1397: Part 13

“Ugh,” said Kristina to the empty room. The stacks of paper on her desk had got slightly smaller, but they were still present. She was quite pleased with herself for having dealt with some of them, but feeling unmotivated to go any further than she had done. And yet she knew if she left them be, they’d just build up again until it was impossible to even walk past her desk without causing an avalanche.

She looked up at the clock. It had been well over an hour since the end of school, and all traces of noise had ceased outside the classroom — she couldn’t even hear the out-of tune warblings of what Martin laughably called his “jazz band” — actually nothing more than him on piano, one year 10 boy on trumpet, a year 8 girl on a tenor saxophone that was slightly too big for her, and a year 9 violinist who didn’t really like jazz music, but wanted something to do on Friday afternoons. They must have gone home; she didn’t know if Martin was still here and didn’t really feel like seeing him right now, anyway.

Gritting her teeth, she set about going through a few more of the papers. If I’m still here at five o’clock, she thought, I’m just going to leave it there. This is ridiculous.

More and more papers went in the bin. Another bundle of letters for her non-existent tutor group; a note from the Head reminding all staff that there would be a fire alarm three weeks ago; a mysterious form just labelled “Action Plan” with no indication of what actions she was supposed to be planning and to what end.

A bright yellow piece of paper was emblazoned with the word “IMPORTANT” in bold-print Comic Sans at the top of the page, with three exclamation marks either side of it. Having piqued Kristina’s interest, she was disappointed to note that the paper was requesting nothing more than volunteers to help at a school cake sale that had taken place well over a month ago. Into the bin it went.

Kristina was unsurprised to discover that the vast majority of pages she’d been hoarding were, in fact, completely useless and should have just gone straight in the bin the moment she got them. The trouble was, with how hectic a typical school day was, papers were usually dropped on her while she was right in the middle of something else, and just got tossed aside to be reviewed and dealt with later. This continued over and over until her desk was, like it was now, full to bursting.

“Oh, fuck this,” she said. She had gone through barely half of the stacks on her desk, but she couldn’t take any more. She held the binbag open and simply swept all the remaining papers off the desk and into the bag. Then she tied the bag up and threw it — now surprisingly heavy — to the side and sat down in her chair, admiring the wooden surface of her desk for the first time in what felt like forever.

Tiredness suddenly set in. She leaned her elbows on her now-clear desk and rested her head on her hands. She closed her eyes for a moment but quickly sat up again when she realised that she would actually fall asleep then and there if she wasn’t careful. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to stand up and get moving just yet.

She looked around her classroom with tired eyes. She honestly wasn’t sure what she thought any more. Some days, like today, she almost felt like a good teacher, particularly when she managed to get through to notoriously “difficult” students like Edward. Others, she felt like she was an imposter standing in front of the classes she taught; paranoid that she’d be found out any moment.

The prospect of the inspectors coming back didn’t help with this feeling — particularly when the last time around she’d been branded “unsatisfactory”. She already felt nervous any time someone watched her teach, whether they were her peers, a teaching assistant or someone from the local authority. But to know she was being graded on her performance made it all the more difficult to concentrate and be natural.

She sighed to herself. Why was she doing this? How had she fallen into this career?

She knew the answer; she’d come to the end of her undergraduate course and found herself at a loss for something productive to do with her degree, so had decided that staying on another year and attaining a qualification that was all but guaranteed to lead to a career was the right thing to do. It was a sound plan; what she hadn’t counted on was how tough life at the chalkface in modern schools was. Her own memories of school had been somewhat rose-tinted — or perhaps she just didn’t remember the bad parts — and so it was a bit of a shock for her to discover that teachers weren’t always treated with respect by students, and that a typical lesson involved as much time being spent on what was euphemistically referred to as “behaviour management” as on actually teaching.

She’d stuck it out, though. She was determined to make it work — the pay was reasonable, and it was a job that conferred a certain amount of respect from people her own age. It wasn’t until it was too late that she realised the respect she was getting was more due to the fact that everyone knew she was likely having to put up with abuse rather than because she was making a difference in young people’s lives.

She was snapped out of her reverie by her phone beeping in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at it; it was a message from Sian.

Are you still at school? it read.

Yes, she typed back. Did you need something?

I’m not sure, came the response after a moment. Can I come and talk to you?

I was going to go home soon, typed back Kristina. Would you like to go and get a coffee or something?

Sure, typed Sian. I’ll meet you at school, I’m not far away.

 

*  *  *  *

“Hello,” said Sian cheerfully, though Kristina noted her greeting didn’t have quite the same energy it usually did.

“Hi,” said Kristina. “You okay?”

“Um,” said Sian. “I’m not sure. But let’s go somewhere before I tell you about it.”

“All right,” said Kristina.

The pair of them walked the short distance from the school to the local supermarket. Sian found a table while Kristina ordered the pair of them some lattes.

“So what’s up?” she said, sitting down. “Problems with your schoolwork?”

“No,” said Sian. “I, umm, I feel a bit silly saying this because it might be nothing, but I’m worried about Edward.”

“I think we all are, Sian,” said Kristina. “Is there something specific?”

“Yes,” said Sian. “I walked him home after music class today. He’s been opening up to me a bit recently, and I think he enjoyed class today. But, umm…”

Sian took a sip of her latte and then recounted the strange experience she’d had at Edward’s house — relaxing with a drink one minute; being ushered out of the back door the next; then the sounds of yelling and things breaking.

Kristina frowned at what Sian was telling her.

“Okay,” she said seriously. “Thanks, Sian. You did the right thing telling me. Obviously we don’t know exactly what was going on there, but it sounds like something worth at least looking into.”

And it might explain a lot, she thought to herself, but didn’t say it out loud.

“I wonder if we can help him,” said Sian. “He’s got a bad reputation, but I think underneath all that he wants to be a good person.”

“I’d certainly like to believe that,” said Kristina. “I’ll admit my first encounter with him made me think he was just another badly-behaved kid, but today opened my eyes a bit, I won’t lie.” She laughed. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you that, should I?”

“It’s okay,” said Sian with a giggle. “We all figure you teachers feel that way about us sometimes anyway.”

“It works the other way too,” said Kristina with a conspiratorial smile. “But I really should stop saying things now before I get my colleagues into trouble.”

*  *  *  *

“It’s… going well,” said Maxine, taking a sip of wine. It was the middle of the month, so neither she nor Kristina had a lot of spare money to go out with, so they’d just decided to meet up, drink some wine and watch some TV together. Kristina had tentatively asked her how things were going with Mark; she was still worried about her friend.

“Are you sure?” she said. “You sound a bit hesitant.”

“Yeah,” replied Maxine. “No. No, it’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

“You can stay here tonight if you want,” said Kristina, secretly hoping she’d agree. Her place had felt entirely too empty and lonely for the past few days, and she felt she would welcome the company.

“I might,” said Maxine. “It’s nice to just hang out and relax. It’s been a long week.”

“It really has,” said Kristina. “And I know next week is going to feel even longer in my case, but for now I’d just like to enjoy the weekend and not think about anything that’s stressing me the fuck out.”

Maxine put her hand on Kristina’s shoulder.

“You’re super-strong,” she said out of nowhere. “I really admire what you do, you know.”

“That’s the wine talking,” said Kristina, picking up the bottle and refilling her friend’s glass. “But thanks.”

“I mean it,” said Maxine. “You put up with a hell of a lot of shit, including from me, and you never complain. Well, sometimes you do. But you just deal with it. You never let it get to you. Well, you do. But you, oh shit, I’m pissed.”

“Yeah you are,” said Kristina. “And I think I need to catch up.”

She refilled her own glass with wine and took a big swig. The pair of them sat in silence for a while. Kristina stared at the television, but didn’t really pay attention to what was on it; it was some reality show that she hadn’t caught the premise for, involving the usual combination of stressed-looking people shouting at one another in obviously contrived situations.

She smiled bitterly to herself. Can’t even escape the stress in entertainment these days, she thought.

“Hey, Max?” she said, turning to her friend. “Are you sure you’re all right? I’ve been…”

But Maxine was already asleep, the wine glass still held in her hand, her head thrown back in a distinctly undignified manner.

Kristina smiled, removed the wine glass from her comatose friend’s hand, pulled her blanket around the pair of them and rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. She closed her eyes and felt her own consciousness drifting away before long; the dreamless sleep of an exhausting day — no, an exhausting week — finally coming to a close.