Rory sent John a text first thing in the morning but she wasn’t expecting him to call her back almost immediately.

‘I can pop round tonight if you like?’

‘No, no. I don’t need you to come round. I just thought you could tell me what to do. I can’t get the sink to empty.’ She sounded like a feeble woman. She didn’t want him to look down the plughole, take two seconds to fix it and then leave her looking like an incompetent. Even if she was.

‘It’s probably just the trap. But it might be the drains that are blocked. It’s no trouble.’ There was a muffled sound and she heard him speak to someone else. ‘Sorry, I need to go. I’ll be there about five.’

She didn’t want to admit it, but she was relieved. Once this week was over, she’d research some local DIY classes. Then she wouldn’t need to call for help every time something went wrong. Right now, it was more pressing to get into school and cut up strips of coloured paper for a lesson.

---

‘Good morning, everybody. Lacey, can you sit on a chair rather than a desk please, and can you put those crisps away, Harry?’ Rory was usually at the classroom door ready to greet her class, but after cutting the paper strips, she’d had a violent altercation with the photocopier which had made her late.

A chubby-looking boy towards the back of the classroom grumbled something about breakfast under his breath and scrunched a family-sized bag of Doritos into his pocket.

‘Is it going to be a fun lesson today, Miss?’ Lacey swung her long legs and her not-so-long skirt under the nearest desk. The frequency with which that question was asked would lead a casual bystander to believe that every other lesson included cartwheels and rap music.

Rory pretended to think for a moment. ‘It all depends on your definition of fun.’

‘That means no.’ Harry snuck a hand into his pocket and another Dorito into his mouth.

‘We’re actually going to plan some extended writing. That’s going to be your assessment at the end of this half term and we need to practise.’ There was a collective groan. ‘I knew you’d be excited.’

‘I ‘ate writing,’ a stringy boy at the front of the class moaned. ‘Can’t you read us that book again?’

There was nothing Rory would like better than to open her copy of A Monster Calls and read the next chapter. But even an hour of English every day wasn’t enough to cajole some of these kids into writing more than a couple of paragraphs, and the book was far more effective as a bargaining tool. ‘If we get forty minutes of preparation done now, and you work hard, I can read you another chapter at the end of the lesson. Does anyone know where Charlie is?’

Every time Charlie was late, Rory worried. His mum was a lovely woman, but her Crohn’s Disease was debilitating at times. Some days Charlie had a lot to do before he came to school in the morning.

Just then the classroom door opened and Charlie hurried in. ‘Sorry I’m late, Miss.’

‘Good to see you, Charlie. Just sit yourself down and you can tell me why you were late in a minute. Harry, can you give the books out?’

Lacey jumped up and wriggled to pull the bottom of her skirt down just far enough for decency. ‘I’ll do it, Miss. If we wait for Harry, it’ll be break time before we start.’ She had a point; Harry looked like he’d just realised someone had called his name.

‘Thanks. The rest of you, I want you to try and think of someone who is really important to you. It can be anyone. A family member, a sporting hero, a best friend, but it needs to be someone who is special to you in a personal way.’

A smile spread across Harry’s face. ‘Kylie Jenner.’

Tactically ignoring him, Rory continued to explain. ‘Our assessment this half term is going to be to write that person a letter. Today we are going to plan the three main sections, so to begin with, I am going to give you three strips of paper and I want you to write down the three most important things you would like to say to that person.’

Lacey has sat down and was now chewing the end of her pen. ‘Can it be anyone?’

Rory nodded. ‘Anyone you like.’

Lacey clearly had someone specific in mind. ‘Can it be someone in this class?’

At the predictable reaction of ‘Ooohs’, Lacey stuck her middle finger up. Rory pretended not to notice. Don’t sweat the small stuff. ‘Yes, it can. But only if it’s a positive letter: no hate mail.’

Charlie started to raise his hand as if he was going to ask her something, and then thought better of it. Rory had a pretty good idea who he was going to write to and it made her heart hurt.

Then she brought out her secret weapon: the strips of coloured paper. Non-teachers wouldn’t believe how even the most reluctant writer was happy to write on coloured paper. That was something you wouldn’t find on a stupid annotated seating plan.

When they had been working for a while, there was a sharp knock on the door and Nathan Finch came in. Rory could tell from the pupils’ reactions that some of them had encountered him already and were none too keen. ‘Sit up!’ he barked at Harry. Then he took one look at Lacey and sent her down to the head of year room to remove her nail polish. ‘And you can unroll the top of your skirt whilst you’re down there.’

Rory sighed. They had just begun to get into the task. If she’d started attacking them for every misdemeanour, they’d still be on the opening paragraph at Christmas.

Nathan then turned his attention to Rory, changing his tone. ‘Good afternoon, Ms Wilson. I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you outside.’

Giving her class a ‘get on with it’ look, Rory followed him through the classroom door.

When they were in the corridor, he gave her that car salesman smile again. ‘Sorry to interrupt your teaching, but I wanted to ask why you haven’t entered any data yet this half term? Mr Brown informs me that the deadline was last Friday.’ He looked at her expectantly.

Rory tried her most surprised face. ‘Oh, was it last Friday? Sorry, I thought it was this Friday. I’ll get onto it straight away.’ She resisted the urge to make a mock salute. Nathan Finch didn’t strike her as a man with a particularly developed sense of humour. She also needed to get back to her class before Harry started selling his surplus snacks.

Nathan didn’t look convinced. ‘I understand that data collection has not had a strong profile at St Anthony’s hitherto.’ He paused for emphasis. ‘You must understand that, unless I – I mean we – can get a clear picture of our pupils’ current levels, we will not be able to put in place the interventions they need to make their expected, and above expected, levels of progress.’ He stopped and smiled, as if he had just explained how he was going to solve world hunger.

Rory could have told him the current level of every pupil in her class right there and then – it was called knowing your students. Plus, they were more likely to make progress if she spent her time planning good lessons rather than entering numbers into a spreadsheet. ‘Of course.’

Nathan leaned in towards her. He smelled of expensive aftershave. Rory hadn’t had a man this close to her face in a while. It was disconcerting. ‘I know change can be difficult, Ms Wilson. But I am determined to make this an outstanding school, and accurate data is a very large step in the right direction. I don’t expect everybody will want to go on that journey with me – us’ – he paused – ‘but that is what needs to be done.’

When she got back into the classroom, Charlie looked concerned. ‘Are you in trouble, Miss?’

‘Of course not, Charlie. Whatever gave you that idea?’

Harry was nodding sagely. ‘Cos Finchy only ever talks to people when they’re in trouble.’

‘Nope, all fine.’ It wasn’t their fault that she’d be sitting here until late tonight, inputting irrelevant data on each of her classes. But the prospect meant she wasn’t in the mood for cheerleading them through their writing planning either, particularly as a sulky-looking Lacey had just rejoined them, looking more like she was ready to wield a knife than a pen. ‘Shall we leave it there until tomorrow, and read a chapter?’

Harry moved out of his seat for the first time that day and gave out the copies of the book. As Rory read to them, they transformed before her eyes into a group of young children, spellbound by a story. You couldn’t input that onto a spreadsheet.

By five o’clock, she wasn’t even halfway through stabbing at her computer keyboard with her finger. She hadn’t begun to plan tomorrow’s lessons and a large pile of books glared menacingly from the corner of her desk; they would be her date for tonight. Just for a moment, she lay her head down on the desk and took a deep breath.

‘All getting a bit too much, chick?’

Rory raised her head. Susie walked in and perched on the edge of her desk. ‘You doing data too?’

Rory nodded. ‘What is the point of all this? I spend longer on doing the assessments and marking the assessments and entering the data on the assessments than I do on actually teaching. It’s bonkers.’

‘It’s not quite as bad for me in IT, but you’re right.’ Susie raised her hands and did a mock bow. ‘Data is king.’

‘It’s got worse now that bloody man has started. I think he might have threatened me this afternoon.’

‘You’re not the only one. He’s been paying quite a few visits this afternoon. Penny was almost in tears when I saw her earlier.’

‘Penny?’ Rory sat up straight. She and Susie could take it, but Penny was a sensitive soul. ‘He’d better not start on her.’

Susie clapped her hands together. ‘I think we all need a night off this business already – and the term has just started. How about I grab Pen and we come over to you tonight for a takeaway and a bottle of wine?’

‘I can’t do tonight, I’ve got someone coming…’ Rory glanced at her watch. ‘Damn! Is that the time? I have to go.’ She logged out of the computer – she’d have to come in early again tomorrow to finish the data – and scooped up the pile of books.

‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’ Susie’s heels click-clacked after her down the corridor.

‘I’ve got someone coming to fix the sink.’

The click-clack got quicker. ‘The Prince man from B&Q? Is he good-looking? Can I come?’

‘Susie, I’ve really got to go. I’ll see you in the morning.’ Rory pushed open the front door with the pile of books and picked up her pace towards the car park.

‘Tomorrow night, then,’ Susie stood in the doorway and shouted after her. ‘No excuses!’