Page 14 of Lessons in Life

‘Miss.’

‘Where’s Miss Logan, miss?’

‘I’m afraid she’s been taken out by a snowboarder in France.’ Glancing at the clock on the wall, I tried to gallop on with the roll call. ‘Charlie?’

‘Miss.’

‘A snowboarder? She’s going out with a snowboarder? I thought she was going out with a copper.’ Willow Jenkinson pulled a face. ‘She’s always telling us if we don’t behave, she’s going to bring her boyfriend in to sort us all out…’

‘No, you moron, “taken out”—’ Keira Jackson air-quoted the words ‘—as in an accident. She was going skiing over New Year. She told us that. Does that mean she’ll be off for a bit, miss?’

‘Well…’ I started, but was interrupted before I could finish.

‘Ooh, Kai, you love Miss Logan. What you gonna do without her? Kai luuuurrrrvves Miss Logan, miss.’

‘Eff off, you daft bitch.’ Kai Vickerman, red-faced, threw a large rubber in Daisy Slater’s direction, catching the corner of her eye. Turning in fury, Daisy launched herself at Kai, pulling at his school blazer. ‘Oy, ger off, Slater. Keep yer bloody hands to yourself. Me mum’ll go ape if I tear this blazer again.’

‘OK, OK, OK. Enough.’ Hell, I could already hear my voice rising an octave and took a deep calming breath. ‘Enough, I said. OK. Right, make sure you have everything in your bags for the day ahead. Assembly! Now!’

Fifteen minutes into the new school term and I already had a headache.

* * *

By the end of lunchtime, I’d had enough.

The first rehearsal I’d planned for the forthcoming production ofGreasecame to nothing when the heating in the drama studio – prone to sulking at the best of times – finally gave up the ghost.

‘Aw, miss, it’s freezing down here,’ Isla Boothroyd complained, hiding her numb hands up her navy school jumper. ‘I hate winter. I hate January. It’s ages off until we can go on holiday again and we’ve got our mocks soon. My dad says I should be concentrating on revising in the library rather than doing this.’

‘I haven’t even looked at my books over the holiday,’ Noah Dyson scoffed. He kicked a screwed-up paper towel across the studio, shouting, ‘Goal,’ when it hit the wastepaper bin.

‘I’ve gone off the whole thing anyhow,’ Lucy Earnshaw put in, picking up her bag and voting with her feet. ‘I’m hungry. We have to go on last sitting when we have these rehearsals and there’s never anything left apart from a few manky chicken nuggets. And, after seeing that poor turkey with all those gibletty things up its bum on Christmas Day, I’m now a vegetarian. In fact, I’m a vegan.’

‘You had sausage and chips for your tea at our house last night,’ Isla accused.

‘Oh, I thought they were veggie sausages. Your dad said they were,’ Lucy came back at her mate, equally accusing.

‘And your Sorrel’s not here, is she, miss? I bet she’s already got the place she’s after at that posh drama school in London. Then we’ll have no Sandy.Greasewithout Sandy? Well, that’ll just be bloody rubbish, won’t it?’ Sienna Walker sniffed and looked at the others.

‘Stop, stop, stop!’ I put up a hand as latecomers to the rehearsal drifted in. ‘Listen: a) if Sorrel does get a place at the Susan Yates school, it won’t be until after Easter, maybe not even until September and, on both accounts, we’ll have put on the performance by then and b) you’re late,’ I snapped in the new arrivals’ direction. ‘Look, actors and dancers need punctuality and discipline if they’re to get anywhere?—’

‘My dad says what I need is my GCSEs if I want to be a vet,’ Isla interrupted once more. ‘He says fannying around, thinking I can sing and dance just becauseyou were once on the stage in London, miss, isn’t going to helpme.’

‘A vet?’ I stared. The usual response to what these kids were going to do with their lives once they left St Mede’s was more often than not: ‘gel nails, miss’; ‘footballer, for Man U, miss’; ‘have a kid, miss, and then they’ll have to give me a flat’. As well as the equally disconcerting: ‘Go and work for Andrew Tate, miss, and be an influencer like him.’

‘OK, OK!’ I put up my hands once more. ‘I know where you’re coming from. It’s always hard getting back into things when you’ve had a two-week break and, you’re right, it’s too cold down here to stay and rehearse.’ I glanced across at Jobsworth Ken, the caretaker, who’d just arrived, along with the usual air of martyrdom that always accompanied him like a bad smell. He was now making his way gloomily to the room where the school’s heating and lighting daily creaked and groaned into life like an arthritic octogenarian.

‘Right, it’s up and running again,’ Ken sniffed a few minutes later when he reappeared with an oily rag and a black greasy streak down one side of his usually immaculate brown overalls. ‘But it’ll be a good hour or so before it begins to warm up.’ He shook his head. ‘Best thing for this place is if the Sattars do get hold of it and raze it to the ground.’

For heaven’s sake! I threw the caretaker a furious warning glance. The last thing I needed was the kids getting wind of what was possibly just a rumour.

‘Is the school closing down, miss?’ Fatima Khan pulled a face. ‘Are theypulling it down?’

‘Oh, right, then, no point in hanging round here in the freezing cold if there’s going to be nowhere to put onGrease. I’m off for me dinner while there’s some left. I’m starving.’ Daisy Slater picked up her bag, reached for her phone and headed for the door and sustenance.

‘Hang on, hang on, let’s get a few things sorted…’ I held up a hand once more while looking out of the window where great gobstoppers of snow were beginning to fall from a mustard-yellow sky.

‘Whoo, it’s snowing!’ Twenty pairs of adolescent feet rushed over to the window, falling over their owners in the rush to get a good view.

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