One To Watch
History would not repeat itself. I’d make sure of thatÉ
School: the training ground of the barbaric. Some say they’ve never been bullied, which always makes me think they probably bullied someone else, or at least turned a blind eye. Decided not to see to another person’s loneliness or sadness, choosing only to see strangeness and a scapegoat – relieved, mostly, that they weren’t the ones being teased or ostracised. Cowards. Bullying is a term that has lost its power through overuse. It shouldn’t have. We should still all be afraid of the gang, the herd, the mob.
When I was a girl, namecalling was dismissed. ‘Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me,’ reminded the teacher if you tried to tell them that someone had said something so vile that you wanted to vomit. There were sticks and stones, too, sometimes, but they never did hurt as much as the words. The teachers got it wrong, as they often do.
I had hoped never to see Sharon Cole after I left school. She’s occasionally popped up in the odd nightmare, if I’ve been going through a particularly stressful time at work, but I’ve moved 200 miles from where I grew up, so I hadn’t expected to see her in the flesh again. Yet here she is, larger than life, at my daughter’s first music concert at her new school.
I recognised her straightaway. She hasn’t aged well, which is somewhat satisfying; she’s put on weight, her skin is saggy – but she is unmistakably her. Any residual doubt I might have had is eradicated when I see her whisper to the thin, pale woman sat close by. Her words sneak out from behind her hand, then she laughs spitefully and glances disparagingly at another mother. I know that routine. She hasn’t changed.
I can hardly concentrate on Annabel’s performance. It’s a shame, as she’s practised hard – she wants to make a good impression. She thinks being good at something will help her make friends. She’s wrong.
More than anything, Annabel wants friends. My job has meant she’s had to change school three times already. I’ve promised her I won’t take any more promotions if they involve a move.
Her lie was funnier than the truth, and kids – people – aren’t
interested in the truth
The headmistress comes onto the stage, says a few words about the extraordinary talent of the children. Most of the kids’ performances were enthusiastic rather than gifted; I’d have preferred if she’d said as much, but headteachers in this sort of school – with its associated middle-class, deluded mothers – have to be careful. They must nurture the illusion that every average student is the next Beethoven.
We all clap politely, then head to the place where tea and coffee is being served.
‘Jenny Inks. Really?’ Her voice cuts through the chattering crowd, and I freeze.
I’d hoped that maybe she wouldn’t recognise me; with my caramel lowlights, my expensive clothes and jewellery, I’m much more toned and athletic than I was at school. When I look at the few photos I’ve kept, I hardly recognise the sad, scared little tubster that stares back. I suppose it’s the scar; she has to remember that.
She leans in and lands kisses left and right. I feel defiled, but it would be childish to rub them away, although my hand is itching to do so.
‘Jennifer Clark-Burrows, now,’ I say, although my husband’s double-barrelled name can’t protect me from Sharon Cole. I know it can’t.
‘I’m Sharon Thompson now, but you’ll always be Stinky Inky to me,’ she laughs, turning to her friend, who’s hovering like an anaemic shadow.
I don’t know this woman, but, at the same time, I do. There was always at least one, bolstering up Sharon, affirming her power. ‘Jenny used to wet her pants, even in junior school,’ she says acidly.
‘That’s how she got the name.’
I never wet my pants. One day, I sat down on damp grass, making my school dress wet, and Sharon put about the rumour that I’d peed myself. It stuck, because her lie was funnier than the truth, and kids – people – aren’t interested in the truth.
‘Well, it seems like you married well despite being stinky, Inky,’ she says dropping her gaze to my ring hand.
I did marry well, insomuch as I love my husband enormously and he loves me, but Sharon means I must have married