Lessons from the Heart Read Free

let’s get started,’ Mr Jackson says. ‘Thank you for coming this morning, Miss, er … Vassilopoulos.’
    At least he’s got the right list this time and doesn’t think I’m Talbot who’s a boy anyway and a basketball head who’s about twelve feet tall and has sinuses and bad knees. And I suppose Mr Jackson’s just being polite and that, but his Thank you for coming is so smarmy when I didn’t have the slightest choice and just got this message over the loudspeaker – ‘Laura Vassilopoulos and Antonia Darling, report to the Principal’s Office immediately’. Everyone knows what it’s about, and the whole school – nearly forty classrooms – they all hear it, of course, and they go ‘Ooo-ah’ and suck in their breaths so hard it’s lucky there’s a pencil or a stapler left on anyone’s desk and half the school doesn’t end up in hospital.
    â€˜We’ll try and keep this as informal as we can,’ Mr Jackson says. Which is a joke as well, because they’ve all got their best suits on and white shirts and ties and have pencils and pads and papers and things, and probably wish they had judges’ wigs to put on.
    â€˜I agree,’ says Mr Kovacs. ‘The last thing we want is to frighten either of these charming young women.’
    And that’s where I whip around – like my sister Katie and I do at home when anyone says something vomit-making like this -and I stare at the door behind me as if I’m expecting Nicole Kidman or Penelope Cruz to walk through it any minute.
    â€˜No, no,’ Mr Kovacs says. ‘Don’t be so modest, Laura. I was meaning you. And the young lady I noticed sitting outside, of course.’
    Noticed sitting outside . Huh. Mum says Toni’s got the sexiest legs she’s ever seen. And they’re not hard to see, the skirts she wears. And it’s obvious that’s just what’s on Mr Kovacs’ mind because the next thing he says to me is:
    â€˜That’s a nice outfit you’re wearing this morning, Laura.’
    This is totally weird because it’s actually my school uniform, even though it’s a bit old and faded – but what’s the use, Mum said, of getting a new one in Year 12? – and it’s too small for me now and the skirt’s about as short as Toni’s and the top’s too tight in the bust, but maybe that’s the point.
    â€˜Quite,’ says Mr Jackson. ‘Now, Miss Vassilopoulos, you know Mr Kovacs, obviously, but this other gentleman who’s been kind enough to give up his time to be with us today –’
    Kind enough to give up his time. I bet nobody went round to his house or wherever he works and put a megaphone up against his ear and yelled at him to come up to the Front Office immediately while everyone else in the firm went Ooo-ah and sucked up all the paper-clips on their desk.
    â€˜His name,’ Mr Jackson says, ‘is Mr Mumble-Mumble.’
    Or that’s what it sounds like to me.
    â€˜Mr Mumble-Mumble,’ he says, ‘is from the Department of Education and he’s here to observe and to make sure we follow the right procedures.’
    â€˜That’s right. I’m just here to make sure that whatever we decide is fair to everyone. Fair to Mr Prescott, who’s got a lot at stake in this matter, fair to the School, and fair – above all – to the student concerned.’
    Which, I work out, must be Toni.
    â€˜This is not a formal inquiry, Miss Vassilopoulos,’ Mr Jackson says. ‘We’re merely trying to find out whether there’s a need for an inquiry. Do you understand?’
    I nod. With a bit of luck, Mr Jackson is saying, there won’t be a need for any formal inquiry. So for once Mr Jackson and I are on the same side.
    â€˜Now,’ he says, ‘perhaps we can let Miss Vassilopoulos get on with her story?’
    Which is weird,