A Lesson in Dying Read Free Page B

she had chosen and she did not regret it.
    ‘Are you working tonight?’ he asked.
    ‘Not till later,’ she said. She was a district nurse and there were some old ladies to visit and settle for the night.
    ‘I’ll take a key then,’ he said. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back. You know how these meetings go on.’
    When Patty Atkins got into the hall the meeting had already started. The members sat with blank unlistening faces as the secretary read the minutes of the last meeting. There was the smell of school dinners and floor polish. Patty was suddenly determined that her idea for the Hallowe’en party would be discussed. Even if nothing came of it at least the monotony of the gathering would be broken. The meetings were usually entirely predictable. There would be a discussion about the distribution of produce from the Harvest Festival and the desirability of school uniform. Then there would be the ritual, unspoken, heartfelt prayer for the early retirement or sudden death of Harold Medburn.
    Patty took her seat, stumbling as she did so over Angela Brayshaw’s handbag, causing the secretary at the other end of the table to falter.
    ‘Sorry,’ Patty said, looking around at them all, grinning. It was impossible for her to be unobtrusive. She was too big, too clumsy, too interested in everyone. She had recently been for an unsatisfactory perm and her blonde hair was shaggy and difficult to manage. She was like a large and friendly dog.
    The secretary glanced at Mr Medburn and continued reading nervously. The headmaster was a small, slight man with a head which seemed too big for his body, like a child’s glove puppet. He had a bald head surrounded by a semicircle of grey tufts. His cheeks were round and red and he seemed at first to have an almost Dickensian good humour. His appearance was deceptive and everyone in the room was frightened of him.
    Paul Wilcox called for the treasurer’s report. Patty considered Paul with fascination and friendly amusement. He was so earnest and intense and his soft, southern voice always surprised her. He made her want to laugh. Yet the Wilcoxes represented a sophistication which she envied. They went to the theatre and their son had piano lessons. They lived in a big house and had a cleaning lady. She would like to know them better.
    The treasurer began to read the accounts. Patty yawned and queried the expenditure of £10.14 for tea and coffee to relieve her boredom. The treasurer blushed indignantly and produced the receipts. The meeting droned on. The Harvest Festival was discussed. Parents congratulated the school on the quality of produce collected and asked if they might attend the celebration on the following year. The headmaster regretted that it was impossible but gave no excuse for his refusal. The other teachers were given no opportunity to comment.
    Paul Wilcox stared unhappily at his agenda and asked if anyone had any other business for discussion. Patty looked up brightly from the scrap of paper where she was drawing a caricature of the headmaster.
    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we have a social evening for the parents? Lots of other schools do it. Let’s have a Hallowe’en party.’
    The others looked at her with pity and admiration. They knew she only made these wild suggestions to shock. It had taken a special governors’ meeting to persuade the headmaster to let the children have a Christmas party. He would never agree to parents enjoying themselves on school premises. There was a silence in which everyone expected Mr Medburn to invent a reason why such an occasion was impossible, but he did not speak. The chairman rubbed his beard uncertainly, cleared his throat and blinked.
    ‘Well,’ he said bravely. ‘I must say that I’d be in favour of a social event. Anything that encourages parents to come into the school must be a good thing. What does anyone else think?’
    The parents around the table avoided his eye. Was Mr Medburn’s silence some