Conversations 17

"There are two fields of thought about forgiveness," I pointed out, trying to ignore Alicia's actions which I couldn't help seeing out of the corner of my eye. The little blond cheerleader always sat in the front row in my classes and had the alarming habit of shuffling her butt forward in her seat and then slowly opening and closing her legs, which forced her skirt up and gave me full view of her panties and the shape of the camel toe they cupped. I don't know whether she was trying to get something started between us -- which was never going to happen; whether she just wanted to try and throw me off my stride in the lesson; or whether it was something she did everywhere when she was bored. I'm pretty sure I could have described in detail every pair of knickers she possessed, she did it so often. It always got a reaction -- a twinge in my loins.

"Two streams of thought," I began again. "One is that forgiveness teaches only that the guilty party can expect to get away with repeating the deed in the future, and the other is that it should only be offered for true repentance."

"Isn't that religion, sir?" Emir said. His large hooked nose evinced his Turkish ancestry. His parents were split on religion, which probably made his home life a hellish minefield at times. His father was a strong supporter of Attaturk and his secular beliefs, while his mother was a convert to Islam and wanted them to live under the rules of her Imam. Understandably, Emir avoided any discussion of religion at all. "You're not supposed to teach religion, sir! It's against school rules!"

"I don't think forgiveness is a religious ideology," I said mildly. "We forgive people every day for all sorts of things -- from bumping into us, or jumping the queue, or even stealing from us -- and religion has nothing to do with that. Besides, every religion teaches forgiveness after repentance. It's a vital part of human survival. We know we make mistakes, so we forgive them in others so that we can be forgiven in turn."

"That's my point, sir!" Isobel cut in, bless her romantic heart. "Forgiveness."

"For a mistake!" said Melanie. "Not for a deliberate series of actions."

Bless her logical heart as well.

"I saw one of the photographs you took," said Cummings, his voice slow and revealing his reluctance to say anything that might upset me. He was a nice kid. "Somebody showed it to me."

Oh dear. That had worried me afterwards. I wasn't sure that she'd picked them all up, and now it seemed that at least one was out there. It was no good asking Cummings who had shown it to him; he had only a few friends and he protected them with fierce loyalty. I liked him for that. I hoped that his puppy fat would finally morph into something resembling muscle as he hit his final growth spurt, and that some girl would recognise that he was the nicest kid in the whole class, had the sweetest smile and would sweep him off his feet and into her bed.

"What did you see?" asked one of the boys. Cummings shook his head.

"You can tell them," I said. He looked at me for a long moment, wavering, and then shrugged.

"It showed Mrs Marsden naked, on all fours, with a man behind her and ... doing it."

He blushed, shrugged again and smiled, and I noticed Anna Weston suddenly sit up and look at him hard with a certain expression on her face. Ah, she'd seen through his chubbiness at last. Young love -- you have to admire how kids somehow get through it, with all the damage they take trying to get to grips with it, and each other.

"Who took the pictures, sir? Did you?" Leonard had joined the conversation.

I nodded. "I didn't feel able to ask for a divorce without some sort of evidence of her cheating. It was tough."

"Ouch!" said Karen.

"Oh, sir," Melanie said with sympathy.

"Cuck, cuck, cuck," was Jackson's contribution.

"Jackson! Will you shut the fuck up!" roared the usually quiet and gentle Evan Young, twisting around to face Jackson and brandish an enormous black fist at him. Young was six foot six and had a physique shaped by playing number eight in the school rugby team. His skill had led to his selection by the Rhinos for their youth team, and everybody seemed to accept without question that he would be in the England team by the time the next Rugby World Cup rolled around.

Jackson squeaked and rocked back in his chair, almost spilling over backwards. Edwards, who sat behind him, kicked the back of the chair hard enough to push it upright again. Jackson had his toadies to help him in his bullying, but it seemed that even they were on the outs with him at the moment.

"Okay, let's address the cuck word in more detail. Some men fantasize about sharing their wives with other men, and some even go further, and encourage it. The word cuck normally applies to them in current usage."

A strange sound of denial and repulsion seemed to circle from boy to boy around the room, although one boy looked more thoughtful than disgusted. To each his own, I acknowledged.

"However," I continued. "I didn't ask for this or approve of it in any way. I didn't volunteer to be a cuckold; that appellation was forced on me by the secretive actions of my wife, in such a way that I didn't even know I had been so labelled until the very end."

"So forgiveness would very, very hard," I said, looking at Isobel. She nodded, her expression showing unhappiness, but her eyes revealing understanding.

"When you also take into account the broken trust, the lying, both by omission and commission..."

They tensed up, praying I wouldn't demand more homework.

"...as well as the sheer amount of disrespect, it made it pretty much impossible for me."

There were further nods from both girls and boys. They understood disrespect. Respect was earned, and disrespect had to be rooted out at all costs. Each and every one of them was prepared to physically go to war on that point. At any school, it meant the difference between survival and sinking into the mire.

"Like I said, loving Emily as I do, if she'd told me she could no longer honour her promises, the divorce would have hurt me deeply. But it wouldn't have hurt as much as her actions did. That's why I said it isn't just about the sex, Agnetha. But it certainly plays its part."

"Alie wid you sir! I heard you punched out that chief real sick for jacking your bitch. Respect!" John Moore was not black, anymore than I was, but he insisted on talking that way, practicing the rhythm and nuances as well as the vocabulary.

"I didn't punch him," I protested.

"But I heard the man ended up in A&E, sir," Karen protested.

"Well, yes. But I didn't punch him."

"So what happened, Mr. Marsden?" asked Melanie, a look on her face that I couldn't interpret.

"All right. I was at the supermarket, picking up the developed photographs from the one hour kiosk -- and yes, I know I could have used my phone to take them, but I wasn't sure how light or dark it would be in that hotel room so I took my SLR camera to make sure. I picked up the photographs, and as I went to leave, Emily and Mr. Wells approached..."

"It was Mr. Wells?" shouted Linda, shock on her face. "The vice-principal?"

I frowned. I hadn't meant to name the bastard who'd been shagging my wife during all the time I was teaching at his school. It hadn't been common knowledge and I wanted my suing him to be a surprise. Any damages would only cover my legal costs in the divorce, but more importantly, it would out him to the world as a sneaking coward, as well as a fucktard arsehole.

I nodded. There was silence for a moment as they stared at each other. This really was adult stuff!

"What happened then, sir?" Isobel chipped in.

"It seemed, that despite their attention being focussed on each other, they had realised that I was also present during the cheating, fucking, bitch-slut..."

I broke off as I realised I had started to lose it. I was panting with emotion, and fought to control my breathing and my heart-rate, as they stared at me, wide-eyed. Some showed simple curiosity, some revealed sympathy. A couple of them looked heart-broken. After a few moments I apologised and continued.

"Sorry... They must have raced back to try and put some damage control in place, and seen my car outside the supermarket. The first I knew of their intentions was when they basically cornered me up against the bananas. They were both talking at me at the same time, quietly so nobody could overhear, but it felt as if they were crowding me: Emily ordering me to come home so we could talk about fixing the problem, and Mr. Wells warning me that if I told anyone -- especially his wife -- he'd have me fired. Eventually, it became too much and I just pushed him away, opened the envelope of pictures and threw them at Emily. I remember telling her that they were the reason I wouldn't be going home anytime soon. The negatives were still in the envelope, so I could always get more.

"I heard a crash and realised that Mr Wells had stumbled back when I pushed him and fallen into a large display stack of tinned beans on special. The display tumbled down and buried him, and Emily was too busy trying to pick up the photos, which had scattered everywhere, to try and help him. So I left. I hadn't started it, and the end had been an accident."

"Did five-oh try to take you in?" Weeks asked enthusiastically.

"No, but they did question me the next day. They accepted from witness statements -- and there were apparently a lot of those -- that it was an accident, and that Mr Wells had caused me to push him away by crowding and threatening me. It turns out he got hit on the head several times by the tins of beans and was knocked unconscious. They didn't ask about any photographs so I'd thought Emily had got them all, until Cummings proved me wrong."

The boy blushed once again, and Anna seemed to wriggle slightly as she watched him. I couldn't help smiling, pleased for him.

"Any other questions?" I asked, hoping this was nearing its end. I had thought it would be good for my students to get the rumours out into the open and establish the truth or falsehood of them -- or at least the truth of how I saw them -- but it was tearing me up inside to have to remember again and again the things I'd seen.

To my dismay, a forest of hands grew in front of me. I picked one.

"Trudy?"

The quiet, perfectly-average girl blushed a little at being singled out first, but hung in there. "Did you speak to your wife after that, and if so, what did she say?"

I paused for a moment, trying to sum up in my mind that little shit storm.

"Apparently Emily is mad because I moved out of the house before she could get home. So, when I phoned her later that night to discuss legal proceedings, she became a little over-excited, and I had to end the call for the sake of her health."

She had started off by screaming at me that I should be home so that we could talk it through, and not try to conduct serious, adult discussions on how to mend our marriage over the phone. When I pointed out that I'd only phoned as a courtesy to let her know I was filing for divorce, the noise levels went through the roof. When she started swearing at me, calling me everything from a useless provider to a cowardly cunt, I had cancelled the call and turned the phone off.

Some of the arms were waving now. All they needed was lighters and I'd be a rock star at a concert.

I ignored Moore's frantically waving hand for the moment, not confident I could translate all his street slang into comprehensible English. I pointed at Melanie.

"You should talk to her and let her know how you feel. Maybe she feels that you let her down in some way, and she's getting her own back."

I felt a bubble of disappointment in her float up in my belly. "You think that was a better thing to do than come and tell me about it; perhaps give me a chance to try and fix whatever problem she had with me?"

"No. Personally, I think you should kill the bitch and bury her body in the woods. Failing that you should just divorce her cheating arse! But I do think you need to hear her out -- for your sake, not hers. She burned her bridges and can't cross those again."

The disappointment bubble in my gut popped at this good, cogent thought from my brightest pupil -- even if it was a little too murderous in parts. The fact that she had a schoolgirl crush on me was secretly pleasant, but the fact that she had a great mind and I'd had the chance to shape that brain into something that might one day eclipse the universe, had definitely been the cause of her becoming my favourite pupil.

Her suggestion of killing Emily was too bloody for me, but the nodding around the room indicated that most of the class though it was a pretty good idea and -- all things considered -- very reasonable.

"I'll take that under advisement, Melanie, but thank you."

"Sir, if you're going to divorce her, will you date me when it goes through? I'll be out of school by then."

Sweet Alicia, with those magical legs and familiar panties, had put in an early bid, astonishing me. She'd also surprised me by requesting that only after my divorce went through. I'd always known she was bright, but had pegged her as an airhead who didn't really listen to me. Now I found that she'd taken in every word of today's lesson and the talk on promises.

"Alicia, I think you'd wear me out within a month. You're far too pretty."

She looked both disappointed and pleased at the same time, giving me an extra-wide flash up her skirt in response. I smiled.

I hopped off the desk and went to stand behind it.

"Guys, you have your finals in three months' time. You're ready to face them, and I know that not one of you will disappoint me. However, I'm genuinely sorry to say that I won't be there for you. I've loved teaching you, sharing your thoughts, worries, ambitions and even your failures. It's been a privilege and an honour from the first time we met. However, this is my last class at this school. My brother has been after me to join him at his company for years, and I've taken him up on his offer."

There was a buzz of muttering.

"Many people will say I ran away, and in one regard they're correct. After that silliness at the supermarket, the whole town is now taking sides on my marriage. I could stay and face it out, or I could head for something brighter. I choose the latter. If I could take every one of you with me, believe me, I would. But as that's not going to happen, I'll say goodbye to each one of you individually when I call you up to pick up your phone."

I called on them alphabetically, having a quick chat with each of them and shaking their hand. Alicia gave me a rather sexy hug, and then wiggled her hips as she left the class, phone in hand. I mentioned to Cummings that he might want to cycle to school and back each day, and downsize the pizzas his mum let him order several times a week, and whispered to him that he should pay extra attention to Anna in the near future.

I asked Linda what she planned to do, looking down at her phone significantly, that dick pic in mind.

"I'm going to withdraw my promise of exclusivity," she sighed. "My boyfriend is going to be really pissed off."

"Have courage and face the consequences of your choices head on," I urged. "And do it face-to-face, not by phone or text. You're a classy lady, and you should always treat yourself like one."

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and hurried off.

When Isobel picked her phone up, leaving just Jackson, Melanie and Agnetha, she kissed my cheek and then asked to take Melanie's phone as well.

"Huh?"

"She said she had something to do, and asked me to get her phone," Isobel said quietly.

I looked around and saw that she was right -- my favourite pupil had slipped away without a word. I was sad. I'd shared so much with them that I didn't want any of them to just walk out of my life without even looking back.

When Jackson slouched up to the desk, I handed him his phone. "Think about what I said about economics. You could do so much better!"

"You're not the worst teacher in this fucking dump," he said. "But you're still a cunt."

I shrugged as he walked away.

"Agnetha?"

She stood next to the desk, and I searched for a spark within her eyes. She looked down.

"Agnetha, you need to tell someone. I don't know who is doing it, but I know what's happening just from the signs. Please, you don't have to take abuse and..."

She cut me off by hugging me. "I'm handling it. You don't need to worry about me. Thank you for being there for us all. We needed you, and I think you needed us. I won't forget you."

She walked away, leaving me alone with the thought that some of my pupils had snuck up on me and matured beyond all expectations. I was proud of them.

I collected a few things together, left the register in the middle of the desk, took a long, last look -- and walked away from my life as a teacher.

And so...

Three years later, I received the yearbook that the Academy had started producing each year on the American model. Cummings had sent me a copy of the one that included my pupils. He was at University, studying physics and was doing really well. In fact, both he and Anna were doing well, and planning to do their masters together as a team -- and a couple.

He'd included notes; some gossipy, some funny and some very sad.

Perhaps predictably, Stanley Jackson was in jail, his attitude at school not transplanting well to the streets, and he and his brother had tried to sell a large bag of weed to a plainclothes cop. The cop was off-duty at the time and had simply said no to the offer, but the brothers had kept on and on with their sales pitch until he finally arrested them, mostly to shut them up.

Karen had become a successful blogger, and had possibly had her phone surgically attached as no one ever saw her without it.

Tracy Smithy and John Moore had got together and formed a rap duo as TySyMorE, and were working clubs and bars up and down the country, waiting for their big break.

Leonard Alderly and Jenny Radcliff had married fresh out of school, and divorced two years later. Cummings had noted that Leonard had serious trust issues which had driven Jenny to drink and then to a lawyer's office, and he had moved back in with his mother.

Agnetha had finished her A-levels and promptly moved away from home to become a sex worker, picking up a nasty drug habit shortly afterwards. She was currently awaiting trial for shoplifting from an all night shop. That news broke my heart.

Cynthia, unsurprisingly, had found a job at the BBC and was one of the make-up crew that made average people look really good on television each night.

Alicia and Isobel had surprised everyone when they opened a business together, and had a growing reputation as personal shoppers who would get their clients exactly what they wanted... or needed, if that was different. I was proud of them, and still remembered Alicia's collection of underwear with great fondness.

Sadly, Evan Young had received an injury to his knee in his first game in the England Under-21 squad, which had put paid to his rugby ambitions, and was a bouncer at a club in his home town.

The others had all done reasonably well or excellently in their finals and had drifted off to become perfectly normal, average people. All except...

I looked at Melanie's picture and then at Cumming's notes. He had nothing. She had gone completely off the radar after getting nine A* grades on her finals, which would have given her free admission to any University in the country, and probably in the world. Nobody contacted by Cummings and Anna, who were trying to get a reunion together for their fourth anniversary and were hoping I'd attend, had any clue about her.

I wondered about that as I went about the business of controlling the group of whizz-kids at my brother's company who were developing a series of computer games -- which was remarkably similar to herding a flock of cats. Was she changing the world, or sunk into obscurity?