oui,” said Dennis, hoping that by simply saying yes, he couldn’t get himself into too much trouble. Unfortunately, Miss Windsor became even more animated, and led Dennis up to the front of the class, still declaiming excitedly in French.
“Oui, c’est vraiment merveilleux. On devrait faire cela tous les jours! Faire venir des élèves dont le français est la langue maternelle! Ce sont les jours comme celui-ci que je me souviens pourquoi j’ai voulu devenir prof. S’il-vous-plaît, racontez-nous vos premières impressions de l’Angleterre.”
Dennis stood still in front of everyone. Lisa looked like she wanted to shout out and help, but couldn’t make a sound.
Dennis felt as if he was underwater or in a dream. He looked out into the eerie stillness of the room. Everyone stared at him. Nothing moved except Mac’s jaw.
Rolos are extremely chewy.
“May I speak in English one moment?” asked Dennis in a tentative French accent.
Miss Windsor looked a little surprised and a lot disappointed. “Yes, of course.”
“Errrm, ’ow can I put this, how you say… politely?”
“Poliment, oui.”
“Madame Windsor,” continued Dennis, “your French accent is very poor and I am very sorry but I cannot understand anything you are saying.”
Some of the pupils laughed cruelly. A single tear appeared in Miss Windsor’s eye and rolled down her cheek.
“Are you all right, Miss? Do you need a tissue?” asked Lisa, before shooting Dennis a furious look.
“No, no, I’m perfectly fine, thank you, Lisa. I’ve just got something in my eye, that’s all.”
Miss Windsor stood there swaying like she had been shot, but hadn’t quite fallen to the floor yet. “Um, why don’t you all get on with some private reading. I just need to step outside to get some air for a moment.” She tottered uncertainly out of the classroom, as if the bullet was slowly making its way to her heart. She closed the door behind her. For a moment there was silence. Then from outside the classroom they heard a huge wail.
The mouths of those pupils who had laughed now closed tight with regret. Lisa looked at Dennis, who bowed his head. He returned to his seat, scraping his high heels along the floor sorrowfully.
A few more seconds passed like hours, before Miss Windsor returned to the classroom. Her face was red and puffy from crying.
“Right, so, um… right, good… turn to page fifty-eight in your textbooks and answer questions (a), (b) and (c).”
The pupils all began their work, more silent and compliant than they had ever been before.
“Would you like a Rolo, Miss?” ventured Mac. No one was more aware of the momentary comfort chocolate could give in moments of despair.
“No, thank you, Mac. I don’t want to spoil my lunch. It’s bœuf bourguignon…”
She started crying uncontrollably again.
“You complete &**%$£%!”
Oops, sorry. I know even though real children do swear, you mustn’t have swearing in a children’s book. Please forgive me, I really am %$£©$*& sorry.
“You shouldn’t swear, Lisa,” said Dennis.
“Why not?” Lisa asked angrily.
“Because a teacher might hear you.”
“I don’t care who hears me,” said Lisa. “How could you do that to poor Miss Windsor?”
“I know… I feel so bad…”
“She’s probably weeping into her bœuf bourguignon now,” said Lisa as they stepped out into the busy playground. It was lunchtime, and people stood in groups, chatting and laughing, enjoying their hour of partial freedom. Football games were breaking out everywhere–games that Dennis would normally have joined in with, had he not been wearing a wig, make-up and an orange sequined dress.
And high heels.
“Maybe I should go and apologise,” said Dennis.
“Maybe?” said Lisa. “You have to. Let’s go and find her in the dining hall. She should be there, unless she’s jumped in the River Seine.”
“Oh, don’t make me feel any worse.”
As they made their way across the playground, a football rolled past them. “Kick it back, love,” shouted Darvesh.
Dennis couldn’t help it–the urge to kick the ball was too strong.
“Don’t be too flash,” said Lisa as he ran after the ball. But Dennis couldn’t help himself, and chased it aggressively. He stopped it neatly, then took a run up to kick it back to his friend.
But as he kicked the ball his high-heeled shoe flew off, and he toppled backwards.
At that moment his wig slipped back off his head and on to the ground.
Denise became Dennis again.
Time seemed to slow down. There Dennis was, standing in the middle of the playground, in a girl’s dress and make-up with one shoe on. Silence spread across the playground like snow. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.
“Dennis…?” asked Darvesh incredulously.
“No, it’s Denise,” replied Dennis. But the game was up.
Dennis felt like he’d looked at Medusa, that Greek mythological monster who turned people to stone. He couldn’t move. He looked at Lisa. Her face was dark with worry. Dennis tried to smile.
Then out of the silence came a laugh.
Then another.
Then another.
Not the kind of laughter that greets something funny, but that cruel, mocking laugh, meant to hurt and humiliate. The laughter became louder and louder and louder, and Dennis felt as if the whole world was laughing at him.
For all eternity.
