Down Among the Dead Men Read Free Page A

always triumphed. “The thing is, what happens to us in our final A level year? They’ll have to bring in someone new.”
    â€œThat’s all we need, some new teacher straight out of college.”
    â€œCould be a bloke.”
    More shrieks. Jem, shorter than anyone, had a big personality. She was like a conductor controlling the highs and lows of excited chatter.
    â€œYou wish!”
    â€œJem, you’re joking . . . aren’t you?”
    Clearly she had more to tell. She waited for the noise to stop. “When I came in I happened to notice a sweet little vintage MG in the staff parking. And then I copped the back view of this tall young guy going into the head’s office.”
    â€œGet away! What’s he like?”
    â€œLike an artist. Dark, wavy hair to his shoulders, bomber jacket and chinos, black shoes with Cuban heels—”
    â€œStop—I’m getting the hots.”
    â€œ You’re getting the hots? Think about the head. He was in with her for twenty minutes.”
    Everyone was rendered helpless. Even the coy Naseem got a fit of the giggles.
    â€œDid he stagger out all shaky at the knees?” Ella said.
    â€œI waited and waited, but I’d have been late for French conversation.”
    â€œWouldn’t it be bang tidy if he was our new art teacher?”
    â€œPlease God!”
    â€œDream on.”
    â€œWe’ve only got to wait till third lesson to find out.”
    Mel, a pale, watchful girl who didn’t often trust herself to speak, went to the window and looked out.
    Jem saw her move and joined her. “Em, sorry about this, people.”
    â€œWhat? What have you seen?”
    â€œThe MG isn’t there anymore. Dreamboat has gone.”
    â€œAw, shoot!”
    â€œThe head must have put him off.”
    â€œShe’d put anyone off.”
    â€œOr . . .”
    â€œOr what?”
    â€œOr he was only a computer salesman and she was like, ‘While you’re here, young man, how about checking my software?’ and he panicked and legged it fast.”
    A ripple of amusement, tempered by sighs all round.
    â€œBack to normal, then,” Mel said, but she wasn’t heard.
    The mood was even more subdued in the art room at eleven, when no teacher appeared. Genuine anxiety surfaced about their exam prospects. Some hoped Jem had got it wrong for once, and the boring Miss Gibbon would shortly put her head around the door. She at least knew the syllabus and was capable of getting most of them a grade of some sort.
    Naseem said, “We ought to tell someone. We’re way down on where we ought to be at this time of the year.”
    As usual, it was Jem who took the decision. “That’s it, then. Why don’t you go to the staffroom, Ella, and say we’re in urgent need of an art teacher?”
    â€œI knew you’d ask me. Why don’t you go yourself?”
    â€œCos you’re always on about your future and that.”
    â€œI was hoping, like, someone else would do it.”
    â€œI don’t mind going,” Mel said.
    She stood, refastened her hair, and left the room.
    â€œI feel bad,” Ella said, “leaving it to Mel.”
    â€œDon’t,” Jem said. “She’s a peasant. Let her run the errands.”
    â€œYou asked me first. Am I a peasant, too?”
    â€œCourse not. Your parents pay for you to be here. You’re just a pain in the bum.”
    In under ten seconds Mel was back. “He’s coming this way.”
    â€œWho is?” Ella asked.
    â€œThe new teacher, with the head.”
    â€œDreamboat? Never.”
    â€œIt’s true. His car’s back,” Jem said, from beside the window.
    â€œTell me I haven’t died and gone to heaven,” Ella said.
    No time to tidy hair, make-up, anything.
    The head entered first, gowned as always, followed by Dreamboat, except he wasn’t dressed as Jem had described. He was in a pinstripe suit,