Next book…..first page

AUTUMN TERM

2.30pm. Aiming for willing and able, not pants around ankles, Matt Thorpe opened the door onto the playground and arranged himself against the frame for their pleasure. There they
all were again, waiting to collect their offspring. Desperate for some adult conversation and
a man with staying power. His emergence had elicited a flurry of smiling and waving, to
which he’d responded with a mock salute.

Shielding his eyes from the late September sun, Matt surveyed the home time scene. Only
two men were waiting today, visible as ketchup on a white shirt. Yesterday there had been
three, but the police had made it clear to Jake’s dad he needed to adhere to the court order
and stay away.

According to the timetable Matt should have been delivering a creative writing lesson, but
a late night had got the better of him. Yawning, he’d told his class of nine and ten year olds
to invent an animal and describe it using ‘wow’ words.
“Mrs Knight is in charge guys, so I don’t want any messing about. That means you Jakey.”
He’d pointed a comedic wagging finger at Jake.
“You don’t mind, Jane, do you?”

Saying no to Mr Thorpe felt like refusing calorie free chocolate, especially when he did that
smile. Middle aged, with an unadventurous husband, Mrs Knight loved working alongside
Matt, despite his unconventional way of teaching. A well-judged compliment and bag of
fresh doughnuts went a long way with her.

Unwrapping a Snickers, Matt shifted position and gazed upon the pattern which had
emerged over the past few weeks. Waiting parents and carers had shuffled themselves
around, seeking out others who could serve as a school run salve. Aside from those
unwilling or unable to engage in small talk, the formation was now like with like. Gym blond
with half marathon brunette. Dishevelled with the plain. Perfect manicures with the fully
waxed. Grandparents seemed to flit from group to group, welcomed by all, respected for
their assumed expertise.

Eyes closed, Matt tried to block out the sound of their voices, which seemed to rattle
against each other like marbles in a washing machine. Warm autumn breeze distributed the
smell of the ring road around the playground. Hundreds of these afternoon pick-ups lay
ahead. Motorway service stops punctuating the route from childhood to puberty.