A Fatal Attachment Read Free Page A

experience and expertise. Instead of which they went for the younger man every time—wet behind the ears, and with not an ounce of practical experience.”
    â€œIt’s the old story.”
    Andy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
    â€œI may not have put my best foot forward in the interviews. I’d recently lost my son.”
    â€œI’m sorry. And are you over that now?”
    â€œYes . . . No. No, I’ll never get over it. But to some extent I’ve put it behind me.”
    â€œDo you drink too much?”
    Andy was under no illusions that it showed. He grinned, liking her a lot.
    â€œWhat’s too much? It depends on the person. on the circumstances—what you’re trying to drown. Yes, I drink too much. A doctor would certainly say so.”
    â€œWould it impair your ability to do a job?”
    â€œNo, it wouldn’t. A lot of it comes from the fact that I don’t have enough to do. But as far as I’m concerned this job is a myth. If I couldn’t get a job seven years ago, who’s going to give me one now, when I’ve been out of the research field all that time?”
    â€œThe schools are crying out for science teachers.”
    â€œI am not a teacher.”
    Andy heard a sharpness in his own voice, and wondered whether it was caused by fear. Was it fear of failure as a teacher, fear of having a job at all? Unemployment robbed a man of confidence. He determined to pull himself together.
    â€œThe need is so desperate that the Department of Education is trying to attract people from outside teaching. There is a sort of on-the-job training and assessment programme.”
    â€œFlannel.”
    â€œProbably.”
    â€œGet in just anybody from the streets to massage the figures.”
    â€œMaybe. But you’re not just anyone from the streets, are you? You’re a well-qualified scientist with valuable experience. Do you think you could teach?”
    Andy sat pondering, assessing himself.
    â€œI don’t know. I’m not trained. . . . I wouldn’t want to let the children down.”
    â€œOr do you mean you wouldn’t want to let yourself down?”
    â€œI don’t know. . . . The short answer is: yes, I do think I could teach.”
    â€œWhat makes you think so?”
    â€œI used to coach my own boys. I’ve never had any problems with children.”
    Except that I lost my own, something screamed inside him.
    â€œI feel strongly about this, you see,” said Mrs Wharton, though still with her admirable coolness. “My own boy has had a succession of science teachers, all inadequate, and this is a subject that really interests him. I’ve been in touch with the local education people. There’s a desperate need for someone at once at the North Radley High School.”
    Andy sat quiet for a moment.
    â€œI need to think it over.”
    â€œI’ve been in touch with the head. He’ll be in all afternoon.”
    â€œI’ll have to think it over, I say.”
    â€œDo you know where North Radley High is?”
    â€œI’ll find it,” said Andy.
    When he left the D.S.S. he went into the nearest pub and bought himself lunch. Steak and mushroom pie and a half of bitter—just a few pence change out of four pounds. He realized that just by buying it he was committing himself to this teaching job. His small pension and the dole did not allow him to buy the most basic meal out as a rule—not with the amounts he spent on booze. He had quite unconsciously decided to take it. He was part of the workforce again. As he ate he realized that the reason he felt shell-shocked was that suddenly he was forced to think about the future. It was years since he had done that—years that had been consumed by mulling over the past. And now, suddenly, it seemed that life might change, that there might be new activities, new people. An interest in life, in short.
    He found the