O I see. Old Milne was gaping but moving aside with a swirl of the gown, to allow him by.
At ten minutes to four Patrick was back in the corridor but outside the door to Alison’s classroom. Some fourth-years were in with her. All boys of course; trying to get her to bow her head so they could see down her blouse. His entrance allowed her escape; she smiled, waiting for the boys to leave before she did. Pat held the door for her and they walked down the stairs together. He left her at the foot, she to go to the staffroom while he strode out and into the carpark. He went swiftly. Old Milne had many spies; and from his secretary’s office window it was possible to see the driveway to the main schoolgates.
The engine started first time. As he approached the gates a couple of youths from the sixth year were chatting to the two polis, about career prospects no doubt — it was either that or the fucking army. More pupils loitered outside. Then Alison was coming. He leaned to open the passenger side for her, but the temporary English teacher was also there, he appeared suddenly from behind her, walking a standard pace; and he frowned at Patrick. What the hell was he wanting? And how come he was frowning. Patrick wound down the window and called: Okay?
Eh yeh eh I was just wondering if you were going along the road?
Going along the road?
The guy stared at Patrick.
Patrick nodded.
Alison said, Pat …
Aye, said Pat, we’re going along the road. We’re actually going for a quick pint. D’you want a lift?
The temporary English teacher grinned: I wouldni say no.
On the pavement across the street the pupils were all spectating. It was amazing how they could find the likes of this interchange so fascinating — especially it being a Friday and tomorrow the weekend. When he was a boy he would have shot off home and would have got there before the bell had stopped ringing. Changed days right enough. Unless of course they were spying for the heidie! In fact it was a good thing this bloke was accompanying the pair of them: it would offset any gossip. And weans were notorious gossips. Another batch of them stood along by the Commodore Cafe and they also appeared to be totally intrigued by the encounter at the gates. The temporary English teacher made a sort of joke to do with being celebrities. Alison had had to get back out her seat and raise it for the bloke to climb in but then she seemed to hesitate and she got into the rear seat and allowed the fucking male to take up the responsible domain in the front. Unless she was just being polite. Patrick stared at her via the rearview mirror, then he said to the temporary English teacher: Dont slam the door, the hinges are rusty.
The bloke nodded, adjusting the seatbelt round his waist and shoulder, and pulling the door shut gently. Thanks for the lift, he said.
Aw no bother. Patrick glanced over his right side, eased his foot off the accelerator pedal, edging the motor out into the street. And there were the wee lassies from his first year of that afternoon — no doubt hating Alison because she was sitting near Sir Doyle. There again mind you they might well have hated him because he was with another woman. The Commodore Cafe was down by the corner into the main road. Patrick braked there to await the change at the traffic lights. He said to the temporary English teacher: What’s your name by the way?
Norman.
Norman?
Yeh.
Cause I just realised there I dont think I’ve heard it before.
Norman’s an English teacher, said Alison.
Yeh but I’m only temporary.
You’ll be permanent soon enough, Patrick replied.
I dont know if it’s desirable!
Ah you’ll be okay.
Yeh, I was being facetious.
Norman specialises in the Renascence, said Alison.
The Renascence?
Yeh. He had taken his cigarette papers and a small tobacco packet from his overcoat pocket and he gestured with it: Alright if I smoke?
Whatever you like. Alison smokes as well.
Far too much, said Alison who had brought out a magazine and was leafing through it.
They crossed the Kingston Bridge, taking the first exit down onto the road west and he drove on as far as Yoker to the pub called Miller’s. The temporary English teacher made a display of puzzlement which Patrick ignored until having parked the car. You were probably expecting to go to the lounge bar in the arts centre, he said, smiling at Alison over his shoulder; and here we are well off the beaten track.
Yeh …
We come here once or twice.
It keeps us out of sight of the pupils, grinned Alison. And it isnt only us two that come!
Patrick glanced at her; there was no need to have said that, why had she said that.
And she continued: We may find Diana and Joe here already, and Desmond.
It’s just sometimes nice to get a bit of peace and quiet, said Patrick, before everybody meets up together.
Good idea, the temporary English teacher was muttering while assisting Alison out of the motor car.
Patrick waited then pulled shut the door for her. He wondered whether to go home. It would not be difficult to just drive off, to just leave the two of them standing there on the pavement, in a cloud of dirty exhaust fumes. Maybe that was what they were seeking. It didnt require an enormous leap of imagination to make something of the guy’s sudden emergence at the schoolgates. This type of thing happened with Alison. Exactly the same in pubs and places where you could spot the eyes all following her when she strolled to the Ladies — like a pack of wee dogs. Patrick was also a wee dog, a lap dog. He wanted onto her lap. Maybe this is where he would sit in the pub.
The temporary English teacher was at the bar ordering. Patrick walked with Alison to one of the many empty tables. The place was usually quiet at this time. When they sat down he quickly told her of the headmaster’s invitation, and here he was instead.
Alison was exasperated. She lighted a cigarette. She said, You should’ve gone; that’s just being silly.
It’s not being silly.
Yes it is.
It isni.
It is because it’ll just irritate him. He’s a petty man and he doesnt like being irritated by people. He bears grudges, you know that.
Pat grinned. It wont matter.
It will matter.
No it wont. He smiled, he closed his eyes. He was right and she was wrong. It would not matter. It would all be forgotten about once he had gone on sick-leave. He would phone for an appointment tomorrow morning. And when Old Milne heard he would simply make allowances. Nothing was more certain: sick folk always get the benefit of the doubt.
The temporary English teacher arrived with the drinks on a tray. The Renascence! He was obviously fired with spirit. The Spirit of the Great Teachers and Educators. Yet he looked too old for that. He looked in his early thirties. Patrick had been fired by the Spirit of the Great Teachers as well but that was fucking years ago. That is not true. It is only at the moment he required a bit of a rest. He needed peace. That was it. He needed peace. Some peace — nothing startling, just a wee rest, a bit of time away from the onslaught. He also believed in teaching, he also believed in being a teacher, the spirit of that, of what it was — what was it? A wee rest but, that was the thing, definitely. Even stopping these thoughts of Alison all the time. Because they were unhealthy, it was becoming unhealthy, the whole thing. He was just doing too much of it, the thinking, her being on his brain all the time, seeing her or something, the image or sensation maybe it was a feeling of her. And really unhealthy. Too pervasive. It was too pervasive, too forcible or something. The temporary English teacher was looking at him. Patrick nodded. And he smiled at Alison who was also looking at him and he said to the temporary English teacher: Usually a couple of us come to the likes of this place and then later on … He shrugged. That’s what us two would’ve been doing, if you hadni come along, if it had just been the two of us — eh Alison?