2 Chapter 2

“I’d like to offer you the post. Will you accept?”

I stared, mouth agape until I snapped it shut.

“Of course, if you have questions—”

“I-I don’t.”

“Good.” Anika tucked a strand of hair behind an ear; tiny diamond earrings glinted. “Then you’re happy to accept?”

I should have shaken my head, apologized, and turned her down. I should have left the job open to someone who wanted it for the right reasons. But the post was temporary, only one term, so guilt was easily pushed aside. Who cared if I wasn’t a great mentor? I wouldn’t be there long enough for it to matter and there was nothing wrong with my teaching skills.

Smiling, I shook her hand. “I’d be delighted.”

“Great. I’m so pleased.” She held my gaze. “You’ll find it different here, but change is good, right?”

I tensed. Something about the way she said change is goodmade my skin crawl. Did she know why I was leaving Lindhurst? Had my students told her? Had she talked to the head teacher, or contacted my colleagues? Hoping my smile hid the panic inside, I stood, hand outstretched.

I hadn’t noticed Anika’s chair until she leaned forward to shake my hand again. I gawked.

“Yeah, most people react like that first time they see this,” she said, slapping the wheelchair’s metal wheel rims.

“Oh, goodness, I didn’t mean to be rude. I didn’t realize…”

Anika laughed. “I don’t advertise it.” She pushed the chair backward and wheeled around her desk to show me out. “You must have thought me ill-mannered when I didn’t stand to greet you. Kidding,” she added when I squirmed. “I won’t see you all the way out, if that’s okay?” She pushed a green button beside the door then prodded it again. “Ah, there we go. These automatic doors have a nasty habit of ignoring me but they’re behaving today.”

Thanking her again, I backed away. As the door closed behind me, a piercing bell jangled already shaken nerves. All around me doors banged and scruffy youths swarmed from classrooms into the corridor, their black and red uniforms giving them the appearance of overgrown ladybirds on the hunt for prey. My back against the wall, I waited until they’d dispersed before heading to reception to sign out.

Outside, I surveyed the school. I watched boisterous teenagers barge each other as they shambled toward waiting cars, buses, and bicycles. I listened to their loud, expletive-filled banter. Different. Verydifferent.

“Yes,” I said, fist-pumping the air.

I was finally free. 2: Starting Over

Taking steady breaths, I try to control my trembling but I’m so scared, I feel physically sick. I’ve only descended a few feet and while my feet are still in contact with the thick limestone blocks, an eighty-foot drop between the central arches of the Victorian railway viaduct is fast approaching. I’ll be dangling freely and that petrifies me. Panicked, my hands feel rubbery, my palms damp.

I stop, taking a moment to calm myself. It’s certainly beautiful here; Anika picked an idyllic spot. The colossal viaduct spans a steep river valley, the path of the disused railway cutting through spectacularly rugged, wooded landscape—one of Britain’s most picturesque national parks. Below, the river glistens as it tumbles and foams beneath the viaduct, swollen by yesterday’s rain. Its roar competes with a veritable cacophony of bird song and the constant rustling of leaves.

“Keep moving,” shouts my instructor. “You’ll soon get into a rhythm.”

I doubt that. Fumbling with the rope, I think of Anika and how she’d laughed when we got caught in that rain. We were soaked, but neither of us cared. Rain’s good when I’m with Anika. I recall the thunderstorm in Wales and smile at the memory. Exhaling, I inch lower.

* * * *

My first week at Saint Joseph’s was utterly chaotic. How I survived it, I’ll never know. Without a staff training day at the start of the summer term, Anika gave me a five-minute orientation then threw me straight into my new classroom. My registration group was a chatty but harmless year seven class—a kind switch by Katherine Hopkins who taught English next door and was used to the year tens I should have taken. A gentle start, the calm before the storm.

Registration lasted only fifteen minutes and the classes that followed were far more typical, the students much cockier and harder to tame. Inner-city teenagers, I quickly learned, were loud, sassy, and spoke their minds; polar opposites to the polite, respectful pupils at Lindhurst. Saint Joseph’s students required a very different approach and while I struggled to find my feet, they created merry hell.

Shaken, I made a beeline for the staffroom as soon as the lunch bell rang. I drank a strong, sweet coffee and, somewhat revived, unpacked my sandwiches. I ate slowly, waiting for more staff to arrive—someone to reassure me that the students played up for everyone, not just me. But no one came and I ate alone with unchecked paranoia.