Sarah stood by the window in the tatty, untidy schoolroom and felt the heat of a radiator on her legs and the warmth of the sunlight on her face, or as much as could get through a pane of glass cloudy with handprints.
‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’
They were supposed to be doing Shakespeare but the teacher was off with the flu, suddenly. Sarah was shadowing Mr Alvin for a fortnight, getting her first taste of what school was really like for the people up the front. Or at the side. You should be the guide at the side, her college tutor said, not the sage on a stage. Let the children speak. But Mr Alvin said that wasn’t easy when what they had to say was so often challenging, or just so bloody rude. She had been thinking about that earlier, when the Head found her.
‘You can fill in this morning, Miss Jones, can’t you?’
That was an order, Sarah realized as she watched Mrs Khan stride away down the corridor, ploughing through the crowd with her silent presence, scattering kids to either side. Genghis, they called her in the staffroom; but it was only a joke, born of admiration, because everybody knew what a tough job she had, holding the school together. The place was in trouble: they were five staff down already and the term was only a fortnight old. Summer term, the year almost done. Teachers were just dropping out, giving up, calling in sick. Too much pressure, not enough time, all the lost weekends and mountains of paperwork, politics and safeguarding pressure and abuse from kids who didn’t want to learn. They bitched about it in the pub, then some just went missing. They just stopped turning up. Sarah still loved the idea of teaching, with the innocence of a beginner. It was nearly time for her first-ever solo lesson and she heard her chest whistle, felt a tightening. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the warmth entering her body and on her own breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
‘Y’all right, Miss? Where’s Calvin?’
Danny George swept past, all swagger and poise, and took a seat at the back, legs spread. Sarah knew where the nickname came from, she had been there. Mr Alvin bent over in class to retrieve a book from the floor and revealed the underpants at the top of his trousers. Just a peek, but enough for the class to see they were somewhat grey, somewhat the underwear of a man who lived alone.
‘Them Calvins, sir?’
Danny’s disciples had laughed at that. His status was already sealed. Star striker in the football team, he was going to be a pro, no problem. He’d wear Calvin Kleins all the time then. Real ones, not knock-offs from the market that went grey in the wash.
‘You’ve got me today,’ said Sarah without thinking and she immediately felt Danny staring at her. His confidence was unsettling. His eyes seemed to say yeah right, that would be your lucky day. What had she got herself into? But he looked away, sucking air in through his teeth, and Sarah felt relieved as the rest of the class came in like a crowd storming a palace. Now the babble was at its loudest, with shrieks and calls and the clatter of stuff and scraping of chairs, and it went on and on echoing back off the high classroom ceiling and Sarah thought about calling them to order but she knew this class, she had watched Mr Alvin struggle at times. They’d wind her up if she took them on. So she handed out the worksheets for Sonnet 18 instead and discovered a universal truth of teaching English: that nobody wants to read Shakespeare aloud in class except the show-offs. Danny volunteered to go first, stood up, threw a pose and read the first line with controlled aggression, like an actor in an action movie.
‘“Shall I. Compare thee. To a summer’s day?”’ His eyes were on her the whole time. Then he shrugged and said, ‘Nah.’
His people jeered, Sarah smiled. ‘Thank you for that, Danny.’ She’d got her bearings now and wasn’t going to let him rattle her. This is going to be okay, she thought, although the volunteers dried up quickly and she had to pick readers from around the class. A girl called Kiké – Sarah checked – stood up, but nothing came out of her mouth; tears looked likely, she was trembling, so Sarah invited her to sit down. Another girl was asleep, oblivious to it all.
‘That’s okay,’ said Sarah. ‘Let her be.’
She knew the reason but couldn’t say. Anastasia was the carer for a mother who was very ill, in constant pain and in need of help or company many times through the night, every night. She was struggling – anyone could see that from the poor girl’s ghostly face – and the social workers knew it but nothing was ever done, apparently. Mr Alvin had warned that Nasti – as they all called her – might doze off. There were others like that too in this school. Every school. What could you do but feel for them? So Sarah moved things on and the class quietened after that, as if to let Anastasia rest.
‘Kiké, come here, will you?’
The shy girl in braids stood up, unsure what to do.
‘Come and sit with me.’
So she did and Sarah sat beside her, both of them perched on the front of the desk, facing the class. ‘Do you feel lovely today, Kiké?’
Some of Danny’s boys made highly inappropriate noises but Sarah waved them down, and Kiké said, under her breath, ‘No, Miss.’
Sarah smiled, holding her attention but speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear. ‘You are, though. You’re lovely, Kiké. Are you as lovely as that summer day out there?’ A few heads turned towards the windows, where the sunlight held up ghostly palms. ‘No, you’re much lovelier than that. You don’t blow hot or cold, you’re just right. Some days are so windy they shake the blossoms off the tree, you’ve seen that, right? Some days are way too hot. And summer’s over way too soon, isn’t it?’
Kiké looked at her blankly.
‘Lovelier than a summer’s day. How does that make you feel, Kiké?’
‘Special, Miss. I guess.’
The low, teasing wolf-whistles came again.
‘Well, you are. And that’s what Shakespeare is saying to someone in this poem. You’re lovely, in a way that lasts for ever. Class, who do you think he’s writing to?’
‘His girl!’
‘His batty boy!’
At least they got that this was love. Unfortunately, Sarah then lost them completely. The answers became cat-calls and shrieks and jokes, it all got out of hand and there was a near riot that caused a passing PE teacher to rush into the room and bellow at everyone so Sarah felt as though she had failed, which was true. But she learned lessons of her own that day and didn’t give up. And when Danny and his disciples had gone away and there were only a few stragglers left in the classroom, Kiké came over and said softly, ‘Thanks, Miss.’ She looked happy in a way Sarah had never seen before. That’s it, thought Sarah. That’s why I’m here. But Anastasia was still asleep, face down on the desk, cheek on her pencil case, the last one left. So Sarah went over, squatted down beside her and put a hand on the poor, exhausted girl’s shoulder until she came round, startled and afraid.
‘It’s okay. You’re okay,’ Sarah said. And when the pale, skinny girl was more awake, thrusting her stuff back into a bag, muttering apologies and rushing to get out of there, Sarah said as kindly as she could, still learning and feeling her way: ‘It’s all right. Anastasia, isn’t it? Don’t worry. Listen, is there anything at all we can do to help?’