In Love with a Superstar Ch. 01

"When the bell rings, remember?" Even Sarah thought this answer overly flippant on reflection.

"Look, Miss Wells, if you think for a second I'm going to run around sorting out books then..."

"You will do what you are told Mr Young," came a voice.

"Ah Tom, wondered how long it would take," said Young.

"Mr Campion during school hours please Mr Young."

"OK Tom," Young answered with a smile. Tom opened his mouth to object but the bell cut him short and the staff left to resume teaching.

"Shakespeare time again," Sarah said, as brightly as she could. She knew the next class hated Shakespeare. They were underachievers and the complete opposite of the last group. These were hormonal Year Nines, a quarter of them had previous been suspended for one misdemeanour or another, five of them reported to the school nurse each day for a dose of Ritalin to control their anger, anxiety or ADHD and two were waiting on appeals for their Education, Health and Care Plans for their autism.

"Oh Miss" moaned most of them. They all started to talk at once, all talking and no one listening. She would have to shout to bring it back to order. Jason was right at the back looking moody as usual. Here we go again. She prepared herself for the half-hour of grief that would end in Jason's tantrum and him being sent to the Head's office.

"OK," she shouted, ""let's have some order!"

They stopped taking, briefly, but Sarah failed to capitalise on the moment of silence they started talking again. Jason looked at his phone.

"Oh for a muse of fire!!" A voice yelled from the back of the class, "That would ascend the brightest heaven of invention..." the room fell silent and heads turned. It was bloody Bruce Young, that was all she fucking needed, "A KINGDOM for a stage!" he waved his hand around him, "Princes to act," he walked forward, patting the padded shoulders of the blazered children around him, then pointed to the front where Sarah was stood, "and MONARCH's to behold the swelling scene!"

Silently, the class turned as one and Bruce walked through the group starting to move furniture. The class stared blankly as he began to move desks around, in some cases placing one on another. His persona had changed, totally; the 'man' that had been sat in the staff room and had drank coffee sat all on his own had gone, replaced by this... this energy; those flaming eyes, a magnetism that just attracted every eye in the room to him.

"Shakespeare!" he spoke as if thinking about the bard himself and picking up a book, "hands up if you hate Shakespeare!?" More than half of the class did, "Teeeeam!" he assured them, "Shakespeare isn't a book," he said, "He's a thousand places, a thousand people and a thousand times,"

She watched as the most troublesome collection of kids in the whole school fell under his charm. He pursed his lips, closed his eyes and boldly stepped forward. "I want you to imagine if you will," he said throwing a large hessian drape sheet over the pile of desks, "a beach," he pulled the hessian down to the right shape and ruffled it, and there was the beach... "you've just attacked France BUT they're winning three nil."

The children chuckled and Bruce ducked behind the pile pulling two students with him, flinching as if to duck from passing missiles. "We're just going in for extra time and the King has brought on his subs, and knows he has to give the team talk of his life!"

Sarah watched as his face changed almost imperceptibly and realised that she was actually working with a professional Shakespearian and, much as she hated to admit it, probably one of the best in the world.

"...Once more unto the breach dear friends once more," he implored the stunned looking children who had started to give up their previous seating and huddle on the floor around him, "...or close the wall up with our English dead!" he sat straight still keeping his head ducked low, pulling two more children down to imagined safety, others started to creep towards him and all the action; he raised a conciliatory finger, "In peace nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility BUT!" he shouted at the girl on the far end of the row, "When the blast of war sounds in our ears then imitate the action of the TIGER!"

He grabbed one of the boys by the lapel of his jacket and pulled him to his feet, quickly putting an arm around his shoulders and pointing back towards the classroom door and Half-achieved Harfluer where the invisible arrows were flying from, "Stiffen the sinew, summon up the blood, disguise far nature with hard favoured rage THEN!" he was face to face with the boy, not trying to scare him but pass on some of the excitement of the piece, "Lend the eye a terrible aspect..." he moved through the speech concentrating his powers on the each pupil finishing with a crescendo "And upon this charge cry God for Harry, England and Saint George!!"

Such was the power of his speech the children were on their feet cheering.

"Right!" Bruce shouted turning it off as if there was a switch, "Now THAT!" said Young, "Is Shakespeare!"

All of the children were buzzing and all laughed, all except for the boy from the back of the class with the non-uniform leather jacket and Dr Marten boots.

"Still pointless shit, innit..." the boy said.

"Come on Jason," said Sarah broken from the same captivation as the rest of the class, "Don't start."

"Shakespeare... pointless..." Bruce Young snapped his fingers as if the answer had suddenly come to him, "that's easy then, you can be the King..."

"What," said the boy flatly. Shit, Jason was going to go off on one again, Sarah knew that if Jason was taken off to the head one more time he would be permanently excluded for sure. She made to step forward but the actor was way ahead of her.

"King Henry," said Bruce back with the boy again, "Harry, Hal, Falstaff's 'sweet boy', Shakespeare GREATEST hero! What's your name?"

"Jason," the boys spat.

"Excellent!"

"What?"

"Jason - me old mate," he walked across and slipped an arm around his shoulder and walked back to the group "you're standing here with your jacket and boots, you're a bit of a geezer right?"

The Boy said nothing but watched Bruce intently. "Now you see this Henry the Fifth right?" Bruce looked around as if checking for policemen, "Hardest man in sixteenth century literature, listen," he pulled the lad conspiratorially to him as he walked him to the front of the class, "He first appears in King Henry the Fourth part one and part two and the world LOVES HIM, he's part hero, part comedian, even does some highway robbery! But," she watched as the Actor's top lip curls into a snarl, "He fights for his family's honour at the end and he gets sooooo tough the give him his own play where he goes on to Agincourt and kicks the French all over the stage and says one of the greatest speeches in English History - I know grown-ups that cry when he talks about St Crispin's day. And," he whispered "he gets the girl at the end while the French just get dead. He was THE pre-Crusades 007."

"What's St Crispin's Day?" said the Boy.

"Thought you'd never ask..." grinned Bruce, his eyebrows wiggling.

At the morning's end the class, books in hand, where strategically placed around the studio some with swords, other with sticks, and the major players wearing their blazers inside out and back to front, the white linings to the sleeves and high collars looking like stylised armour - something that he'd written in his MSND notes. At the centre of the group wracked with concentration was Jason, a large thrown together flag in his right hand and a textbook in the other,

"...When any speaks who fought with us UPON ST CRISPINS DAY!"

The room erupted with swords, spears and shields being jabbed into the air and shouts and roars as if the class really was about to invade France. Sarah applauded, doing very well with not crying.

They trooped out excitedly, all talking about King Henry and how hard he was.

Sarah fought off the questions about when they could do it again, and ushered the last pupil from the room.

At lunch she was finally able to speak to Bruce. The staff section of the dining hall was quiet enough and empty enough for them to talk discreetly. She sat by him.

"Thank you... Mr Young," she managed to say.

"Bruce please," he said with a grin.

"Thank you... Bruce."

"Don't worry about it," he said picking at his school salad and smiling.

"Jason can be a bit... difficult at times."

"I could see that, clever kid under all of that attitude."

"Yes!" she said, pleased that someone else could see it.

"A bit of a favourite?" he grinned, finally picking up half of a hardboiled egg.

"Weeeeeell, more of a mission than a favourite," she said, then added, "And a bit of a favourite!"

"Pleased I could help then... Sarah." he said experimentally and with a very warm smile. "I can be a bit difficult sometimes too, but when you've handled one heckler and one critic, you've handled them all."

"You handled that teaching session very well," she said warming to him, "Have you taught before?"

"Yeah, a bit," he smiled, "four and a half years actually." She stopped herself just in time - this bloke was more experienced than she was! He carried on, "I've a 'Cert. Ed' but my Degree is in English Lit - honours of course, and I did a Masters in History while I was a poor impoverished teacher," he said with a flat matter of factness. "I taught at 'King's' in the town after graduating."

"You were a... teacher?" she asked with a shocked expression.

"Oh yeah, This acting lark was only a hobby up until a few years ago." he stretched, "Oh yes, acting was fun but teaching English and History paid the bills!"

"I never knew." she said, "The King's School!" she breathed.

"Yeah, well they tend not to talk over loudly about any links or history I may have with them - I think Ralph Doogan wanted to disassociate his proud edifice from so shallow a person as an actor - mind you I'm told I'm in the running for an 'Olivier' this year, might change his mind."

"I've read some of your biographies..." she stopped thinking perhaps she would give away something, "Sunday supplement stuff really... I mean... it never mentions teaching at all,"

"Not many do - Occasionally there will be an exposé in the local rag of some young Herbert that I taught history to who has just got a first in 'history of knitting' at Cambridge or a PhD in twelfth century Estonian pottery or something. They write about how clever he is and always manage to get in a bit about what kind of teacher I was, but it's still enough of a select, high-flying Grammar so I'm saved from all that 'my crush on superstar teacher says bosomy eighteen year old actress/glamour model' stuff."

"You read the local paper?"

"When I'm in town, my mum keeps them for me occasionally."

"Your parents live here?"

"Yep, born and bred, same as me."

"So teacher training down town, Is that were you met Tom?"

"Yeah kinda, we graduated at about the same time; I got 'his' job at King's. At least that what was he always said - he never forgave or forgot it, and hasn't spoken to me since. Still that's not such a bad thing considering he only ever swore at me when we did speak."

Sarah laughed and put a hand to her mouth to hide it.

"Why?"

"He thought I was an Oik that shouldn't have been allowed out of the gutter because my Father was just a silly old fireman and hadn't been a teacher like his, and I thought he was a self-obsessed, opinionated tosser who could never see past his own greatness."

"Ooookay!" said Sarah, "I suppose he can be rather brash at times can't he!"

"Brash isn't the word - Do I take it that you and he are ahh..."

"Not really," she said, "We've been out a few times and he can be good company when he relaxes, it's just a shame that he's driven."

"What?" Bruce said almost in shock.

"His father was a headmaster before he was forty, Tom feels that he has to do the same or better to try and keep up with him."

"Yeah, I know that story; I met his Father, tough man, very tough man. He never let Tom forget that he didn't get his first job - the one at 'Kings'. Completely Stupid, I mean how many interviews did you sit until you got this one?"

"Seven or eight."

"Same here. 'Pa' Campion thought that the Kings School Job was a done deal and Tom's greatness and surname should have shone through. Unfortunately Ralph Doogan had the same opinion of the Campions that I did."

"I feel a bit sorry for Tom, a Father like that."

"Yeah, I did too. That was the problem, Tom was the youngest of four and came along after 'Pa' had long since given up on having more children. He was the golden boy by all accounts and 'Pa' really pushed him. I tried to tell him to go easy on himself and mentioned all the stuff about his Dad."

"What stuff?"

Bruce sipped the last of his tea and looked around to make sure they weren't over heard. "The thing is his father got his head's post in the seventies when all of the post war teachers were retiring and there weren't that many qualified teachers around. He married the daughter of some local politico on the City Council and brashed and bullied where his other talents let him down. I bought Tom a pint when he came back to the Union Bar and tried to tell him what everyone else knew - bad mistake. Dad's meteoric rise to fame and fortune through schools and the Area Education Committee were more about who he married and which lodge he drank in. I could never believe that Tom was going to compete with that, but what 'Pa' Campion said was gospel and I must have been a devil to cast wassnames on his Godlike and noble character. From that night he announced the Jihad and has hated me ever since."

"Hated you? I can't believe that."

"Oh yeah, threatened to sue me the very next morning, I told him to get on with it. Then he threatened to beat me up, told him to get on with that too. The rest of the year thought it was a scream and he was laughed out of the room."

"Bloody hell," she said.

"Quite." Bruce finished his tea, "I had nothing but sympathy for him, now I suppose I just dislike him because he hates me so much. Tried to bury the hatchet, even recommended him to Ralph when I left King's, but he said the last thing he needed was a referee like me. So I told him to stuff it and went to London to spend the summer at The Globe and seek fame and fortune.

Sadly for him, I was successful and I got the Job in 'Detective' with the BBC on the back of it," Bruce chuckled, "I expect he thought I did that just to annoy him."

With his mention of the BBC and the darkly comic and surreal cult police series that made him an international star, she remembered just who she was talking to and it stopped being a standard teacher-teacher conversation.

"Well," she said recovering, "You know Tom."

"Yes, I suppose you're right, what do we have on this afternoon?"

"We? Aren't you going home?"

"Nah," he said finishing his tea, "Might as well stay, hadn't I. After all won't be able to get to Los Angeles and still be back for the morning."

"But you have to do five hours each day, so it won't count towards..." she said misreading his look.

"I know, but I can't leave you on your own with..."

"10A for some more Midsummer, then 10K, just a tutorial." He was smiling at her, so she smiled at him, "What?" she said.

"Nothing," if anything his smile increased, "Absolutely nothing. Can't leave you alone after messing up your teaching routine can I?"

"OK," she said, "I apologise..."

"For what?" he inclined his head.

"For all the things I thought about what a nuisance you were going to be, and being such a pain in the arse to you this morning."

"Oh well," he smiled, "I have that effect on everyone."

She finished her coffee,

"Oh, and your notes?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly, "They were brilliant, kind of stuff I wish I could write." She leaned forward, "I have them in my desk, promise I won't sell them on EBay!"

He shrugged his shoulders,

"I had quite forgotten how much I loved teaching."

"I could see it in your face," she smiled, "that's why I let you get on with it; besides, how many kids will ever get the chance to say they were taught drama and English literature by someone with one of those little gold statues on the mantelpiece."

"Only for supporting," he said modestly. There was no doubt that the man was very charismatic, and she really started to warm to him.

"Anyway, it was fantastic to watch a pro."

"Thanks." That smile of his now, it was almost infectious.

She picked up her bag weighed down with books and heaved it on to her shoulder with a groan.

"OK," he said, "Perhaps I don't miss marking school books,"

"Oooh!" she pined, "Seeing as you had done such a good job I was going to..."

"Look this is Community service," he smiled, "Not hard labour."

"Trying to be good with the diet and exercise and walked in this morning," she grimaced. Got to carry this lot all the way to the shops tonight, I've nothing but cat food in the house..."

"Care to share a Shepherd's Pie," he said nicely, "It's a huge one and I might have to eat for three days if I don't get some help, I'll carry those for you."

"Weeell," she was a bit wary of accepting this offer so soon,

"Look, it's not a date, I'll help you mark your books," he sighed.

"Done," she said without hesitation, "Although I'll have to go home first and let the cat out."

"What time should I expect you?"

She panicked,

"Err... Seven?"

"I can't wait," he grinned.

She watched him work his magic on 10A then 10K; as with the French beach, her classroom became the Forest of Arden and again she had to stop things just as they were going so well. The next group was even better and what was going to be a rather quiet tutorial became a question and answer session that he turned into an English grammar quiz.

Most of these kids were in the top stream and heading for A' levels and University, and he pitched his discussion at precisely the right level. Even Sarah found herself lost in the glow of his presence.

They continued for ten minutes after the bell went and Sarah eventually had to turn them out. Bruce took the pile of books, gave her his address and was gone, his exit from the school unnoticed by the one reporter at the gate. She looked at the address, that was the new gated community down by the river, those places were worth MILLIONS!

"That was delicious Bruce, thank you." Sarah said lightly dabbing her lips with the corner of a napkin.

"Not bad though I say so myself!" he smiled picking up some dishes and piling them into a heap on his outstretched forearms, "All my own work!"

"Let me help you," Sarah offered.

"Its fine honest," he said, "I spent many months doing this to pay the bills when I should have been studying for exams, and acting of course."

Sarah smiled at him, conscious of the fact her time at University had been relatively painless. She had lived at home and her father had taken care of the bills and paid her an allowance, to keep her there as much as anything.

Mind you those tough days for Bruce Young were long gone and the huge house he was living in within a gated community with its swimming pools and communal tennis courts was a very visible testament to his success.

"Let me help with the washing up then," she said standing up.

"No need," he said with a smile and pulled down the door of a large Dishwasher with a dramatic flourish and wave and began stuffing the crockery, glasses and cutlery into place. He reached for the jug from a quietly bubbling percolator, which had made its presence known by filling the house with its wonderful aroma. He placed two tall cups, the coffee-pot, a cream jug and a small sugar basin onto a tray and nodded towards the open kitchen door, "Shall we go through to the lounge?"