Coffin’s Dark Number

‘Jean,’ wailed one of her pupils, as they turned into the school. It was the sort of school building that had been built at the turn of the century on the lines of a prison with boys, girls and infants on separate floors with iron gates all round them. A more liberal generation had tried to brighten it up with bright paint, but its days were drawing to a close. Not before time, Jean thought.

‘Don’t call me Jean,’ she said mechanically. ‘I’m Miss Young.’ Miss Young for ever and ever, she thought rather sadly. She didn’t really fancy a virgin life, but she could see it coming.

‘My mum calls you Jean.’ Mother was a neighbour and a friend. No, hardly a friend, more someone Jean had known all her life. There wasn’t much time for friendship in Maggie Read’s life; she had Cy and four children and that brother on her hands. As Maggie Edmondstone she had been a pretty girl, now she was plump and quiet, and still only twenty-nine, older than Jean.

‘Jean, I’ve left my bra behind in the baths.’

‘You shouldn’t be wearing a bra.’ Jean cast an eye on her pupil’s skinny frame.

‘I feel really cosy in a bra.’ She scuttled round in front to prevent her teacher getting away. ‘And now I’ve left it behind. Can I go back and get it?’

‘No, certainly not.’ Jean was sharp. No girl was let out unattended these days. Not even Connie Read, who ought to be indestructible if anyone was.

‘I could take Rose Allen with me.’

‘Not even with Rose Allen.’

‘I’d only take two minutes and it’s only Scripture. No one’d notice.’

‘No.’

‘That’s gone for good then,’ said Connie in a resigned voice. ‘Can’t leave a thing behind in that place.’

Jean gave her a gentle push in the direction of her classroom and herself turned towards the staff room. She had a free period.

There was one woman sitting at the table by the window marking exercise books with a huge red pencil. Everyone has to have an outlet somewhere and this red pencil was Madge Cullen’s. At her elbow was a big brown teapot and a tray of cups.

Jean put her hand on the teapot. ‘Cold,’ she said.