A Teachers' Affair

Chapter 1



  "You will fail if you take your A-Levels now," Mr. Pack shouted as he paced the dimly lit room. "You've already failed your GCSE’s, honestly I don’t know how you got into sixth form."

  The pupil he was preaching to sat at the desk staring out of the back window. He wasn't listening to a word the towering man was saying; instead he was more interested in what the other students were doing outside on the small patch of green that was meant to be a playground.

  "Are you even listening to me?"

  There was no answer, not even a flinch.

  "Jesus Christ boy! This is your third school. It's your last chance. You need to buck up your ideas, fast, you're running out of time and I'm losing my patience. Do you hear me boy?"

He was tempted to throttle the lad’s shoulders, see if he could shake some sense into the adolescent.

There was still no reply just a clenching of fists from both persons.

The teenager couldn't stand being called 'boy', he found it patronizing he was 18 now, a freakin' adult, but yet everyone still treated him like a child.

This was the umpteenth time Dillon 'Mitch' Mitchell had been called into the Headmasters cramped office. It was like a mini-library inside, shelves stacked from ceiling to floor with books, it was as if they bred overnight to make sure there were no empty spaces.



It reminded Mitch of his flat, where he lived with his father, except for it was rubbish that replaced the books. Mitch would tidy up every day (not your average teenager), but when he would return home from school the place would resemble a pig sty - again, he couldn't remember the colour of the carpets anymore and there was only one person to blame.



"I have been trying to contact your father, but it seems as though he has disconnected the house phone and will not answer his mobile," Mr. Pack groaned.

My mobile, Mitch scowled.



He had bought an old Nokia, shaped like a brick, for a tenner off of a mate. When his ‘ever-so-loving Dad’ saw his son using it, he decided to snatch the blue basic mobile from Mitch’s hands.

“I’ll need that more than you,” he had spat.

“What for?” Mitch squaked in shock.

“Business calls.”

It was a lame excuse as Mr. Mitchell did not work, he hadn’t done for years.

He couldn’t afford to buy credit, so he sold the phone for the same price Mitch had paid, of course his son didn’t receive any of the funds or another mobile.



“The phone company cut us off,” Mitch finally informed the teacher.

He gazed out of the window, its frame work beginning to rot from where wasps and bees had stolen small fragments of the wood to build their nests.

Mitch longed to be outside, away from all the crap he was getting from a man who didn’t understand. He was bored of this now; it was the same nearly every day.



When Mitch had first started the secondary school in Bad Shot Lea - he had been expelled from his previous one - he had entered at Year 10, already a teenager with attitude.

Although he didn’t like to think he was the class bully more of a class clown but he still got into trouble for fighting. Straight away he was in detentions for disrupting the other students, eventually he was excluded from class. He would have to spend his days in room 106 – the exclusion room - which could only fit about 10 people. At the time there were two other boys excluded, one of them was always brawling with Mitch. Due to their fighting him and the goby ginger 15 year old, William Smithe, were suspended for a month.

During that month Mitch had worked as a kitchen porter at the local pub, The King’s Arms. Unfortunately he couldn’t roam the streets because the police would pick him up for truancy, and his father wouldn’t allow him to mope around the flat, not when he had supposedly ‘business meetings’ all day.



“I wash my hands of you,” the 50 something year old man said flinging his arms in the air theatrically.”I’m keeping you back a year.”

Mitch leapt to his feet knocking the chair back, startling Mr. Pack who retreated behind the desk.

“WHAT?” Mitch screeched.

He had hit puberty early so the high note hurt his throat.

The Headmaster pulled out a worn beige hanky from his grey trouser suit pocket to wipe the sweat from his wrinkly forehead.

“You can’t do that!” Mitch exploded.

“Errr, yes I can. If you took your A-Level’s now you would be sure to fail, which would result in you re-taking all of them. It’s better for you if you’re kept back a year, then you can take the exams next year, though if you’re attitude has not improved by then I will keep on putting you back another year and I will carry on doing so until I think you are ready to take your education seriously.”





The gangly greying teacher waited for the onslaught from the adolescent. Didn’t he know that education is good for him? He asked himself a rhetorical question. It will get you everywhere in life. Everyone needs an education these days. This lad needs discipline, if only they could bring back the cane.

He remembered the cane very well. He was once like Dillon Mitchell, acted up so the other pupils would be his friends until one day he came to blows with his Math’s’ tutor. Pack had been dared to throw an apple at Mr.Grimshaw, it had missed his head by a few millimetres, hitting the black board and spraying its juices all over the bald headed man’s face. Pack received the worst beating of his life and vowed never to misbehave again; subsequently he lost most of his friends too.





“I can’t believe this,” Mitch screamed, now it was him pacing the floor. “And what would your wife say if I told her about your affair with Miss.Turner?!”























































































Chapter 2



Last year on a blistery winter’s afternoon Mitch had been walking through the Math’s’ block – a separate building built five years ago because the first one had been a port cabin where all the students were taught Math’s’ together instead of set classes. Finally the school had received the funding from the National Lottery and just in the nick of time as the rotten smelly cabin was mysteriously burnt down, there was no evidence of it being started deliberately so it was blamed on dodgy electrics.

In the new building they had a store cupboard; it was called a cupboard but actually was the size of a standard double bedroom. Mitch was casually texting his mates from his mobile to find out where they were this lunch time, he had been kept behind for 15 minutes for shouting “cock” when Mr.Boocock had entered the room.

The dude has a really stupid surname, ‘course he’s gon’na get the piss ripped outta him, Mitch thought he deserved it.

Suddenly he heard moaning coming from the store cupboard. He stopped and listened. It was a woman. Naively Mitch entertained the idea of a female in distress, in his mind she looked like Pamela Anderson.

He flung the unlocked door open, eager to help, but to his disgust and surprise he discovered the 37 year old bleached blonde Miss.Turner, one of the other Math’s tutors (not your typical looking Math’s tutor) with her back pressed against the unsteady shelving, pens and books falling to the floor, her grey chord  mini skirt hitched way above her slender hips, her glasses wonky, her usually straight hair ruffled and misshapen, open mouthed gasping and Mr. Pack in between her legs, his pair of grey suit trousers that he wore every day around his ankles along with silk black boxers, giving Miss.Turner a good seeing to.

Unfortunately for the pair Mitch’s camera phone was poised ready - he didn’t miss a trick - he captured their shocked faces on screen before either could protest and hurriedly marched away bearing a smug grin.

I can use this as black mail if he tries to give me a hard time anymore. He was now one up on Mr. Pack and he wasn’t going to let the old fool forget it.



“Go ahead tell her, she left me a week ago,” he sighed.

Mitch didn’t see that coming, bribery wasn’t going to work this time.

“Oh and there’ll be no more playing rugby for the school team,” he announced dryly, he wasn’t a big sports fan himself, he preferred darts a much more civilized game, but he knew this action would devastate the boy as it was the one thing he enjoyed at School.

“No way, you can’t do that,” Mitch shouted.

“Back to your class,” the Headmaster shuffled his paper work lying on the desk ignoring the students protest.

“That’s so unfair,” Mitch huffed.

“That’s life, it is unfair,” Mr. Pack grinned through his dentures.

Slamming the door behind him Mitch stormed off not realizing the force of his exit had caused one of Packs’ teaching certificates to fall and the glass smashing to pieces.

“He’ll pay for that,” Mr. Pack growled.























































































Chapter 3



The sun shined brightly on a lovely summer’s day; even with the slight breeze it was still warm.

Nancy declared it was too hot for her milky white skin. She burned so easily. Her favourite time of year had to be autumn, it was not too hot but not too cold, it was just right.

She walked through the large daunting iron gates. Her nerves were setting in; she thought she wouldn’t be able to open any doors because her hands were shaking so much. She took three deep breaths before walking under a crumbling red bricked archway that would have been more comfortable at a stately home then a school. Luckily the first set of doors she came to didn’t have any handles for they were automatic glass sliding doors, a totally different contrast to the old archway. The newly installed doors led to a long white washed corridor. Inside to the left was a semi-circular reception desk, it was again new and lavishly posh with curved perplex glass, not the kind of desk you’d expect from a school that was formed of eroding red bricks and giant breeze block buildings that combined produced the three storey high secondary school.

“Hello,” Nancy greeted the receptionist.

The fake blonde skinny model like girl didn’t acknowledge her; instead she continued to chomp on chewing gum like she was a cow eating a long stem of grass.

Nancy coughed politely to grab the girls’ attention.

“Can I help you?” the Barbie imitator asked in a mono-tone voice.

She may look like a playboy bunny with her fake breasts and Barbie pink cat suit, but she has the voice of a drone, Nancy smirked to herself and probably no personality either.

“Hi, I’m here to see the Headmaster, Mr. Pack. I’m the new Art Teacher,” Nancy beamed. Her enthusiasm did not rub off on the receptionist, she replied with as much joy as a wasp.

“That way, 5th door on your left.”

Nancy followed the direction the well manicured slender hand, that looked like they had never had to wash up in their life, was pointing to. The corridor was filled with so many evenly spaced doors, each one the same as the last, brown with a small square window at the top. She didn’t dare look through them, because she knew there would be a dozen beady eyes focusing on the boards like robots, it would put her off working for Badshot Lea Comprehensive.

She walked uneasily up to the fifth door. She could sense the receptionist watching her steps and analyzing her outfit that consisted of a plain white blouse, partly gaping in the middle due to her particularly large breasts, and black pencil skirt down to her knees, simple but sophisticated Nancy considered to herself when she had got dressed that morning.

An unpolished silver plaque on the door read;



Mr. Pack

Headmaster



She had found the right office. Nancy smoothed down the polyester skirt that was threatening to ride up with every step she took, and knocked firmly.

“Come in,” a man called from within.

She twisted the silver door knob and entered a small musty room. She was shocked at how untidy and cluttered it was. There were books and paperwork in every nook and cranny, and also a lot of dust where it had never been cleaned, probably not for about 5 years. The smell was choking, god forbid if anyone with asthma should enter.

The extremely tall 50+ man stood up abruptly so much so that it looked like he might topple over.

“Oh helol!” he was surprised to see the young female. “Sorry I was expecting someone else.”

Just at that point a 30 year old woman, who badly needed her bleached blonde roots re-touching, barged in wearing a duffle coat and knee high faux leather boots, crashed through the door, it was like a scene from a seedy porno but it should of been the other way around, Nancy should of been bursting in on the pair getting down and dirty in some awkward position.

“I’m heeeere.......” she trailed off when noticing Nancy standing uneasy to one side. She raised her bushy brown eyebrows questioning towards Mr. Pack.

“Oh...err...this is............urm,” he stammered making it seem suspicious. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Nancy Perkins, the new Art Teacher,” she announced with a hint of disappointment that they hadn’t remembered she was arriving today.

“Yes, yes of course, I do apologies, nice to meet you,” the Headmaster gripped her hand and shook it vigorously across the desk. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief because there was a legitimate reason for such a natural beauty to be in his office.

The other woman stood motionless except for smouldering at them both.

“I’m Derek Pack, Headmaster of Badshot Lea Comprehensive and this Tracey Turner, one of our Math’s Tutors,” he introduced himself and the unimpressed blonde.

“I think Miss Turner is free to show you around and as classes have already started, you can join Tracey after lunch.”

“But....but I’m teaching - ,” Turner began to protest.

“I know that’s why it will be good for Miss Perkins, a smaller group to start with,” the Headmaster hissed through gritted teeth.

The Math’s’ tutor gave up arguing and agreed with him, even though she thought it would mean throwing the newbie in at the deep end without any life rings, and by the look of disapproval on Traceys face ,as she eyed up Nancy’s innocent appearance, she would definitely drown.

Already Nancy felt like her first day wasn’t going to go as well as she’d hoped, starting accompanied by a Math’s enthusiast wasn’t what she had in mind.



Two years ago Nancy had graduated from Cambridge University having studied BA Hons Fine Art and then went on to take five short evening courses in Teaching. After qualifying she decided to take a year out and away from United Kingdom, she flew to Africa where she taught in small villages for under privileged children. Most of the schools were a single rundown building that only provided one black board, a few desks and chairs, used to accommodate up to twenty students, who would of walked miles to attend for a couple of hours before returning home to various jobs, such as collecting food from the fields, cleaning, babysitting younger siblings, etc. It was tough seeing the children living in such harsh conditions, however Nancy enjoyed it because she realized she was taking her life of luxuries back in the UK for granted, so this was her chance to do some good, it made her appreciate life more and now she would like to share her experiences with pupils in England so she could show them that they should be grateful for the education they can receive in this country.