Must Try Harder

There's a magic in the way that women concentrate, closing out the noise around them, delicate and determined at the same time. Alex was no different, tapping the end of her red biro against her teeth then crossing through a mistake with a swift slash. She was able to shut out the sound of Mike and Dennis discussing football across the common room. They were displaying their ignorance, typical PE teachers, but they were harmless, good family men. I could forgive them, even though they were distracting me and begging to be set straight.

I looked back at Alex, shyly drinking her in. She was a supply teacher, here for a term to fill in for John Harding whilst he recuperated from shoulder surgery. And wasn't she a picture? Long legs, long auburn hair, delicate fingers, another woman who I had failed to seduce, not able to get beyond a polite hello in passing. And today was the last day, summer holidays were upon us; six weeks for the kids, more like two weeks for us teachers given the paperwork and departmental course conferences we had to attend in preparation for the next academic year. Alex would be gone, though, and I felt a little wistful. I could go and talk to her now but I knew that I wouldn't.

I bent my head down over the essays I was marking, marveling at how little my pupils had absorbed, all except for Mark Hemming. He was a sponge, and I'd already written a university reference for him. I could see him as one of the next generation of history teachers, though I wasn't certain that we needed any more. Disillusion is a killer in my job and claims more victims than anything else. I knew I was feeling it too.

I glanced up as Alex left the common room, a swish of skirt and she was gone, out of my life forever; a fantasy for the lonely nights and nothing more. I think I may have sighed out loud before I forced myself back to my marking. Two more hours and I would have a little space to do the serious thinking I knew I needed.

I drove over to my dad's once the school day was over, stopping at a Jamaican bakery in Electric Avenue to pick up a couple of patties. I couldn't stand them myself but dad loved them, a testament to my mum's influence. Then I drove through Camberwell and past Loughborough Junction, down into Dulwich and my dad's small house. He wheeled himself to the door and opened it, looking at me with his usual hint of pride and roguery.

I cooked up some rice and heated up the curried mutton I'd prepared the night before and left in the fridge to marinate. Dad loved Caribbean food, a legacy of thirty-five years with mum. They'd met when he was seconded from London to the Jamaican police and it had been love at first sight. Of course, back then it had been difficult for a white Englishman to marry a black woman, but he hadn't cared and as soon as his attachment was finished he'd brought her back to rainy London. They'd weathered the racism, held together by a deep passion until she died three years ago, a real lady until the end. And she'd made him more Jamaican than English in many ways; except for football, of course.

We settled down and watched a World Cup group game. It was a dead rubber, both teams had failed to qualify for the next stage and they were merely playing for pride. Casting off the shackles they played with abandoned attacking verve. My dad watched, eyes dancing at the audacity of the play, dissecting every move, analyzing formations and off the ball runs like a pro. Such a contrast to Dennis and Mike. I enjoyed it too, loving the purity of the game; 22 men in a defined area with a defined purpose, and a myriad of ways to achieve it.

I left in the early evening, dad accompanying me to the door as he always did, the lord of his house regardless of the wheelchair. I was halfway through the door when he stopped me.

"You're really not going to go anywhere?" he said, disbelieving.

"Nope, you need me so you've got me. All summer. We'll watch the football and you can tell me what they're doing wrong."

I could see dad was torn; he wanted me to do something or go somewhere, but equally he loved having me around.

"Well, then," he said, "you can take me to the pensioners club on Monday. After hanging around with us pensioners for a day you'll be on a budget flight to Crete. I would be."

He loved that club. It gave him the opportunity to be cock-of-the-walk again. They all knew that he'd been awarded the Queens Police Medal even though he never made a deal about it, and the old ladies were always fussing around him. I did mention that he is a bit of a rogue, didn't I?

I didn't mind. I wasn't going to be doing anything else, and the old folks were always interesting. I always heard a new tale or two, and a lot of them helped me in my teaching. I heard stories of rationing and bombing, jazz clubs and the cinema, and it was clear to me just how much more social they used to be back then. There was no TV or internet, so if they wanted human contact they actually went out and met people. How different we are now, wrapping ourselves in cotton wool to keep out the world.

***

I dealt with as much paperwork as I could over the weekend and picked up dad on Monday morning, driving him to the club whilst he moaned incessantly about the terrible England performance; they lacked style, ideas and solidity. The last things I would have said about dad.

I settled him in the day room, carrying his bag as he wheeled himself up to his spot at one of the tables where his cronies were waiting. I held his bag out for him as he reached in and pulled out his box of dominos then froze. Walking in through the double doors to the day room was Alex, helping an elderly lady who was walking slowly with a stick. I wasn't breathing as I looked at her smiling and caring for the elderly lady.

The day room was full to bursting and I realized that the only free seat was at dad's table. Alex looked around and spotted the free space but not me, then guided the lady to the seat. I suddenly felt dad's elbow in my thigh.

"Who's this lovely girl, then?" he chuckled, and it took me a second to realize that he meant the lady Alex was escorting rather than Alex herself. Alex looked across at dad when she heard him and it was only then that she noticed me.

"Wow, hi Roland," she managed once she'd got over the shock. I didn't get over the shock, afraid that I'd stutter, and noticing that all four of the old folks around the table, my own father included, were giving me the biggest leer imaginable.

After what felt like an age I cleared my throat and remembered my manners (painfully learnt from my mother; Jamaican women of a certain era are absolute sticklers for manners).

"Hi Alex," I managed, "you quite surprised me."

"And who's your friend?" I should have known dad would butt in.

"My name's Florence, though you haven't introduced yourself so I see no reason why I should volunteer any more information about myself until I have the name of the gentleman with whom I am conversing. Now, are we playing dominos or should I ask my grand-daughter to escort me to a more suitable location?"

I fell in love with Florence one hundred percent at that moment. It was all said with a smile, and as she finished she reached across and started to spread out the dominos. My dad's jaw was down somewhere near his knees and it had been beautifully done. Florence may have been eighty, but she was going on eighteen.

I tried not to laugh and held it in for about two seconds before I cracked. After that I had to sit on the floor and even dad was chuckling, looking at Florence with respect for a new, formidable opponent. The rest of the room fell silent, staring at the lunatics in the corner. I looked up through my tears and saw Alex biting her hand to suppress her hoots of laughter, and then Florence set the seal on it.

"One is most gratified to be amongst you," she said to the room in general, imitating the Queen all the way to the regal wave. Alex collapsed, silently guffawing with her back to the wall, and I was on my back, tears streaming down my face. Dad nearly fell out of his chair, slumping on the arm and gasping for breath. I finally hauled myself to my feet and for a horrible moment I thought dad's regular playing partner Reg had had an apoplexy. But it was laughter, still, so I turned and offered Alex my hand. Instead of taking my hand she put her hand around my forearm and helped herself up, smoothing her hair as she stood for a moment. Florence looked up at her and winked and Alex was gone again, wheeling away and walking over to the bay window with her hand in her mouth.

I had so many questions to ask that I had to follow. Alex swallowed her laughter down and we looked back at Florence.

"She's... irrepressible," was all I could say.

"Isn't she? And is that your grandfather?"

"No, my dad, Martin."

"Well he's a bit of charmer, isn't he? I'd tell Flo to beware but I'm afraid she'd just eat him alive."

Florence was already holding court, my dad the lead courtier, weaving a youthful charm around the room. I smiled and looked over at them all, a wish in my heart that at their age I would have as much fun.

"Seriously, though," said Alex, "men like Florence and she likes men. Just don't let them play poker with her."

I shivered, suddenly aware of the devastation Florence could wreak on a game of Texas Hold'em and Alex laughed at my reaction.

"Exactly," she said, "she was a croupier in a Mayfair club back in the golden age of clubs. There's no flies on her."

"Nope. I think she's magnificent. How is she with cribbage?"

"Demon! Don't go there. She's going to have these old boys' pensions, I can see that."

"Maybe I'd better warn my dad," I said, but only half seriously.

"No need. She always gives it back these days. It's the winning that's important, not the money."

It was time for a change of subject, and I opened my mouth to ask a question only to find Mrs Richardson, the manager of the club standing in front of us.

"Miss Carpenter, I'm sorry, but the taxi company said that they will have to send a bigger car if you want to bring Sally in. It's beyond our budget, really."

"Sally?"

"My dog. A lot of people in these clubs love to have contact with an animal, even if it's only a quick stroke and a pat on the head. I really want to bring her in. Are you sure there's nothing we can do?" she asked Mrs Richardson.

I looked over at my dad and knew he wouldn't mind.

"Maybe I could give you and Florence a lift next time, I'm sure we could find some space for Sally. She's not a wolfhound or something?"

"No, a black lab. Do you really think that would be ok?"

"We can give it a try."

"Is that arranged then?" Mrs Richardson asked, and we shrugged and nodded. Alex gave me her address and phone number and left for an interview, and I went back to the most hilarious game of dominos I'd ever seen. Florence had every movement pat, quite putting my dad in the shade and he was the expert. But I saw a real respect in his demeanor towards Florence, treating her as an equal and trying to beat her as such.

***

A couple of days later I settled dad into the front seat and we set off for Blackheath to pick up Florence.

"So then," dad started, "tell me about the grand-daughter."

"Alex?"

"You know who I mean," dad was in an incorrigible mood, probably because he was going to see Florence again.

"Nothing to tell," I said, "she was a supply teacher last term, said hello now and again."

"So you haven't taken her dancing?"

"No."

"Why not?"

There was no answer to that, and I drove in silence as dad chuckled, then got the subject on to the World Cup quarter finals. Safe ground. I left dad in the car when we got to Florence's house. I rang the bell and Alex answered, Sally by her side.

"Hiya," said Alex, as I gently reached my hand to Sally. She sniffed then let me pat her.

"Well, that makes things easier," said Alex smiling, "I'll get Flo."

Neither of us could get a word in edgeways as I drove them to the club. It was inevitable that Florence and my dad had known plenty of the same dodgy west end characters back in the day, and they reminisced without end. I settled dad in when we got to the club and Mrs Richardson settled Florence in what was rapidly becoming her chair. Alex brought Sally in and she was an immediate hit, working the room like a pro, resting her chin on elderly laps and flashing the baby brown eyes.

After an hour Alex came and asked me if I could give them a lift to the park. Sally needed a break and a run, and I was happy to oblige. Sally bounded out of the door when I pulled up and Alex soon followed, finding a stick and hurling it for her. I followed, my eyes on Alex as she reverted a little to nature, making her all the more attractive. I caught up with them as Alex threw the stick again and Sally hurtled off after it.

"Can I ask you a question?" said Alex, turning to me, "why did you hardly speak to me all term?"

"I...err..." was all I could manage.

"It's ok. I'm being unfair," Alex smiled, "you have dozens of supply teachers through your school. Why try to make friends when they'll soon be gone?"

"I'm sorry, it was wrong of me," I said formally, and it was.

"Really, it's alright," said Alex, still smiling but sincere, "I'm just glad I've had a chance to talk to you now."

"Ok. What do you want to know?"

"How about, why aren't you sunning yourself on a Mediterranean beach right now?"

"Someone's got to look after dad, and my brother's hopeless."

"The Christmas and Easter syndrome?"

I must have looked quizzical.

"They only turn up at Christmas or Easter," Alex continued, "full of bright ideas, then they leave and you're the one who has to actually implement their genius or point out exactly why it isn't actually that bright after all."

"Brother or sister?"

"One of each. Our parents are dead."

Sally was sitting and watching us impatiently, her stick on the ground in front of us. Without thinking I bent down and picked up the stick, hurling it for her and watching her hurtle after it.

"Oh, err, sorry," I said, suddenly realizing what I had done.

"Don't worry about it," Alex smiled, "she likes you and she's a pretty good judge."

"So that's why you aren't getting a tan, then?"

"Partly, that and looking for a post for the autumn." I could understand that. Being a supply teacher could feel a bit tenuous and it is impossible to plan anything for the future.

"Pity, you'd look good with a tan," where did that come from?

"Why, thank you, kind sir," Alex said with mock gravity, "so, you do take after your dad, then?"

I shuffled and mumbled and then we had to get back to the club. The afternoon passed quickly enough and I gave Alex, Florence and Sally a lift home. I quickly agreed to drive them again on Friday, well aware that I would catch hell from dad if I didn't, and quite happy to spend some more time with Alex.

Dad was thoughtful on the way back and I could see him looking at me out of the corner of his eye a couple of times.

"Did you kiss her?" he finally asked, knowing the answer.

I didn't know where to look.

"Shame," dad continued, "I like that girl. She'd make a better daughter-in-law than Maureen." Maureen was my brother's wife. Dad didn't like her much but was polite and friendly to her because that's how he was brought up.

"Of course, it's up to you," dad concluded, "but in your shoes I'd have kissed her quick. In case someone else does." He was right and I knew it, but then he was a bit of a swashbuckling pirate. I was too much of a thinker.

We caught up with the football once we were back at dad's but I have to admit I didn't really take the game in, my mind on other things. Dad spotted my distraction and chuckled, and to be honest it was one of the few days when I was glad to get away and go back to my empty house. As I drove I thought of Alex and our time in the park. It had been so unexpected but so invigorating to talk to her, and I could feel that she was weaving a spell on me. Perhaps I should channel a little of my dad.

***

During the week I did the thinking that I needed to do. I was at a low ebb professionally and I knew it, finding it increasingly difficult to motivate myself to go through the same material and fight the same indifference. I went for a couple of long walks across Mitcham Common, trying to make sense of my career, but I was rapidly moving to a radical decision, and I could feel it rising inside me. It only remained for me to admit it to myself. By Thursday I was finally able to say it; I needed a long break or I would need to leave the profession.

I called my Head of Department and then the Head of the School and made my case at a meeting with them. They were pleased that I'd recognized my ennui, as they had both spotted something of it themselves. They were gracious, though, telling me that they didn't want to lose me to burn out, and suggesting that I take a year off on sabbatical. I'd been teaching for twelve years and a reassessment was overdue.

I wasn't really sure what I'd do with a sabbatical, but I knew I needed space. Then I saw a news report about Haiti and the slow and difficult rebuilding process they were still enduring following the Port-au-Prince earthquake. It all clicked and I was searching out voluntary organizations online before the news ended. Physical work building schools and improving the water supply would be the perfect way to turn my brain off for a while and let it do the necessary thinking without bothering me too much.

The logistics were easy, the voluntary organization was happy to have me, and the school was pleased that I was going to go and do something worthwhile. I would leave for Haiti in two weeks for an initial three-month stint, then I'd return for another six months if the first stint went well. And then I had to have a difficult call with my brother. His nose was seriously out of joint when I told him he'd have to take responsibility for dad but for once I put my foot down. I ended up ranting at him down the phone, telling him some home truths. At first he rose to it, ranting back at me until he finally took a deep breath and admitted that it was his turn to take some of the strain, along as it was time limited. It was the best I was going to get and I took it.

***

Sally bounced into my car outside Florence's house, taking up position in the middle of the back seat as if she owned it. I helped Florence in as dad said hello to Sally. I gave Alex a cheery smile.

"You look great today," I said to her. Again, where had that come from?

"And so do you," smiled Alex and I knew she was teasing me. I flushed a little and blessed my coffee coloured skin for disguising the colour in my face though I'm sure my expression gave me away.

I helped Alex into the car, holding the door open for her, and as she swiveled elegantly to slide into the back her hand brushed mine. I felt a jolt. Was it accidental? Had she meant it? She was already in the car and I couldn't see her expression. A little excited and a lot scared but mostly feeling foolish I sat behind the wheel and drove extra carefully to the club, not trusting myself.

Halfway through the day we took Sally to the park again. As I was following Alex out of the day room Florence called me back, making sure Alex didn't hear. Resting her hand on my arm she looked me straight in the eye.

"You're a hit," said Florence, "and with me as well."

I didn't know what to say so fell back on gallantries, assuring her that she was a hit with me, too, before hurrying after Alex and Sally.

When we got to the park Alex produced a tennis ball and for Sally this was Christmas. She chased that ball across the park and back as we strolled along, picking it up and throwing it for her each time she dutifully returned it and dropped it in front of us. Finally we found a tree trunk that had been cut down but not yet removed. We sat on it, still not really talking but enjoying being with each other.