Not for the first time, Dylan reflected on how beautiful St Hilda’s new teaching assistant was, and how out of place such a stunning young creature looked in their grotty staff room. Although he did notice the shadows under Tatiana’s feline green eyes this morning. Clearly she’d had a lot more fun last night than he had.
The headmaster’s voice cut through his reverie. ‘Right. Now that we’re all here, a vote. To hire an additional PA for a year will cost us thirty thousand pounds. That’s money we don’t have. It would have to be funded out of a combination of cuts to nonessential classes – that’s art, music and games – and salary cuts. I don’t have all the numbers worked out yet. I just need to know if, in theory, this is something you’re open to or not. So. A show of hands please for making this hire.’
Nine hands, including Mrs Bates’s, went reluctantly up. Dylan Pritchard Jones’s did not. Nor did Orla O’Reilly’s, the reception teacher, or Tatiana’s.
‘I can’t afford a pay-cut,’ said Orla. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘And I don’t see art as nonessential,’ said Dylan. ‘I’m not sorry,’ he added, winking at Tatiana.
‘What about you, Tatiana?’ Max Bingley asked.
‘What?’ Sarah Yeardye, the Year Two teacher, failed to conceal her outrage. ‘You can’t seriously propose giving her a vote? She doesn’t teach here. None of this affects her.’
A chorus of angry ‘hear-hears!’ rang out around the room.
‘I assumed I didn’t have a vote,’ Tati said meekly.
‘Well you do,’ said Max. He believed in consulting his staff and gaining consensus where he could. But he was headmaster here. He wasn’t going to be dictated to by Miss Yeardye and Mrs Bates. He also suspected, rightly, that a lot of the antipathy towards Tati from the other teachers was rooted in nothing more worthy than old-fashioned envy. Before Tati came along, Sarah Yeardye had been widely acknowledged as the most attractive teacher at St Hilda’s, the one that all the fathers fancied. Now she was as good as invisible.
‘Yes or no?’
Surveying the sea of hostile faces, Tati locked on to Dylan Pritchard Jones’s encouraging smile.
‘No,’ she said boldly.
Fuck them all. They’re never going to like me, even if I vote yes. And Dylan could use the support.
‘That’s still nine to four in favour,’ said Ella Bates stridently.
‘Nine to five. I also vote no,’ said Max Bingley. ‘It’s an unnecessary expense.’
‘It is not unnecessary!’ Mrs Bates snapped.
Things looked set to deteriorate into a full-on slanging match until Sarah Yeardye piped up: ‘Why can’t Tatiana take on the extra paperwork?’
Everyone fell silent.
‘She’s a free resource we already have just sitting here,’ said Sarah.
The entire room brightened up at this suggestion. Even Max had to admit it was quite a good idea. Before long the chorus of ‘yes, why nots?’ was quite deafening.
‘Tatiana,’ Max asked. ‘Would you be willing?’
‘Of course,’ Tati said through gritted teeth. Bloody Sarah. That bitch had been out to get her since day one. ‘I mean, I may need some guidance …’
‘I’m afraid none of us has time for handholding,’ Ella Bates barked unkindly. ‘If you can’t fill in some simple administrative forms, then you’ve no business being here in the first place.’
Ella Bates’s chin was so whiskery and wart-ridden, she reminded Tati of a Roald Dahl character. Mrs Twit, perhaps. The fact that there was apparently a Mr Bates somewhere, or had been once, astounded her.
‘I have time,’ said Dylan, helping himself to coffee from the machine in the corner. ‘If Tati’s prepared to help me save the art programme for our children, the least I can do is give her some guidance.’
‘Marvellous.’ Max Bingley rubbed his hands together with satisfaction just as the bell went. ‘That’s settled then. Let’s get to class.’
‘Thanks,’ Tati said to Dylan as they all filed out.
‘What for?’ said Dylan. ‘You just saved my neck. All our necks, although those old clucks are too blind to see it.’
‘They hate me,’ Tati sighed.
‘No they don’t.’ Dylan put a friendly arm around her shoulders. ‘They hate change, that’s all. They’re set in their ways. And maybe just a wee bit jealous. Don’t let them get you down.’