My Name Is Not Jacob Ramsay Read Free Page B

Michael after he applied and successfully gained an interview for a Learning Mentor position at another provision of the Pupil Referral Unit.
    Michael had turned up for his interview in dirty blue jeans, a t-shirt and scuffed trainers as well as having a rather sweaty appearance. He apologised for his attire as he had just been playing football with some Special Needs Children in a nearby park. It was his job at the time, not a peculiar hobby.
    Helen liked him instantly and was impressed with his potential and so he got the job, although the Head Teacher wasn't convinced at all.
    A few years passed and Deputy Head Helen was asked to take on the many responsibilities of a secondary site. Helen's first loyal team mate to join her on the new and exciting mission into the unknown was none other than Michael.
    Helen, like Paul, lit up the room as she entered.
    "Morning Mike. Hi Paul," she said, as Michael handed her a cup of tea. "Thanks, Michael. Boy, 'ave we got some starting today. They're ready to come up," she continued.
    Paul shrugged and tilted his cup of tea. "Nature of the beast. Always ready. You know that, Helen."
    Michael sipped his own cup of tea and sighed.
    Helen looked at him and walked over. "How was your journey in today? OK?" she asked.
    "Surprisingly yes. You're just whacked out before you even start. The journey's a killer," Michael replied.
    "Three new EAL starting today. One Romanian, one Somali boy and a Russian girl, with two more I think starting tomorrow. Both Afghani. It's tipping the balance," replied Helen, regretfully.
    "Are we meant to be taking in this many kids from overseas?" asked Paul.
    Helen sighed. "Not really. Year nine should go straight to school."
    "And what about the ones who look twenty-nine?" chirped Michael, smirking.
    Paul cackled a laugh. He turned around on his chair to look at him. He winked and raised his thumb.
    Helen raised her eyebrows. She tilted her head at him. This was her 'I know what you're saying' look. "Well, I'm on the case, so don't think I'm not doing anything about moving them on. I am. We'll just have to..."
    "Cope?" Paul completed her fading sentence.
    Helen nodded as she clutched her warm cup.
    Patricia Banerjee was a plain-looking forty-six-year-old mixed raced Bengali woman. Not unattractive, just slightly below average. Although married, she retained her maiden name of Banerjee. She was a woman with a fuller figure and fairly tall to go with it. Patricia, on this day, wore a brown trouser suit and a cream blouse. Her designer glasses partly obscured her pained face. Her crow's feet ran deep. They were like cracks upon a dried-up riverbed caused by - perhaps - a lot of laughter and certainly a great deal of pain. Twice married, it was not too long ago that her second husband, David, had committed suicide.
    He had been a store manager of a multi-chain supermarket, somewhere in another borough. He didn't leave a suicide note. He had met Michael's parents on several occasions. David would greet them at the doors of the supermarket when they did their weekly shop. He was well liked by his colleagues and members of the community. All that was known to Michael and some of his colleagues, as well as his parents, was that David was extremely unhappy and no longer wanted to work at the store.
    David had driven his car and parked up near Waterloo from where he walked to Gabriel's Wharf along the South Bank. He had pulled a length of rope from a supermarket carrier bag and securely tied it to the rail. In one swift motion, he suddenly placed the other end of the rope, tied like a traditional hangman's noose, over his head and clambered over the rail. David took in the view for just a couple of seconds and simply stepped off the pier. His neck snapped instantly and his body dangled above the still waters. He remained there, unnoticed, for twenty minutes, dead.
     
     
    A colleague informed Michael the next day. She looked extremely upset when Michael set foot into the