An Ordinary Working Man Read online

  An Ordinary Working Man

  By Gillian Ferry

  Part One – The Beginning

  Chapter One – April 2008

  Sue

  “I don’t think I can do it,” Sue replied, the pain had become so intense.

  It was 8.45 on a school morning, Sue was supposedly getting ready to teach Reception class and instead she stood in the Head’s office, braced against the wall.

  Margaret placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder before saying, “You should have stayed off last week, I appreciate you coming in but it can’t be at the detriment of your health. I’ve phoned your Dad, he’ll be here soon, get yourself back to the Doctors and this time do as he says.”

  “I will, thanks Margaret. I’m so sorry about this.”

  Margaret shook her head.

  “Just get yourself better, soon.”

  This time Sue could only nod her head, overcome with emotion, disappointment in herself, guilt that she couldn’t do the job, all overshadowed by pain, awful, all consuming pain.

  Two hours later and she was sitting, shocked into silence by the doctor, tears wetting her cheeks, as she absorbed his advice.

  “A month, you’re giving me a sick note for a month?” she repeated.

  “Sue, you’ve been to see me twice in the last few weeks, each time I’ve told you to take a week off work and rest your back. Have you followed that advice?”

  Sue avoided eye contact and felt herself shrink before his gaze. “Well, no, not really.”

  “Quite, this way your body has chance to heal and school will know where they are, so they can plan for your absence,” he added.

  “I suppose so.”

  She knew it made sense but like most employees believed she was too essential to the machinery of education. One missing cog and surely the whole production line would implode.

  Dr Grove turned to his desk, ink pen in hand, and delivered his sentence. He looked like a doctor should, in his twill suit, high forehead and bearded face. He had a reputation for being ferocious and not suffering fools gladly; if he thought there was nothing wrong with you, he told you so. It was a trait that Sue usually appreciated.

  “Here we go,” he blotted the prescription for pain relieving drugs and her sick note, then handed them to her with a flourish. She was now dismissed.

  Sue took her future life in her hands and headed for the door.

  “Oh well, thanks, hope your day goes quickly.”

  She always felt obliged to say something on leaving, but Dr Grove’s concentration was already on the next patient, she merely received a grunt in reply.

  Chapter two

  Andrew

  “Bin collection?” Andrew Proust M.P. regarded his friend and advisor with scepticism. “You’re seriously telling me that is the key to getting the public to engage with this election?”

  “Yes, I am. Forget the economy, immigration, unemployment, the NHS and education. If you want to win the hearts and minds of the electorate you need to start talking about bringing back the old fortnightly rounds, instead of asking them to make use of the communal tips.”

  Andrew turned his attention back to shuffling papers on his desk. He wasn’t actually doing anything constructive, but it reassured his army of volunteers if they happened to glance into the office.

  “I can’t promise that Nigel, it’s a national issue and despite its unpopularity with the voter, it does save money. Money that can be…”

  “I know,” Nigel interrupted him, “money that can be better spent on health and the care of the elderly.” He repeated the party line as if reading off an autocue. “But that’s the thing, you don’t have to promise a return to the good old days of refuse service, you just have to promise to raise the issue if we’re successful and returned to power.”

  “And if we’re not?” Andrew asked.

  “Then you can blame the Peoples party for not listening to the voice of its voters. Every way, we win.” Nigel’s face became set as he jabbed a finger into Andrew’s chest, just right of the party tie. “And that, my dear idealistic friend, is the whole point.”

  Andrew shook his head as Nigel sauntered out of the office. “I thought the point was to help the country out of the mess the Peoples Party has created after sixteen years in power.”

  Nigel raised a hand in the air and waved it above his head.

  “Yeah, sure, that too.”

  Andrew chuckled at the retreating figure. Nigel Purser would have made an excellent politician, he could analyse any situation in a split second and work out how it could be exploited in another, and his understanding of local, national and international politics was phenomenal. Unfortunately he also had, what was politely termed, a face for radio. In a demanding media world he was thought to lack the right image. His face too lined and his scowl too deep even at the age of thirty – five. Whereas Andrew, although the same age as Nigel, was fair, broad shouldered and spoke easily to the man in the street, he was the ultimate poster boy, even if he didn’t know it yet.

  Andrew still found it hard to believe that the Republican Party had nominated him to take over the safe seat of Meadow East after the death of Sir Philip Roust. It had all happened so fast. I mean he had always been a party member since his university days and he’d even attended the odd conference since then , but still…He picked up his mug and headed out to the main office, oppressively boring in its utilitarian beige and decided he would re-decorate, once the election had been won of course. He caught Molly’s gaze as he headed for the coffee pot and felt his face redden; she was attractive in a soft feminine way, gentle curls that blurred into a heart shaped face with beautiful almond eyes. And he had been trying to find the courage to ask her out for a drink or a meal since she’d volunteered to jump aboard the bandwagon. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had girlfriends before, a few years earlier he’d even found himself engaged, briefly, and it was that experience that had made him that little bit more cautious. He would never again view strawberry jelly in the same way.

  Chapter three

  Nigel

  Nigel Purser allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as he headed along Ardent Street, everything was working as planned. The polls showed Andrew to be favoured by 46% of the inhabitants of Meadow East, whilst the People’s Party candidate had polled only 35%, with the obligatory 19% undecided .That bothered Nigel, he disliked wavering of any kind. His father had instilled in him the principle of hard, decisive leadership, anything else was to be regarded as a sign of weakness. It was still possible that 19% could suddenly decide to vote for the opposition, and while that variable remained Nigel would continue to push. He could understand why the present government had made participation in all elections a legal requirement, after all it was the seething mass of idle unemployed who tended not to bother, and they were the bedrock of People Party’s support. And it wasn’t as if the populace were required to sort through a ream of information, since the disastrous coalition governments of the 1980s, it tended once more to be a two horse race.

  Still Meadow East was regarded as a safe seat, which was of course why Andrew had been placed there. Nigel glowed with an inner satisfaction when he thought of all he’d achieved so far, although to be fair it had been pretty easy to gain Andrew’s friendship and trust. Yes, with careful management, and clear guidance, he should do just fine.

  He stopped, adjusted his tie, and smoothed back his hair, the plaque which read, 21 Dean Street, serving as an impromptu mirror. It was such a small statement of residence, leading to such great things. He stepped forward and placed his finger on the small white button, he heard nothing, but knew cocooned in an entrance hall office he was being closely observed, his profile matched against a data base, his
finger print checked and his eyes scanned. Some members had complained at having to be buzzed into the building, felt their importance merited the presence of a doorman, but most knew better; preferring not to draw any unwanted attention to themselves.

  The door opened, he stepped inside the grand Victorian entrance way and through the body scanner, that done he was greeted by one of many butlers.

  “Thank you Porter,” said Nigel.

  “You’re welcome sir, Sir George is expecting you.”

  Nigel muttered his thanks. The butler was a satisfying nod to history and tradition, except for the semi-automatic weapon concealed beneath his finery.

  Chapter four

  Sir George

  Sir George Malton swirled the dark embers of his favourite tipple around the bottom of his glass, enjoying the sight and smell before finally relishing a sip. It was early but he felt he deserved the liquid reward, besides his was not a role of public appreciation, so private triumphs had to be acknowledged. He sank a little further back in his leather, wing backed armchair and savoured the silence. The curtains were always drawn, no matter the time of day, giving the space an air of intimacy; small lamps shedding pools of orange light against the luxuriant colours of red velvet and dark oak. Other members were present, but having nodded their head in acknowledgement of their peers, they retreated to their own world, safe from the seething mass of the common man and their wives. It had once been suggested that women be allowed to join the club, an idea greeted with such blank incredulity that it had instantly dissolved into the ether. Sir George could think of no worse horror than having his day interrupted by Nancy, they may have been successfully married for forty years but he had no desire for her conversation on wallpaper and redecoration to assail his ears in the surroundings of the club. No, Dean Street was the place where governments were formed or toppled depending upon the needs of the few.

  A figure appeared at his side, announcing his presence by a slight clearing of the throat. Sir George stood up in response and followed him into a small private room, meetings were often conducted at Dean Street but never in the public lounge. He thanked the butler and held out his hand to Nigel.

  “How’s our boy doing?” he asked.

  He saw Nigel trying to suppress a smile of satisfaction. “Everything is going according to plan.”

  “Good, good,” Sir George responded, and because he found Nigel intensely irritating, although he couldn’t say why, he added, “The polls are clearly in our favour are they?”

  Of course he already knew the answer, knew there remained that 19% that in theory could cause difficulties, but he always felt that urge to undermine Nigel at every opportunity.

  “Some remain undecided, but it won’t be a problem.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Sir George conceded, then turned and left the room, effectively dismissing Nigel. He knew the young man aspired to join the club one day, and indeed he probably would make it, but for now it did no harm to remind him where he was in the hierarchy of power.

  Chapter five

  Sue

  “I know, a month off work, I still can’t believe it. Do you know who Margaret is going to get to cover the class?” Sue had phoned the head at home the previous evening and still felt a pang of guilt every time she thought about the conversation. Oh, Margaret had been okay about it of course, she’d sympathised and made all the right noises but Sue knew that behind the geniality the cogs would have been frantically turning.

  “Nobody yet, I don’t think,” Kay answered, looking to Rachel for confirmation.

  “Julie covered today, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she did tomorrow, and Margaret gets someone in after the weekend.”

  Julie was Sue’s teaching assistant, competent enough and a great support to her, but the kids tended to take advantage when she was on her own. Whenever Sue had been obliged to attend the latest initiative on early years, Julie had stepped in, and when she returned the very air seemed to vibrate with defiance. It was as if it were the pupils first day at school once more as they dipped their toes into the river of opposition; it usually took Sue several days to stem the flow.

  Still she was in no position to complain, Julie had stepped in to cover for her and for that she was grateful.

  She adjusted the hot water bottle at her back and shuffled further into the seat. “So,” she said, “tell me about your trip.”

  Kay taught Year one and Rachel year two at the same school as Sue. Today both classes had been on a trip to the local farm.

  “It was lovely,” Kay stated, as Rachel rolled her eyes. “It was,” she reiterated.

  Kay was a newly qualified teacher and while her rose tinted glasses had definitely been scratched over the past year, she refused to relinquish them completely. With her short bobbed auburn hair and her slight figure she was the sort of professional about whom the phrases, ‘I swear teachers are getting younger,’ was coined.

  Rachel was at the other end of the spectrum with only five years until retirement and she was actively counting down the days. She was fabulous teacher, making it all seem so effortless, as she ignored the latest teaching trends, having seen them all before anyway and carried on in her own style, developed over years of experience.

  “It was okay,” she finally conceded, “but we seemed to spend more time queuing at the hand sanitizer units than seeing the animals.”

  “I know,” agreed Kay, “but it’s surprising which kids shine on a trip; I had John with me, and do you know he wasn’t a bit of bother. He was so gentle with the baby chicks, I could have cried.

  “If only he was so considerate of his fellow pupils,” Sue commented.

  “Yeah,” she drew herself a little closer to her colleagues before continuing. “I’m not supposed to let on I know, but apparently several of the parents came in en-masse to see Margaret at the beginning of the week demanding that she remove John from the class.”

  “Was that after the chair throwing incident?” Rachel asked.

  Kay nodded in response

  “But they can’t do that, surely?” Sue queried.

  “Well I don’t know, but Margaret’s got to find some way to appease them,” Kay stated.

  The conversation flowed back and forth between personal and professional matters for another hour or so, before the pair left and Sue pulled her aching body up the stairs to give Lottie a ring. Inevitably her daughter’s name had been shortened from Charlotte, but she’d been too sweet a child to be called Charlie, and thus Lottie was born. Mother and daughter were extremely close, a bond developed during Sue’s time as a single parent, Lottie’s father having left when she was ten and maintaining very limited contact ever since. Even his twice yearly visits had withered down to one, taking any hope of Lottie’s devotion with it. Yet despite it all she had grown into such a wonderfully, caring young woman. She had inherited her father’s blonde hair and brown eyes, but thankfully not his temperament which, on a good day, could still be described as somewhat surly. She was currently in her first year at the local university studying politics and history. In theory she could have commuted back and forth, but had decided to live on site, Newstead having built extra accommodation to encompass its ever growing band of undergraduates.

  Sue phoned her mobile and received the inevitable message informing her that Lottie’s mobile was switched off, which in reality probably meant it had ran out of battery and she hadn’t yet charged it up. Sue smiled to herself, quite right too, she thought, better to be out enjoying herself. Besides if Sue couldn’t get in contact, Lottie tended to phone, speaking as they did almost every day. She eased herself back down the stairs and searched for something to watch on TV, nothing but soaps and reality shows, she sighed, this was going to be a long month.

  Sue rose the following morning grateful that she didn’t have to rush to get ready and go to work. Her body was able to slide slowly into the day, watching breakfast news all the way to the end and having a long soak in the tub. She did however keep a mental
check list in her head, which she ticked off according to the clock. Eight fifty-five and Julie would have brought the children in from the yard, Ellie would have cried because she still did every morning and Daniel’s dad would catch her to check on his progress and ask irrelevant questions. By five past nine registration would be completed, any toys brought in by the kids confiscated and put safely into the cupboard for later. Nine thirty and fidgety bums would be unleashed from whole class literacy work to follow up in the various areas while Julie took a group at a time to complete their work. That entailed filling in speech bubbles, recording the conversation between one of the three little pigs and the wolf, which was the point at which Sue groaned out loud, because the straw she’d bought several days previously for the children to use on their house models, was still in the boot of her car. Could she risk driving up to school with it? Sue wasn’t sure, she found it very painful to manoeuvre herself around, and if she did go other members of staff may think there was nothing really wrong with her and she was just exploiting the situation. Although, as this was actually the first time she had been off school in the ten years she’d been there, she hoped that would not be the case. Plus, if Julie didn’t have any help in the classroom then the model making would probably have to be put on hold for a while anyway.

  By the time it got to twenty past three, when the children would be going home, Sue had driven herself half mad with worry. It was at that point she realised that in order to take the doctor’s advice and let her body heal, she had to trust everybody else to get on and accept the fact that school would still exist and flourish without her. It was a sobering thought, she’d only been away from work for one whole day, yet already she felt forcibly detached from it, and from her class. She and Julie had worked so hard to get them from an unruly mob to a group of pupils they could actually teach and who were improving all the time. It was strange to accept that keeping them so was no longer her responsibility. Gosh, she only hoped whoever had them for the next month did not let their behaviour slide.