Part 15 (1/2)
”The appointment is a foregone conclusion anyway,” remarked Sidney casually. ”I could tell by the way Harold was so depressingly enthusiastic when he got the applications. His little black eyes lit up like a ferret with a cornered rabbit when a certain candidate was mentioned. I bet you a pound to a penny we get the dry old stick with the funny name.”
”I think you may very well be right, Sidney,” agreed David, looking at his watch and shaking his head. ”He said more about that Mullarkey fellow than all the others put together.”
”You don't think you two are pre-judging this poor person a little?” I chimed in. ”He's probably a very decent sort. Just because he's got an unusual name doesn't mean'
”I suppose so,” agreed Sidney wearily, 'but it would have been rather nice to have Glorious Goodbody at the next desk.”
”It's nearly six o'clock, you know,” David announced. ”I have to get home and change.”
”Well, that settles it then,” exclaimed Sidney. ”We shall depart and find out tomorrow who was appointed.”
As we all stood to go, Harold Yeats crashed through the door, making the three of us jump back as if hit in the stomach.
”For goodness sake, Harold!” cried Sidney. ”I do wish you wouldn't do that bursting into the room like some jealous husband in a Whitehall farce.”
”It's just that I have some news!” exclaimed Harold. ”We have appointed.”
”I suppose it's Professor Moriaty?” sighed Sidney.
”As a matter of fact, it is Dr. Gerry Mullarkey,” replied Harold, 'who is, at this very moment, looking forward to meeting you all. If you would care to make your way down to the lounge area while I de-brief the unsuccessful candidates, you can congratulate Dr. Mullarkey and introduce yourselves.”
”I just hope you have picked someone who is going to fit in, Harold,” said David mournfully. ”I hope he has a sense of humour.”
”Oh, I think I can a.s.sure you of that on both counts,” replied Harold, showing a mouthful of teeth and vigorously rubbing his large hands together. ”In fact, I think getting on with you lot is almost as important as having the right academic qualifications.”
There was no sign of Dr. Mullarkey in the lounge. Behind the kitchen hatch Connie could be heard banging pans with such force that they sounded like the clanging of discordant gongs. The room was empty save for an extremely pretty, slender young woman with short raven-black hair, a pale, delicately boned face and great blue eyes with long lashes.
”Excuse me, we are looking for a Dr. Mullarkey,” announced David. ”We were told he was in here.”
”Oh yes,” replied the young woman, turning and smiling broadly at him.
”Are you by any chance Miss Goodwood?” enquired Sidney, approaching her eagerly.
”No, you've just missed her.”
”Have you seen him by any chance?” I asked. ”Dr. Mullarkey, that is?”
”Could you describe him?”
”Well, he's middle-aged, I guess, greying hair, serious sort of chap, probably in a dark suit. Smokes a pipe. Actually, I've not even met the man. I'm just going on what others have said.”
”There was a Mr. Wilson here for interview, who fits that description, but I think he's speaking to Dr. Yeats at the moment,” said the young woman.
”That's very strange,” said Sidney, turning to me and frowning. ”I did say when I first heard the name mentioned that I had serious doubts whether this person existed. I said it sounded suspicious.”
”I wonder if he's already left,” suggested David, 'but it seems odd that he should just up and go.”
”He's a figment of Harold's imagination,” concluded Sidney. ”I don't think there is a Dr. Mullarkey.”
”Oh but there is,” said the young woman. We all looked at the beautiful smiling face. ”I'm Dr. Mullarkey, Geraldine Mullarkey, but most people call me Gerry. I a.s.sume you gentlemen are my new colleagues?”
Our mouths fell open and we stared wide-eyed and speechless.
”Oh, I say,” murmured Sidney, staring into the blue eyes. ”Oh, I say. Good gracious, my goodness. I thought you were a man. I mean I thought Dr. Mullarkey was a man, not a woman like you. I mean .. . oh, I don't know what I mean.”
”Good afternoon,” said David formally, stepping forward and offering his hand. ”I'm David Pritchard, Inspector for Mathematics, PE and Games. The hairy, inarticulate, rambling one is Sidney Clamp, the Inspector for Visual and Creative Arts and our self-appointed spokesperson on equal opportunities. The lifeless, open-mouthed colleague, incapable of speech and who looks, at this moment, as if the hamster is dead but the wheel is still turning, is Gervase Phinn, the Inspector for English and Drama. It is good to have you with us, Gerry. May I congratulate you on getting the job. I am sure you will fit in superbly.”
”Oh, I say,” said Sidney, quaveringly. ”Oh, I say.”
”How do you do,” I said, taking her small cold hand in mine. ”It's er .. . splendid toer .. . have you join us.”
”And if there is anything we can do for you, please ask,” said David.
”There is something, actually,” replied our new colleague. ”I have to catch a train from Fettlesham at just after seven. I wonder if one of you could give me a lift to the station that's if it's not too far out of your way.”
”No problem,” said David, ”I can easily drop you off.”
”Nonsense!” cried Sidney, who had just about gained his composure. ”You're going in the opposite direction, and anyway, you have your Celtic knees-up this evening, if you remember. I can easily drop Geraldine off at the station.”
”I thought you had your artists' meeting tonight?” responded David tartly.
”It would be much easier for me to drop Gerry off,” I interrupted. ”My talk this evening is at Brindcliffe Primary School, which is directly opposite the station.”
”Well, that's settled,” said Dr. Mullarkey, collecting her handbag and briefcase. ”I'm sorry to have to rush. I'm really looking forward to working with you all.” She gave me a stunning smile. ”Shall we go, Gervase?”
”Well, I would have thought the idea was to keep them quiet and knuckling down to their reading and writing, and not encouraging them to spend their time talking.”
I was in the kitchen at the Staff Development Centre helping Connie dry the cups and saucers. We were clearing up after the day's course I had been directing on ”Encouraging Talk in the Cla.s.sroom'. Connie, as was her wont, was giving me the benefit of her views.
”When I was a girl you only spoke when you were spoken to. Youngsters have far too much to say for themselves these days, in my opinion. They've got an answer for everything.” Connie was a woman who did not mince her words and was, as they say in Yorks.h.i.+re, 'not backwards in coming forwards'.
”Children learn a great deal by talking things through, Connie,” I endeavoured to explain. ”They sort out all the complex ideas they have in their heads, share their views, try out their opinions on others, discuss difficult concepts. Talking is very important in learning.”
”Mm,” she mouthed, entirely unconvinced. ”Well, I think they'd be better off keeping their opinions and ideas to themselves. In my day, children were seen and not heard. If I so much as opened my mouth at school without Miss Pearson's permission, she'd have that leather strap out of her drawer as soon as look at you. And if anyone dared to ask her a question, woe betide them. She didn't encourage children to ask questions. Miss Pearson liked them to listen, keep quiet and get on with their work.”
”Times have changed, Connie,” I said, putting the last of the cups in the cupboard.
”More's the pity,” she replied. ”Now, take my sister's grandson, Robbie. Always in trouble at school, always got something to say for himself, always answering his parents back. They don't know they're born, young people, these days. They want a spell in the army. I said to my sister, I said, ”Your grandson wants a d.a.m.n good hiding, cheeking his parents like that.”
”How old is he?” I asked.
”Fourteen and as broad as a barn door and as thick as a plank of wood.”
”He's a bit old for good hidings, Connie.”
”They should have started when he was small. He was a little demon, he was.”
”Well, a lot of lads go through that stage, you know, when they reach adolescence. It's probably his hormones.”
Connie stopped what she was doing abruptly and turned to face me. ”I beg your pardon?” she snapped.