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EIGHT

Suzie

‘I’m afraid you can’t park there, Miss. Are you new? Are you staff?’

For a moment, I’m hoping this man thinks I’m young enough to look like a student, but I realise he’s also implying that I could be a stranger here to kidnap a child. I must be staff. I have a coffee cup, smart shoes and a mild look of terror lining my face.

‘I am new and staff and I’m so sorry, my parking is dire.’

We both turn to look at the car and it’s a good thing I don’t teach maths because my angles are all off.

‘You’re not drunk, are you?’ the man asks me, laughing.

‘With this lot, I wouldn’t blame you.’ He snarls at the students walking through the gates with their blazers and collection of Nike rucksacks and sparkling new school shoes.

I look down at the tape measure hanging from this man’s belt, the scruffy paint-stained polo shirt and then up again to the huge smile.

It immediately puts me at ease. ‘Site supervisor, my name’s Mark.

This place is reserved for Trevor, the lab tech, because he’s got a dodgy hip.

Go round the back, near PE, and park there.

You’ll thank me because you won’t get caught up in all the traffic later when all the parents come to get their little darlings. ’

‘That feels like a trade secret you don’t tell everyone, Mark.’

‘Yeah, Fred in Science can wait in a queue for all I bloody care,’ he says, winking at me. ‘Have a lovely first day, Miss…’

‘Callaghan. Suzie Callaghan.’

‘I dated a Suzie once,’ he tells me.

‘I thought you looked familiar,’ I joke.

He chuckles. ‘Oooh, we’ve got a lively one here, you’ll fit in just fine.’ He laughs. ‘Oi! YOU! Get off the gate and walk in like a proper human being.’

I get back in my car and do exactly as I’m told.

The first day of work never gets any easier; having to muster up all that confidence, present all the positive facets of your personality and pretend to know what you’re doing.

I’ve done this for six years now since leaving university and I love the spark of it, every day being different and sometimes hilarious.

But teenagers are unpredictable and unforgiving beasts.

It’s not even like walking into a lion’s den.

It’s like walking into a room of very unimpressed cats who may attack, may engage with you but most likely will sit there and think you’re not all that.

I am also conscious that this school is in South London, and about one thousand students bigger than my last, smaller Brighton-based school.

These are bigger and cooler cats. I gather all my bags and teaching paraphernalia and get out of the car to hear a voice echo through the playground.

‘MISS CALLAGHAN!’ It’s Beth, standing excitedly next to her Fiat Punto.

‘WHY, HELLO, MISS CALLAGHAN!’ I shout back.

A child who looks like a new Year 7 given the size of her rucksack, looks at us petrified before scurrying away. What is this school? Why do the teachers have the same names? At least my first day at Griffin Road Comprehensive will be all the better for having Beth here.

I walk over to her and embrace her tightly so she can feel all my fear and worry. ‘I was going to call to see if you wanted a lift in?’

‘Oh no, I was on school runs. I haven’t even had breakfast. How are you?

How are you feeling?’ She may not have eaten anything but Beth’s jollity is everything here.

She was a teacher before me and she’s never let the job faze her.

I like that she strolls in here with her New Balance, a couple of cloth bags and her hair bundled into a bun, ready to take it all on.

‘Nervous.’

‘Don’t be. You have me. You look so posh, by the way. How has your tan lasted?’ she asks.

I went formal today with a polka dot dress, tights and boots, and a trench.

This level of style might not last throughout the year but today is about impressions.

‘I went to Marseille for a last-minute break.’ People mock us teachers for our extended holidays but that six weeks in summer is all about the recharge, getting ready to be able to give ourselves so fully to the intensity of the school terms. After Mallorca, I packed in as much as I could to recharge but also maybe move on from Paul, from Carlos.

I tiled my new bathroom, I read five books, I learned how to paddleboard and I went to Marseille and ate steak-frites at cafés while the sun was on my face.

‘Not Nice then?’ Beth jokes.

I nudge her in the ribs as we take the walk into school. ‘We don’t talk about that anymore.’

Oh, Carlos. You will forever be my big summer crush.

Yes, I feel a lot of sadness in my soul that he was not the person I thought he could be, but some of that has been replaced by happiness.

I was enjoying being able to replay secret memories of him in quiet moments of my day, fuzzy sun-drenched images of him standing by a pool, completely naked. I had that .

‘Did you meet anyone in Marseille?’ she asks me.

‘Dozens of people. You know, I shagged a mime artist called Jean-Luc.’

‘Did the face paint get everywhere?’ Beth enquires. ‘Was he good with his hands?’ She mimics the actions.

We giggle together and I’m relieved that I can look back at all of that Mallorcan madness and laugh now.

Beth walks me through the main reception of the school, a light-filled atrium, covered in glass and GCSE art.

Primary-coloured sofas are angled in different directions and there’s also a motivational poster that I think might be the school motto.

I remember a time when school mottos were Latin phrases but nowadays, they seem to be born out of people sat around a table and collating polls out of buzzwords.

Creativity, Respect, Authenticity, Pride.

I read that again. They know the anagram of that is CRAP, right? I try not to laugh.

‘Are you telling me there are two Miss Callaghans now?’ a lady at reception asks us.

‘Yes, Claudia. Double trouble,’ Beth replies.

‘God help us.’ She laughs. ‘Love, your security and printing pass is here. There’s a pack waiting for you in HR.’

I did come in one day in August to prepare some resources and take a tour but it’s wondrous how full the school feels with the children here.

We head out to a large courtyard where children crowd around phones, laughing at TikToks and catching up after six weeks apart.

I see a couple of them staring at me, clocking the new kid on the block.

‘Miss…you’re back…’ a kid says to Beth and puts a fist out. She stares at it and reluctantly gives him a fist bump back.

‘Where else would I go, Josh? I need to get you lovelies through your GCSE. Make sure you don’t mix up your alliteration with your assonance. Good summer?’

‘Is what it is, eh? Who’s your mate?’ he asks .

‘Mate? Believe it or not, another Miss Callaghan. This is my cousin, she teaches French.’

He eyes me up and down, nodding his head at the information that we are related. ‘I take French, innit. You’re the new one.’

‘Oui, enchantée, Josh.’

He looks mistrustful. ‘Are you one of them teachers who’ll just speak French to us the whole time? I won’t do well with that, you know?’

‘I also speak English.’

‘Then we’ll be très bons, innit?’ He puts a fist out for me to bump. Perhaps.

We continue to walk through the courtyard, up some stairs and towards a staffroom, a huge hive of activity that I’m not entirely used to.

In my last school, we used to just hide away in our departments.

Beth glances at me and can see my shock at the manic nature of it all.

‘The head started this as she thought we were all getting too cliquey.’ She heads over to an empty desk space by the window.

‘First come, first served. I’d put your coffee cup and highlighters down here and claim your space.

There are lockers over there, don’t trust the mugs, and Ed in science bakes treats every Friday. ’

My brain whirrs to take in all the information.

By the kitchenette, a group of men in tracksuits, who I assume to be PE, peacock by the boiling kettle, regaling each other with stories of their summers.

A teacher is with the guillotine cutting up chemistry worksheets for his life.

An art teacher in dungarees throws a dead plant in the bin.

I listen to the chat around me. Does this computer work?

What’s the new rule about trainers again?

Does anyone have the key to the stationery cupboard? What time is briefing?

I stop to process that last question. ‘Briefing?’ I ask Beth.

‘Oh yeah, first-day briefing so the head can calm us with positive mantras and most likely tell us that they’ve changed all the locks. It is in,’ she pauses to look at her watch. ‘Five minutes. Come…’

I put my bag on my new desk, take off my coat and tag along beside Beth, trying to memorise routes and get a feel for people’s faces. It will be totally fine, Suzie. Breathe.

Beth squeezes my arm to reassure me. ‘And these are the cupboards where we lock the naughty kids,’ she says loudly, walking past a group of Year 8s. They all narrow their eyes at her. ‘It will be fine,’ she says turning back to me. ‘Come find me at break, lunch. I’ll introduce you to people?’