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with a proper synthetic
surface beyond that.
She followed the signs until reaching a small car park at the back of a large mock-Tudor building. It was bright white, with black-painted beams running the length and height of it and baskets
of bright flowers hanging down. Jessica got out of the car and took a step back to survey everything. It was so far away from her own experiences of education, let alone the comprehensive schools
she had visited at various points around the city, that they were barely comparable. Some places had an almost menacing aura about them, where it would have been no surprise to find out there was a
murky underworld, even among young teenagers. Here, it felt like an environment where people would be free to learn.
As Jessica well knew, that didn’t mean there wasn’t something under the surface.
She walked into the main reception, where she was met by posters advertising ski trips, formal dances and a weekend visit to see an opera in London. She remembered one of her own school trips to
a former cotton mill. It wasn’t even a current working one, instead half an empty warehouse, half a museum. Quite a difference.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the receptionist asking if she could help. After having her identification checked – which included a phone call to the station, a lot of foot-tapping,
finger-drumming and plenty of general hanging around – Jessica was finally led through to meet the head teacher.
Although the man was friendly, Jessica could see straight away that he had a presence that intimidated even her, let alone students. His voice was the sort that boomed across playgrounds,
scaring the shite out of anyone even thinking about getting up to no good, while he wore a suit which fitted him perfectly and showed off a trim physique despite his grey hair. Of everything, it
was the man’s gaze that showed his authority. Jessica knew eye contact could be an important factor when she was interviewing people, but the head took that to the extreme, locking himself
into a stare with her and forcing her to look away first.
Despite the intensity, there didn’t seem to be anything untoward about his manner. He spoke of the entire school’s shock at Oliver’s death and explained there had already been
a special assembly after he went missing. That would be followed by a second when it came to the young man’s funeral. He told Jessica how the school catered for children of all ages from
nursery all the way up to eighteen-year-olds, with the emphasis on creating responsible adults. Still, that’s what they all said. Blah, blah, blah ‘social awareness’-this, blah,
blah, blah ‘effective policy’-that. One day, Jessica would stumble across a broken head teacher who admitted, head-in-hands, the kids in their school were sodding awful.
After his own interrogation, he took Jessica through to an empty office and then left, before returning a few minutes later with two young men.
There didn’t appear to be a formal uniform for sixth-form students but both were dressed in smart black trousers, with a dark jumper over the top of a shirt. They sat next to each other,
shuffling nervously and not looking up from their smart, highly polished, black leather shoes. Jessica already knew their names but had to clarify which one was ‘Terry’ and who was
‘Richard’.
‘I’m Richard, miss,’ one of them replied.
Jessica tried not to wince at the word ‘miss’. It made her feel old. She didn’t know if she should be correcting them, so let it go. His voice was clearly local but he had lost
some of the twang that could make a simple ‘How are you today?’ sound like a threat depending on the strength of the Mancunian accent.
‘I’d like to get a bit of an insight into what Oliver was like,’ Jessica said. ‘I’ve spoken to his parents and the head but I’m guessing you guys know him a
little differently than everyone else?’
The two half-shrugged, half-nodded
surface beyond that.
She followed the signs until reaching a small car park at the back of a large mock-Tudor building. It was bright white, with black-painted beams running the length and height of it and baskets
of bright flowers hanging down. Jessica got out of the car and took a step back to survey everything. It was so far away from her own experiences of education, let alone the comprehensive schools
she had visited at various points around the city, that they were barely comparable. Some places had an almost menacing aura about them, where it would have been no surprise to find out there was a
murky underworld, even among young teenagers. Here, it felt like an environment where people would be free to learn.
As Jessica well knew, that didn’t mean there wasn’t something under the surface.
She walked into the main reception, where she was met by posters advertising ski trips, formal dances and a weekend visit to see an opera in London. She remembered one of her own school trips to
a former cotton mill. It wasn’t even a current working one, instead half an empty warehouse, half a museum. Quite a difference.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the receptionist asking if she could help. After having her identification checked – which included a phone call to the station, a lot of foot-tapping,
finger-drumming and plenty of general hanging around – Jessica was finally led through to meet the head teacher.
Although the man was friendly, Jessica could see straight away that he had a presence that intimidated even her, let alone students. His voice was the sort that boomed across playgrounds,
scaring the shite out of anyone even thinking about getting up to no good, while he wore a suit which fitted him perfectly and showed off a trim physique despite his grey hair. Of everything, it
was the man’s gaze that showed his authority. Jessica knew eye contact could be an important factor when she was interviewing people, but the head took that to the extreme, locking himself
into a stare with her and forcing her to look away first.
Despite the intensity, there didn’t seem to be anything untoward about his manner. He spoke of the entire school’s shock at Oliver’s death and explained there had already been
a special assembly after he went missing. That would be followed by a second when it came to the young man’s funeral. He told Jessica how the school catered for children of all ages from
nursery all the way up to eighteen-year-olds, with the emphasis on creating responsible adults. Still, that’s what they all said. Blah, blah, blah ‘social awareness’-this, blah,
blah, blah ‘effective policy’-that. One day, Jessica would stumble across a broken head teacher who admitted, head-in-hands, the kids in their school were sodding awful.
After his own interrogation, he took Jessica through to an empty office and then left, before returning a few minutes later with two young men.
There didn’t appear to be a formal uniform for sixth-form students but both were dressed in smart black trousers, with a dark jumper over the top of a shirt. They sat next to each other,
shuffling nervously and not looking up from their smart, highly polished, black leather shoes. Jessica already knew their names but had to clarify which one was ‘Terry’ and who was
‘Richard’.
‘I’m Richard, miss,’ one of them replied.
Jessica tried not to wince at the word ‘miss’. It made her feel old. She didn’t know if she should be correcting them, so let it go. His voice was clearly local but he had lost
some of the twang that could make a simple ‘How are you today?’ sound like a threat depending on the strength of the Mancunian accent.
‘I’d like to get a bit of an insight into what Oliver was like,’ Jessica said. ‘I’ve spoken to his parents and the head but I’m guessing you guys know him a
little differently than everyone else?’
The two half-shrugged, half-nodded
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