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СКАЧАТЬ sick leave a couple of weeks ago, and we’d bobbed along in rudderless fashion since then as the deputy head had also moved on at Christmas and not yet been replaced; for some reason, our middle-ranking school buried in the Lancashire countryside wasn’t attracting many applicants for the role.

      A woman stood in the doorway, looking me up and down in a swift appraisal that immediately raised my hackles. Not that they needed to be raised much further – even without the scowl I recognised the driver who had knocked me over at the weekend. What was she doing here?

      ‘Ms Roberts?’ She buzzed the ‘Ms’ in an unnecessarily emphatic way, and glanced at her watch – another unnecessary affectation, when there was a perfectly good clock on the wall between us. ‘Eve?’

      ‘Yes?’ I waited to see if she would remember me as her weekend victim, but there was no hint of recognition.

      ‘Jo Blair.’ She approached and stretched out her hand for me to shake, smiling in a way that seemed calculatedly hearty, putting me on edge rather than at ease. ‘I’ll be interim head for the next few months, until a permanent head is recruited. I’m glad you’re early. I’m told that you’re a wonder and will be my right hand. Come in and have a chat.’

      Without waiting for my agreement – as my working hours hadn’t technically started yet – she turned and walked back into Mrs Armstrong’s office – or her office, as I supposed I would now have to think of it. I followed on behind, feeling uncomfortably like a naughty child about to learn my punishment. It was a pleasant room, with windows on two walls overlooking the playing fields, but as Jo took a seat behind the desk, I could sense that the atmosphere had changed already. Mrs Armstrong had made it warm and welcoming, so even the most wayward pupil or anxious parent had felt at ease. Now all that warmth seemed to have been sucked out through the open window. The room felt cold and impersonal; even the desk had been cleared, so all that remained on it were a computer and keyboard, telephone and a paper coffee cup from the petrol station on the Yorkshire side of town.

      Jo waved at me to take a seat opposite her.

      ‘I didn’t think you were due to start until next week,’ I said.

      ‘I was due to go on holiday, but cancelled when this job came up. It was clear when I looked at the figures and statistics that I couldn’t start a moment too soon. The exam results aren’t impressive, are they? You must be aware of that.’

      ‘We’re low in the league tables, but …’

      ‘Exactly.’ Jo interrupted before I could point out that the school excelled in so many other areas – in sport, in music and, most importantly, in sending confident, well-rounded young adults out into the world. ‘That’s going to have to change. There’s been too much slack management. We need to see streamlining and efficiencies. I’m meeting the staff this morning to outline the vision for the way forward. Good teachers and good results will be at the heart of it.’

      ‘We have some excellent teachers here. They couldn’t be more dedicated …’

      ‘Some? That’s not enough. We need all the teachers to be excellent.’ Jo leant across the desk towards me. ‘The governors assure me I can rely on you. You’ve been here a long time. You know all the staff – who isn’t on their game any more, who has lost their motivation, who is letting standards fall. You’ll hear things that I won’t. I’m counting on you to help me, for the good of the school. I need you to be not only my right hand, but also my eyes and ears.’

      It normally worked like a magic charm, someone asking for my help – I could rarely resist. But this? Spying on my colleagues, who I had worked alongside for years? Betraying the teachers who had taught Caitlyn, kept an eye on her for me, shaped her into who she was? I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.

      ‘I’ll help in any practical way I can,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘But I won’t spy on my friends, or tell tales about hardworking teachers who care passionately about this school and their students, and who are doing their best in difficult circumstances. That’s not in my job description, and not in my nature either. But if there’s anything else I can do, you need only ask.’

      If I’d thought the atmosphere was cold before, it was nothing to how low the temperature dropped now. Jo sat back and crossed her arms, sending me a patronising smile.

      ‘I think you misunderstand, Eve. I never suggested you should spy, only to work with me to identify areas of improvement. Of course, if you don’t want the increased responsibility, I respect your decision. It is disappointing, when I had heard such good things about your commitment to this school.’

      Jo tapped at her keyboard, and I took this as a sign that I was dismissed. I stood up, feeling bizarrely as if I had done something wrong. Had I? If nothing else, I’d clearly annoyed Jo, and that would make working in such close proximity awkward. But I couldn’t regret my decision. I hesitated, wondering whether I ought to say something else, to try to smooth things between us.

      ‘Oh, Eve?’ Jo didn’t look up. ‘There’s a box on your desk. It contains Mrs Armstrong’s belongings. Please get rid of it. And on the subject of your desk …’ Now she looked at me, and it wasn’t a friendly look. She clearly wasn’t in the mood to smooth things out. ‘I intend to introduce a clear desk policy. Have you any idea how much a data protection breach would cost, financially and reputationally? Everything confidential must be locked away. Your first job this morning is to clear your desk.’

      She focused on her screen and started typing before I could tell her that I was fully aware of the rules and regulations concerning data protection, and that whilst my desk may look untidy, there was nothing confidential on there. I walked back out to my cubbyhole and glanced over at the desk. Perhaps untidy was an understatement. How long had it been since I last sorted through the piles of stationery catalogues, magazines and junk mail? Mrs Armstrong had kept me too busy. Well, I would soon show Jo Blair that a clear desk policy held no fear for me …

      It was lunchtime before I could catch up with Tina, and she did a double take when she saw me sitting behind my immaculate desk. I had reproduced Jo’s minimalist look to perfection, with the exception of the photo of Caitlyn beside the computer monitor. No amount of arm-folding or disapproving looks would persuade me to part with that.

      ‘Have you been fired?’ Tina asked, goggling at the expanse of clear desk between us. Not even a paperclip besmirched the tidiness now. Of course, the desk drawers were bulging, but Jo couldn’t take control of those too, could she? ‘Have you managed to irritate our new boss already?’

      ‘It wouldn’t take much, would it? She’s not fired me yet, but I’m wondering if it’s only a matter of time. We’ve worked together for one morning, and so far, she’s objected to the state of my desk, the smell of my peppermint tea, that I didn’t divert my phone when I nipped away for two minutes to go to the loo, and that she doesn’t like the way the computer files are labelled and arranged. She’s also told me that I won’t need to do any more typing for her, as she has a digital dictation system on her computer, which is more efficient. If I hear the word efficient one more time, I’ll …’

      The door to the corridor was flung open and Jo strode in, abruptly cutting off my rant.

      ‘The lunch system is inefficient,’ she said. ‘There’s a queue halfway down the corridor, and staff members are wasting time having to police it. Make a note for the next staff meeting.’

      I nodded but didn’t move, and she continued to stare at me until I reluctantly opened a drawer a crack to try to remove a notebook and pen without her noticing the untidy state СКАЧАТЬ