Autumn in Sycamore Park, page 8
‘Well, let’s help you concentrate on the things you can do. There’s getting your class ready, and there’s helping with your teachers’ drama … and there’s the protest on Saturday morning.’
‘What protest?’
‘It’s against the council’s plan to cut down Big Gerry. I trust you’ll be there?’
Jennifer stared, openmouthed. ‘Uh … with bells on.’
Angela clapped her hands together, then picked up the bottle of wine from where she’d put it on the adjacent table. ‘Great. And please bring anyone who you think might be interested. The more the merrier. Right, let’s just top these up and then we’ll eat. It still counts as the same glass if you haven’t completely finished it.’
13
Progress
‘It wasn’t me, Miss!’
Jennifer closed her eyes for a second to regain her composure, then snapped them open, trying to do her best angry teacher face, even if she knew deep down there was no bite behind her pseudo-bark.
‘Gavin, please just pick them up and hand them out as I asked you. This is important.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ Gavin protested, as he scowled and bent down to scoop up the parents’ letters Jennifer had hastily typed out and printed at lunchtime. ‘It was that swot Vickers. He tripped me.’
‘I don’t care,’ she said, as the accused Vickers started to protest. ‘Please just hand out the letters.’
‘It’s not fair,’ Gavin grumbled, but at least he finally began to carry out the order, distributing the letters among the kids.
‘Now, take these letters home and give them to your parents,’ Jennifer said.
‘“Save Big Gerry”’ Paul Lemon read out in a loud, mocking voice, to laughter from the other boys on his table. ‘What’s Big Gerry? An elephant?’
‘A tree, Paul,’ Jennifer said through gritted teeth. ‘A very old, important tree.’
‘Can’t they grow a new one?’
‘Just … give the letter to your parents.’
With an emphatic groan, Paul stuffed the letter into his bag.
‘Okay, coats on, everyone, please. It’s getting cold out there.’
Nothing felt better than watching her pupils leave on a Friday afternoon. Several of the teachers had already planned to go to the pub, and the offer was extremely tempting. As Jennifer watched the last bus leave, however, she turned to see Greg Downton walking across the car park towards her, a sheet of paper in his hand.
‘Um, Miss Stevens, a word, please.’
‘Yes?’
‘Is this yours?’
He held up her original print of the letter and flapped it about. Jennifer groaned; she must have left it on the photocopier.
‘You do know, don’t you, that pushing your … activism on to the kids isn’t really appropriate?’
Jennifer felt her cheeks burning. Amy had suggested it was a good idea, but Jennifer had neglected to run it by the Church first.
‘It isn’t activism, it’s just a notice. There’s no obligation to do anything. And anyway, it’s a good cause. That tree is four hundred years old.’
‘About time they planted a new one, then.’
‘But what about the harvest festival? If they decide to cut down the tree, they’ll have their crews in there at the same time. It’ll be so noisy.’
‘Well, we should have had it at the Community Centre on Porter Street, shouldn’t we?’
Downton was clearly still stewing. After the council had agreed to relocating the school festival to Sycamore Park, he had put it to a vote among the teachers. Only Maud, himself and Old Don Jones had voted against. Amy, bouncing like a rubber ball, had stuck up two hands, because, ‘One’s for Clara! She’d have loved the festival to be in Sycamore Park! It was her second favorite place after her classroom!’
Downton, who still had the final say, had reluctantly agreed to the relocation.
‘I think the school should have more interest in community events,’ Jennifer said, sensing a weakening of Downton’s exoskeleton. ‘It’s good for the kids to have more awareness of the world around them.’
‘Well, run it past me first next time,’ Downton said. Grumbling under his breath, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and headed for the staffroom.
In the end, Jennifer declined the offer of a drink in the pub, preferring to go down to the high street to do a little food shopping for the weekend. Trying to convince herself she wasn’t on some sort of reconnaissance mission, she tried really hard not to be near to the museum just as it closed, pretending to browse the listings in an estate agent window as the doors opened and Gavin Gordon’s mum came out, still wearing her staff uniform, a bag over her shoulder.
‘Oh, hi there,’ Marlie said, spotting Jennifer. ‘It’s Miss Stevens, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, ah … hi. I was just doing some dreaming. Houses aren’t cheap around here, are they?’
‘They’re not cheap anywhere anymore,’ Marlie said with a sad smile. ‘Even rent is through the roof. We’re barely hanging on.’
‘It’s nice that I’ve bumped into you,’ Jennifer said. She thought about the bag of flour Gavin had upended over the Jarder twins in home economics class and wondered how she would explain it. ‘I—’
‘Oh, is it about Gavin?’ Marlie’s face brightened. ‘I don’t know how you do it, but he’s a different person since you put him in charge of your class’s cake stall. It’s all he talks about. Instead of tearing about the house, he’s been drawing out all these plans, making price lists … I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Jennifer had to force herself to speak. ‘Um … really?’
‘And it’s Miss Stevens this, Miss Stevens, that. All the time.’ Marlie took hold of Jennifer’s hands. ‘I’d like to thank you for the positive effect you’re having on my son.’ Then, quickly checking her watch, she added, ‘I have to go. I have to run to Tesco then get to the youth club to pick Gavin up before six.’ She sighed. ‘It’s tough … without his dad.’
Jennifer gave a sympathetic smile. ‘You’re doing your best. That’s the most important thing.’
Marlie nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said again.
As Jennifer watched her hurry away, she wondered how she could get Gavin to translate his newfound home attitude to the classroom, before Downton decided to expel him. It had taken a white lie—blaming it on a slip—to get him off a week’s detention for the flour incident, and Gavin was already an honorary recipient of Downton’s favourite label—prison-bound.
It wouldn’t be easy, but as Jennifer found herself growing back into the person so long suppressed by Mark’s presence, it felt less of a worry, and more of a challenge.
She glanced at her watch. Five thirty.
The food shopping could wait until tomorrow. Just enough time to run home, take Bonky out for a walk, then make a banner for tomorrow’s protest.
14
The Protest March
‘Save Big Gerry!’ Amy shouted, flapping a Union Jack flag in the air, then giving a jubilant whoop. Then, turning to Jennifer, she whispered, ‘Which tree is it again?’
‘The big one.’
‘The leaning one?’
‘Yes.’
Amy pouted. ‘It does look a bit wonky.’
‘We’re not against them giving it a little trim,’ Jennifer said. ‘We just don’t want them cutting it down completely.’
She looked around the group who had assembled on this chilly Saturday morning. A scattering of mostly older people in woolly hats and thick coats, everyone looked defiantly unhappy except Pete Markham, who had set up his van on the edge of the courtyard and was doing a roaring trade in burgers and hot coffee. Amy, who had been eyeing the van since her arrival, was already two coffees and a double egg bap deep, and looked keen to get started on brunch, even with the sun barely up.
‘If they just propped it up with a stick or something, that would be okay,’ Amy said, blowing on her hands as she hopped from foot to foot.
‘That’s the hope, but Angela said it would cost more than just cutting it down.’
‘They do like to cut corners, these councils,’ Amy said. ‘Very big ones.’ Raising a hand into the air, she shouted, ‘Don’t cut corners, or trees!’
‘Good morning!’ came Angela’s spritely voice. Jennifer turned to see her friend walking across the courtyard in a thick puffer jacket, a banner from her shoulder to her waist that read Save Big Gerry in big orange marker pen letters.
‘Thanks for coming,’ she said to Jennifer and Amy. ‘They’ll get our message before the day is out, that’s for sure.’
‘Are the council actually here?’ Jennifer asked.
‘Not yet, but we’ve got the local news showing up in half an hour. We’re hoping a few more people will come by then, too. Pad out the numbers.’
Amy looked at Jennifer. ‘It’s an excuse to call Rick. Should I do it?’
Jennifer shrugged. ‘Won’t he be hungover?’
‘Probably, but I never have a reason to call him. It’s a good excuse, isn’t it?’
‘Go on, then.’
Amy took out her phone and pulled up a number. ‘I got it off the staff contacts list. Do you think that counts as stalking?’
‘Ah … I think you’re okay.’
‘Can you speak? Can you speak?’ Amy gasped, jumping up and down, holding the phone out to Jennifer as beside her, Angela laughed.
‘Hi, Rick,’ Jennifer said, trying to suppress a groan as she rolled her eyes at Amy. ‘I’m really sorry about this, but—’
‘Oh, you’re after Rick, are you?’ came a woman’s voice from the other end of the line. Jennifer’s mouth clamped shut. ‘I’m afraid he’s still in bed. Would you like me to wake him for you? Who is this?’
Jennifer’s cheeks burned. The woman sounded tired, as though a night on the tiles with Rick must have exhausted her, whoever she was. ‘Ah … it’s just Jennifer from work,’ she stammered. ‘Nothing that can’t wait until Monday.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. I’ll let him know you called.’
‘Thanks.’
The other end of the line went dead as though Jennifer’s implication in some charade had been uncovered. She handed the phone back to Amy then wiped the sweat off her palm on to her shirt.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Rick’s … ah … busy. He’s still … in bed.’
Amy looked heartbroken but gave a stoic little shrug. ‘Ah, well. He does work hard. His class are terrors, aren’t they?’
Only because he lets them get away with everything while he checks his Tinder profile under the desk, Jennifer, who had once taken a peak in through Rick’s classroom window while on the way back from a P.E. class with her kids, wanted to say. Instead, she just said, ‘It must be hard.’
‘Save Big Gerry!’ Amy shouted, fist pumping into the air, her voice loud enough to make Jennifer step back and almost trip over a raised section of paving. Then, turning to Jennifer, Amy smirked and said, ‘Got to channel the energy, haven’t you?’
‘I suppose. Save Big Gerry.’
‘Save Big Gerry!’
Jennifer was about to attempt to outdo Amy’s shout when she saw a familiar figure moving through the crowd. Tom looked like he’d just come out of a potting shed, wearing a tatty waxed jacket, jeans, and a faded cap he could have pulled out of a rubbish bin. Despite what looked like an obvious attempt to dress down, his sheer size and the angles of his face made Jennifer’s stomach ache. She looked away, hoping he wouldn’t see her, but too late, he had caught her eye. He smiled and wandered over.
‘Thanks for coming down,’ he said. ‘It’s a pretty good showing.’
‘It looks like the tree means a lot to people,’ Jennifer said, wishing she had a way with wit or charm, instead of sounding like a middle-pages newspaper column. ‘And, ah, sorry about the other night.’
Tom smiled again. ‘It’s quite all right. Not the circumstances for a first proper meeting, really, was it? Any time you’d like to stop by, I’ve always got the kettle on in my little shack over there. It’s not much, but it’s enough.’
‘Thanks, I will.’
Tom looked about to say something else, but instead just patted her on the forearm, then excused himself to mingle among the crowd. Jennifer turned as someone tugged on her arm.
‘Who’s the hunk?’ Amy gasped, both hands clutching folds in Jennifer’s sleeve and working them up and down as though she were trying to shake a dead animal back into life. ‘Oh. My. God. I’m practically hyperventilating. How did you find a way to speak?’
‘That’s Tom Reynolds,’ Jennifer said. ‘He’s the park caretaker.’
‘And the next Batman, with pecs like that,’ Amy said, making Jennifer cringe. ‘Has he taken you for a workout?’
‘Ah … what kind of workout?’
Amy, whose original question had perhaps been quite innocent, suddenly narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean … oh, you haven’t! Jennifer … no wonder you look so tired at work.’
‘No! I haven’t! We’re just friends. Barely even that. I mean, he seems to live in a shed in the park. I can’t—’
‘It’s probably a love dungeon.’
‘It was full of wheelbarrows and trellises.’
Amy’s eyes twinkled. ‘Tools for love.’
‘I don’t know what twisted world you live in, but let’s go and grab a couple more coffees before Pete sells out.’
‘Sure.’
They headed over to the burger van. Pete Markham gave them a salute, then grinned. ‘Half price for anyone fighting the good fight for Big Gerry’s justice,’ he said, then turned and tapped a little transistor radio behind him. ‘The council are on their way, in full riot gear.’
‘Really?’
Pete grinned. ‘Not quite. But Regina Clover is here.’
‘Oh, what a pretty name,’ Amy said.
Pete grimaced. ‘I just sold her an egg roll. Full price, of course. You’ll be able to find her by following the trail of dead grass, where the birds no longer sing.’
‘She’s that bad?’
‘She transferred from the taxation department last year into environmental management. Allegedly her plan is to have Big Gerry sliced up to make expensive furniture for the kind of rich people who would only ever buy something from Brentwell if it was on the internet. Luckily, she’s only one of three councillors in the environmental management department, so we only have to convince the other two.’
‘Hallelujah for democracy!’ Amy shouted, punching the air again.
‘Two coffees, please,’ Jennifer said. ‘We need our fuel before we resume our vigil.’
‘Coming right up.’
They got their coffees and headed back over to the protest. A few more people had shown up. Jennifer was delighted to see the Jarder twins with their dad, Ron, both girls with A4 sheets of paper with pictures of Big Gerry taped to the fronts of their coats. And also there, much to Jennifer’s surprise, was Gavin Gordon with Marlie beside him. He was carrying a wooden sign with All Trees Matter written on it in black marker pen, with a scribbled picture of a tree underneath. He gave Jennifer a shy glance, before throwing a glare at the Jarder twins, as though to warn them not to say anything at school. With her dad’s back turned to talk to someone he knew, Kelly Jarder put a finger to her nose and stuck out her tongue.
‘Good to see the kids getting involved,’ Amy said. ‘Isn’t it—Oh. My. God. I don’t believe it. You’ll never guess who’s here!’
Before Jennifer could turn around, Amy had reached up and slapped hands that smelled of egg over Jennifer’s eyes. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Guess, guess, guess!’
‘Rick?’
‘No!’
‘Old Don Jones?’
‘No!’
‘Michael Jackson?’
‘No, no, no! Look!’
She pulled her hands away and pointed. Jennifer stared. Michael Jackson would have been less of a surprise. Striding through the gates with a scarf tied around his neck and a woolly hat pulled down to his eyebrows, was Greg Downton.
‘Well, perhaps he’s come to offer Big Gerry some divine intervention,’ Amy said. ‘Oh, God, that was good. And, woah, there I go again!’
Downton spotted them, gave them a sour nod, and wandered over. ‘So, this is what you do with your free time, is it? I’ll have to campaign harder for weekend classes.’
‘Are you here to support Big Gerry, Greg?’
Downton shrugged. ‘Cut it down for all I care. I just wanted to see where the festival’s going to be held. I come down here and it’s mayhem. So many tree huggers I’m surprised the thing doesn’t fall down.’
‘It’s not really a hug on a tree that big, though is it?’ Amy said. ‘I mean, your hands can’t touch.’
‘Is that the definition of a hug, is it?’ Jennifer said. ‘Your hands have to touch on the other side?’
‘Of course it is. Otherwise it’s just an embrace. So technically, we’d be tree embracers.’
‘You women are off your nuts,’ Downton said. ‘I suppose that’s what standing out in this cold does to you. Fries your brain.’
Angela came squeezing through the crowd and patted Jennifer on the shoulder. She gave Greg and Amy a quick smile and then said, ‘Regina’s going to speak to the crowd. This should be interesting.’
Over by Big Gerry, Tom had set up a small microphone and amplifier. He helped Regina Clover to stand on a bench right in front of the great tree’s trunk. Regina, a woman who looked well past retirement age and pretty angry about it into the bargain, grumbled about the bench’s unevenness before realising the microphone was already switch on. Then, giving a little cough, she looked up at the crowd.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. ‘It’s much appreciated that you all showed up, but what’s more important is how many of Brentwell’s residents didn’t show up. Most of them, actually.’
