
But Hamsby thought, “No Fran, you’re not the one for this role.” As he looked across the room, there were easily half a dozen he could have chosen. Just then Patricia Patel walked in, late. Hamsby thought to himself:
“Christ, what is she wearing today; maybe she’s got an interview at Marlborough College – either that or the new escort agency in Town.”
Tim Hawkins, the PE Master, was a staff favourite and everyone believed he would do a great job. Everyone except Deidre Palmer that was. Tony Lukacs in Social Science was an odd one, but he was a smart man. And then there was…. But no, Roger Hamsby recognised potential and he was willing to take a risk.
“Okay, now the new Deputy Headmaster…”
CHAPTER FOUR
Late May, earlier in the year
“You know Mr Davidson, you’re the only teacher Ryan takes any notice of. He says you make History interesting, especially when you start getting carried away and pretend to be Henry VIII.”
Roger Davidson smiled. He liked Margaret Roberts. She was overweight, forty going on fifty-five. Her husband had walked out years ago and she was clearly doing it tough but she somehow always managed to remain upbeat. Ryan Roberts was a difficult boy and the staff that had to teach him couldn’t wait to pass him on. Everyone that is except Roger Davidson. Roger was willing to spend time with the boy and Margaret Roberts was genuinely grateful.
“He’s a good lad Mrs Roberts but you tell him to get his homework in, else I’ll do to him what Henry VIII did to Sir Thomas More.”
Margaret Roberts had no idea what Roger Davidson was on about; sixteenth century religious politics were not her strong point. She smiled and as she got up to leave, she placed her flabby hand on his.
“Thank you Mr Davidson. Good night.”
Roger Davidson leaned back and stretched out his legs. Another parent-teacher evening over. These occasions were always tiring but he quite liked them, mainly because nearly every parent told him what a bloody great teacher he was.
“Another satisfied customer I take it?” Patricia Patel had wandered over to Roger Davidson’s table.
“What Mrs Roberts? I think she’s just grateful someone’s willing to try with her son.”
Patricia leant on Roger’s table and crossed her legs. She was wearing a tight-fitting, one piece red outfit that was clearly designed to gain the attention of any males who cared to look. It had certainly gained the attention of Roger Davison, not that she needed to do this. Roger had long fantasised about Patricia Patel. She was beautiful, exotic and dangerous, the complete antithesis of the dependable Felicity.
However, he had always been careful to keep his distance. That is until this evening.
“Are you finished yet?” she asked.
“Yes, Mrs Roberts was my last one. I guess I’d better be heading home now.”
“Where’s Felicity tonight?”
“She doesn’t teach this year group so she was able to stay home.”
Patricia uncrossed her legs and began to walk away.
“You couldn’t give me a lift could you Roger? I had to leave my car at the Shell garage in town, something to do with a faulty ignition.”
“Yes, of course, just give me a minute to pack up.”
They were soon outside sat in Roger’s Range Rover, Patricia having quickly moved her car into the visitor’s car park and out of sight.
“Nice car Roger. I didn’t think teachers could afford the likes of this. It’s a bit flashier than my old Corolla.”
“Felicity insisted we have a new car, and a really safe one, for Rebecca. And her father was willing to help out.”
Patricia Patel leaned over, placing her right hand on Roger’s thigh and kissed him on the cheek. “I really do appreciate this Roger.”
Roger looked at her, and, unbelievably, he could sense he was blushing.
“Where do you live Patricia?”
“Tricia, please.”
“Tricia”.
“Exeter Street.”
“You mean in the old railway village in the centre of Swindon? You live in one of renovated railway workers’ cottages.”
“Yes, it’s cute, a bit pricey but my parents helped me with the deposit.” She smiled.
“I’ll make you a coffee when you get me home and I’ll show you around.”
The drive back to Swindon took about twenty minutes, Davidson’s Range Rover coasted along the A419. They shared the usual shop talk that teaching colleagues do.
Roger told a story about Jack Deans. He’d caught a couple of the Year Nine boys picking on a really fat Year Seven lad, Peter Henford.
“He scared the living shit out of them, threatened to hammer them and told them he had filmed everything they had done on his iPhone. It did the trick. Deansie filming on
