Rhinoceros 12
And winter dragged on through a whole February of darkness and rain. The roads were sweating with salt, and the filth of the city became mixed with slush, a black moraine of lifeless waste. The days turned dark grey for a glimmer of time but hurried back to night as though for the comfort of oblivion. The lights of cars shone in stop-start rows down Shalesmoor and all along Penistone Road. Alan watched the world go by outside his window. Apathy was too weak a word for it. He watched a street robbery one day, a handbag snatched from a woman in stilettos who could hardly walk let alone chase her attacker, and he couldn’t even summon the moral impetus to phone the police. He’d had enough of the police, anyway. Thanks to their ‘friendly’ visits to school he was now out of a job. Alan resigned himself to the finale of his career through the discordant music of the legalistic, malicious, petty-minded patter of the head in all his glory. Well, he was suspended initially, but the final meeting would be in a few days, and the writing was on the wall.
He’d struggled into to work on the Monday following his fracas at the Michelson’s, too, after a weekend curled up in pain on his bed. He should’ve gone to A and E, he knew that. But making up stories was too difficult for his brain, overloaded as it was with the mush of wrongheaded futile acts he had consistently carried out. Christ, he thought, how could anyone be so out of kilter with reality so successfully? He could almost see Annie with her pitying yet cross look listing all his errors and heaping calumny upon calumny by throwing in his marriage and, to cap it all, the passport incident in Tunisia. He’d be useless as a Samaritan. ‘You should hear about my life,’ he’d say, ‘you think you’ve got it bad.’
So he went through the motions of work, telling staff he’d got a stomach bug but he was on the mend. And then, just as he was thinking there was only half an hour to go during that first interminable Monday back at school, just as he had even begun counting down the minutes to three o’clock, his work mobile rang.
“Alan? There’s a couple of police down here. The Head says can you come down right now. Simon’s on his way up to cover you.” Well, the police in Greenlands is nothing new, even excepting Alan’s increasingly frequent visitations. So not much of an event in itself, aside from the opportunity for the pupils to shout ‘Pigs’ out of the windows. But as Alan glanced out of the upstairs window, there he was, the Head, right there at the front of the school once more, gesticulating with all the authority of a railway porter.
Simon looked none too pleased to be covering Alan’s English bottom set, but he put on a brave face as Porl said, “Fucking ‘ell, not ‘im,” and Alan quickly slid away before he was dragged into an argument.
The police were in the Head’s office by the time Alan had fobbed himself through the doors to the offices. The Head was in his huge swivel chair. His face was mostly bland, but there was just a hint of smugness around the eyes, Alan thought. Certainly it was a face that deserved a speedy intervention in the form of a rabbit punch.
“Come in, come in,” the Head snapped, jumping up briskly to close the door. “Now, just as a follow up to the last, rather hurried, meeting, Alan, these two gentlemen have returned and, as it transpires, they have raised an interesting and, shall I say,” and he looked at them briefly, “unusual conundrum for us to deal with.” As ever, he addressed something to the side of Alan.
“Cut to the chase, then,” Alan said. It was unusual for him to be brusque, but clearly the chase was worth cutting to. “To the point, yes. Now, I feel I should outline to these officers of the law that there have been some – ah – difficulties recently with your work practices. Is that so?”
“If you say so.”
“Indeed,” the Head continued smoothly, as if Alan had been agreeing with him all along. “It behoves me to mention this merely as contextual information for you both,” he added, addressing the policemen now.
The policeman were beginning to look bored. One of them shifted in his seat and coughed with meaning. “Perhaps I should continue.”
“Please do,” the Head replied, as though nothing would delight him more. Here we go, thought Alan as he braced himself.
The officer continued after he had opened his notebook, which naturally gave credibility to all he said. “On the afternoon of the 15th of this month a phone call was made to Endington Police station from a male claiming to be a colleague of PC Scammell, stating that they were working on a case together. The caller asked for personal details relating to a family known well to the police and criminal justice system in Sheffield. The call was traced to a landline phone in this school.”
“Indeed, and thank you. When I received details of the incident, during the earlier meeting with these two officers, I did a little research of my own. And prior to this visit by these – by the police – I managed to trace your movements, Alan, and found not only that you could have made the call, but that in the minutes of the meeting for Ryon Walker, taken by yourself, there was a piece of paper on which was written the – ah – precise address demanded by the caller.”
“I was doing a bit of background work on one of my pupils.”
“I see. By trying to get the police to break a legally binding confidence? By using a school telephone for inappropriate purposes?”
The other police officer seemed to think this had gone far enough. “Our Safeguarding procedures ensured that no criminal offence actually took place, and therefore we’re just raising a concern. It’s more of a warning really. And to be honest, my advice would be to avoid any dealings whatsoever with the Mitchelsons. They’re scum, Mr Scope.”
“Yes", the Head leapt in, "I appreciate your – ah – outlining of the facts as you see them, but I must take a much wider view. I won’t trouble your two gentlemen further,” and the Head ushered them quickly out of the office. As they left, there was a brief moment of recognition between them and Alan, a sort of we’ve-all-been-there-mate-no-hard-feelings sort of glance. But it wasn’t enough to even dent the progress of the runaway train that was the Head. “I think, Alan, that it is absolutely clear where this – ah – configuration of events is leading us. There is really only one avenue open to us, and though my task is – ah – difficult and onerous, it would be extremely remiss, not to say unprofessional, of me to avoid the inevitable consequences. And may I remind you, Alan,” the Head added quickly, perhaps noticing Alan’s intention to say something, or perhaps make a sudden movement, “that it is your own actions throughout that have led us down this rocky road. And this is something I hope you will – ah – reflect upon carefully after you have left us.”
And that was it. Alan was told that, in the light of circumstances, and carefully weighing all the evidence, and obviously in consultation with Human Resources and the Local Authority guidance, there was no other option but to suspend him with immediate effect and that he must leave his keys, fob and school phone with the Head and depart without consulting colleagues or returning to his room.
And since then not a soul had contacted him.
And thus, Alan muttered to himself, and to quote Ryon, fuck everyone.