Changing gears, p.2
Changing Gears, page 2
“A long journey from Sydney?” When she frowned, he pointed at the luggage tag on her pack. “There are many thieves in summer. You might, perhaps, remove this?”
“Thanks.” She yanked the label off and jammed it in her pocket. “You? Holiday?”
“No. I work for a vineyard, here in Provence. My family is in Paris.”
Jen smiled, following him as they disembarked. “You work on a vineyard? I’m here on a wine tour. Well, sort of…”
He was delightful company, and they chatted as he led her out of the station and pointed her towards her hotel. He worked on vineyards across the region—a different one every season—and recognised the tour company she was booked with. She would ride near the vineyard he was travelling to, and he recommended she drop in. Their exchange was flattering, a clichéd but charming start to her time in Avignon, and as he waved goodbye, she made a mental note to find his vineyard. If she played her cards right, she might score more than one Provence adventure.
Her tour company had recommended a variety of hotels for tour guests while they were in Avignon, and she had chosen the Hotel Medieval. It was too French to miss and had a bathtub in the room to boot. The walk there took her into the heart of old Avignon, winding through narrow streets within its medieval walls, leading her into the shadows of the famous palace, the Palais des Papes. As soon as she checked in, she headed straight back out to wile away a few hours wandering its corridors and garden. No doubt her mother would be particularly pleased to see her spending time in another old Catholic haunt and she took a raft of photos to send back to her.
Comfortably exhausted, Jen strolled back towards the hotel. She’d been lucky to get a seat at a small street side cafe for a late afternoon lunch, and the local produce had been amazing. Avignon was wooing her as vigorously as Paris had. Despite the tumult and the waves of tourists, in between were splashes of French living that soothed her. The food, the air, even the clouds whisking across the evening sky were fresh and unsullied. Sydney’s stresses had evaporated. No one tugged at her for attention, and her sense of overwhelm was ebbing away. With 17,000 kilometres between her and her problems, there was nothing left to do but explore.
When she arrived back to the hotel, the sun was well on its way to setting. In the foyer, a small group of tourists milled, their luggage stacked high in a disorganised pile. English. And irate. Something was wrong with their booking… something about their rooms? For an instant, Jen thought to step in and lend a hand. The children in the group looked exasperated, and the youngest pummelled his mother’s leg, battling for her attention.
Jen looked away, wondering if her impulse was appropriate, and locked eyes with a woman at the foot of the stairs. Ice-blue eyes rolled, and a smirk followed. Before she realised what she was doing, Jen was gliding past the melee to stand beside her. She was lithe, with a head of long, rich auburn hair that flowed past her shoulders. Dressed in jeans and an untucked shirt, she oozed self-assuredness.
“Drama.” She cocked a russet eyebrow as she hoisted her bag. “If we’re lucky, we’ll manage our escape before all hell breaks loose.” With a grunt, she manoeuvred her luggage up the first few stairs. Snapping back to reality, Jen bounded after her and grabbed the bottom of her suitcase. As they rounded a corner to the first floor landing, the sound of a loud smack and a dramatic howl echoed up the stairwell. “Yup, lucky escape.”
“I hope their rooms are nowhere near mine,” Jen muttered, pulling a face.
“Oh, Australian!” She dropped her bag on the landing and grinned at her as she stuck her hand out.
Jen’s throat went dry and her skin tingled as she slipped her hand into hers for a brief shake. “Ah, yeah. Yes. Australian. Scottish??”
“God, how could you tell?” Her salty laugh matched her smile. She glanced at her room key tag and tilted her chin down the passageway. “That’s me down that way. See ya round, Ozzie.”
Her door closed before Jen thought to say anything. Collecting herself, she climbed the stairs to her room, a little discombobulated by their interaction.
Later that night Jen stood at her window to gaze out over the narrow street, medieval stonework illuminated by old-fashioned street-lamps and the hotel’s glowing neon sign. Another amazing day. France kept failing to offer a single irritation or disappointment, and Provence’s hypnotic atmosphere was no exception. But it wasn’t the city that occupied her mind, and as she drifted off to sleep, blue eyes and auburn hair were all she imagined.
Sydney
Tuesday, 3 April, 2018
Thankfully, the morning progressed smoothly enough. Jen did her best to keep away from the bulk of conversations bubbling away amongst the staff regarding their newest student challenge. She sensed the split already—those who sided with the Principal in her anachronistic bigotry, sneering as they gossiped, while everyone else stayed silent.
The Head of English found her near the end of the lunch break, camped out in her small corner of the office. “You’ve got Emily for last period.”
Karen was a good stick—solid, experienced, and well used to mediating the relationship between some of the younger, more progressive staff and the school’s often staid leadership. She supported Jen’s desire to move the curriculum forward, to include more texts written by women and people of colour, and to foster creative assessments to help keep the girls engaged—ideas that didn’t always find her in good stead with the executive. But she advocated, defending worthwhile innovations she recognised could benefit students. Despite being near retirement, she was more creative than many English teachers Jen had worked with. And she could be trusted.
“How’s it been today? Have the girls settled down a bit?”
“No.” The older woman pursed her lips as she pulled a chair up beside her. “She had a difficult time in chemistry this morning, apparently. But you’ve got the main culprits in class with her this afternoon. You’ll need to be on your toes.”
“Who is it?” The names of the girls implicated in the bullying hadn’t been shared with staff to protect them from unwarranted discrimination. The lack of transparency irked Jen, so she was glad she was about to discover who the troublemakers were.
“Who do you think?”
Jen reflected on who would be in her class and quickly shortlisted some likely suspects. Her roll of girls was reasonably diverse when it came to backgrounds and attitudes, but like any high fee paying school, a segment considered their privilege deserved, and it gave them licence for all sorts of distasteful behaviour. “Ashleigh Graham and Zoe Morrison.”
“Bingo. If anything happens, come get me. I’ll be in my office. Yvonne made it very clear she won’t tolerate any disruptions, but reading between the lines, those two won’t be the ones ending up in trouble. Keep your wits about you.”
Jen had done well to avoid crossing paths with the Principal during her two years at St Millies. The school’s Board had hired her as a teacher of promise, and although she wavered with maintaining that status, she kept out of trouble. If anything happened in class today, that might change. Emily was a highly capable student, a kind and creative young woman, and it came as no surprise to Jen she wasn’t conforming when it came to her sexuality. She was often on the periphery of her peer group because of her quirks and ideas. Jen imagined she was experiencing quite a bit of nasty ostracism because of this latest revelation.
“How did this all start?”
“Apparently she’s been messaging someone, another girl. Ashleigh took her phone and read the texts out in free period on Friday. There’s been bullying via social media and in class. Emily’s mother rang to alert the school.”
Jen shook her head. “Girls at this age…”
“Tell me about it,” Karen pulled a face. As she got to her feet, she set a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t take any of this on on your own. If anything happens, come and get me. You don’t want to get tainted with anything, Jenny.”
Her comment was an odd one, but Jen nodded, trying not to read anything into it.
Emily’s Year Ten class was Jen’s last for the day, and she had a long walk across campus to their allocated room. By the time she arrived, the bell had already rung. When she opened the door conversations stopped, and she pulled up short in the doorway. Something was going on. Faces turned away from her, some appalled, others disgusted or angry, and amongst them all sat Emily, stony and dejected, cheeks a violent red. Any good humour Jen had marshalled on the walk over evaporated. She was as cool as they were silent as she shut the door, and the girls quickly found their seats.
The lesson began innocuously enough, and for a while Jen thought she might get away with a drama-free lesson, but mid-way through everything unravelled. During a small group discussion on a theme in their assigned text, giggling erupted from the group sitting with Ashleigh. Jen caught them staring at Emily before breaking into another wave of laughter. She had been circulating around the room, asking questions as the girls discussed the topic, so made a beeline for the group.
“This sounds like a lively conversation. What were you discussing, Ashleigh?”
“Nothing much, Miss. We were wondering what the story would be like if Josie was a lesbian.” At the mention of the “L” word, the class became quiet and from the corner of her eye Jen saw Emily colour. This discussion could easily get away from her if she wasn’t careful.
“That’s an interesting idea, Ashleigh. Are you talking about the different kinds of discrimination Josie might face other than racism?” She sat back on an empty desk and crossed her arms, her expression serious.
“Sort of. We were saying that you can’t help where you come from, but if Josie’s a dyke, someone should talk to her about stopping that.” A chorus of gasps followed.
Jen’s jaw clenched. “First, we don’t use words like that to describe someone who identifies as LGBTQ.”
“But they call themselves that, Miss.”
“Everyone knows you’re a homophobe, Ash,” another student sniped. Jen held her hand up to stop any further comments.
“It’s not a phobia, Maria,” Ashleigh snarled back. “The Bible says it’s a sin. It’s not natural.”
“We’re not discussing the Bible, Ashleigh. The school has very clear rules on homophobic language.” Jen frowned and hoped her obvious lack of enthusiasm would be enough to stop this turn in the discussion. But Ashleigh’s hubris was seldom curbed, and today wouldn’t be any different.
“We’re an Anglican school, Miss Cosgrove. We discuss the Bible all the time.”
“I’m well aware of that, but our values also include inclusivity and respect. Do you think your language is respectful?”
“Sorry Miss. Emily, respectfully,” and she flicked a contemptuous smile Jen’s way before turning back to her repellent classmate. “What do you want us to call you?”
Jen’s mouth dropped open and Emily blanched before going a deeper shade of red, tears welling.
“We do not tolerate bullying at St Mildred’s,” Jen snapped, hands gripping the edge of the desk, her knuckles whitening.
“I’m not, Miss! I’m being respectful. I’m asking Emily what we….”
The room exploded, students yelling at Ashleigh to be quiet, others jumping to her defence. That Emily was gay and shouldn’t be at the school, that she was sinful and dirty. The altercation spiralled far quicker than Jen could keep up with. Before she knew it, she was yelling.
“Be quiet! Quiet! Everyone, shut up!”
Shock swept around the room. Only Ashleigh was unabashed. She could barely contain her snigger. Emily collapsed into tears. Two girls crouched beside her, attempting to console her. Jen’s rage was palpable.
“Ashleigh, Principal’s office. Now.”
“But, Miss?!”
“NOW!”
Her chair scrapped loudly as she stood and stuffed her books in her bag. “What do I say when I get there?”
“You’re on report for bullying and hate speech.”
“Being Christian isn’t hate speech,” she sniffed, hauling her bag onto her shoulder. Someone whooped as she stalked out of the room, and there were snickers as the door slammed.
“Nicole, can you please take Emily to wellbeing? I’ll be along shortly.”
One of the girls crouched beside the distraught teen nodded and helped her to her feet. Another packed her bag and in a heartbeat, they were gone.
Jen stood quietly, trying to catch her breath. Her heart hammered, and she realised she must have looked rattled. Around class she saw a mix of reactions—students who would complain to their parents that she hadn’t done enough to stop Ashleigh’s homophobic attack, others that she had defended Emily’s unchristian lifestyle. Teaching at St Millies required engaging in a delicate game of political dodgeball. Usually, she avoided being dragged into conversations which might reveal elements of her personal politics that could put her job at risk, but there was no way to avoid the implications of what had just happened.
“Right,” and she checked her watch. Only twenty minutes til the end of class. She was impatient to escape and retreat to the safety of her apartment, to regroup and prepare for the inevitable fallout. “If you haven’t finished the homework that’s due Friday, you can spend the rest of period on that. The rest of you… keep yourselves occupied.”
Jen busied herself at her desk, wasting time to give the school’s Wellbeing Office an opportunity to counsel Emily, or for the girl to at least get herself together. With ten minutes to the bell, she packed her bag and stood. “Sadie, you’re class lead until the bell rings. I’m expecting all of you to act responsibly until then.”
Gathering what little composure she had, Jen left the class and headed to the Wellbeing Office. The corridors were quiet when she reached the main building, so she took her time, scrambling to strategise how best to approach the situation. She should have done more—or at least something different—to protect Emily. Instead, things had rapidly escalated, all at cost to her student. A sharp pang of guilt stabbed Jen, and she looked down at her feet as she walked, the gravity of the situation weighing on her. It didn’t take much to imagine how Emily had felt during the altercation, and her stomach churned.
The Wellbeing Office was at the opposite end of the main building from Principal MacKechnie’s office and Jen scampered past, hoping not to poke the beast. She figured she’d end up there soon enough.
She found Emily sitting in the corridor, her cheeks tear-streaked and a wad of tissues in her fist. When she saw Jen, fresh tears started.
“Where’s Miss Clark?”
“Calling my mum to come and get me.” Emily scanned the corridor before going on. “She preached at me, Miss, that it’s my fault Ashleigh and the other girls are picking on me.”
“She said that?” Jen was horrified.
“Not in those words, but it’s what she meant.”
“What did she say, exactly?”
“I shouldn’t expect other girls to want to be around me because they’ll be worried about their salvation.”
“Jesus,” Jen muttered, scowling.
The clip of heels on wooden floorboards rang out and they stopped talking as Miss Clark rounded a corner. She was an older woman, prim and stereotypically a private school mistress. With grey hair swept into a tight bun, she wore a ridiculous cardigan that must have cooked her alive in the April heat. “Miss Cosgrove. Good to finally see you. I’ve called the parents and asked them to collect Emily as soon as possible. The mother is on her way.” Her distaste leaked out around her smile. “I’ve updated Mrs MacKechnie.”
“Right,” and Jen urged Emily to her feet. “I’ll wait with Emily at the gate.”
“That’s unnecessary. Emily isn’t five.”
“No, she’s not, Alice. But she’s been bullied, and she’s obviously very upset.”
“That’s not quite my understanding of things,” Miss Clark shot back, and her over-plucked eyebrows arched provocatively. “Ashleigh was quite clear about what’s been going on.”
Jen’s eyes narrowed, and she looked at Emily. “Were you and Ashleigh questioned together?” She nodded. “Let’s go.” Jen could barely contain her anger. Not trusting herself to say something she would regret, she pointed Emily towards the doors and steered her out of the main building, putting as much distance as possible between them and Miss Clarke. “I’m sorry, Emily,” she offered once they were out of earshot. “None of that should have happened.”
“That’s ok, Miss.”
“No, it’s not,” and she shook her head as they walked, unable to find words to consul the young woman, or herself.
They stood together in silence at the gate for twenty minutes until Emily’s mother finally arrived. She gave her arm a squeeze as she got in the car, and they stared at each knowingly as her mother drove them away.
Jen stood, looking down the road long after they disappeared. At least Emily was safe for now. She couldn’t say the same for herself. Her defiance in response to Alice’s accusations would likely have already been whispered into the Principal’s ear, but the hole she had inadvertently dug herself was the least of her worries. Emily’s distress, and the memories it stirred, were all she could think about.
At home that afternoon, Jen paced about restlessly, watching the clock tick by. Abi was in London, ten hours behind and yet to wake. But there was no-one else she wanted to talk to about what had happened. As soon as 7 a.m. GMT ticked by she tapped FaceTime and waited for her friend to pick up. When Abi appeared, she was still half asleep.
“Hey. What time is it? Bloody hell.” A long pause as she squinted at her phone screen. “You ok?” The camera skewed about as she sat up, pushing an unruly wave of russet hair from her face.
“Bad day,” Jen sighed, slumping onto the couch. As she described what had happened that afternoon, Abi’s expression flashed through a range of emotions to finally settle on resignation.
“That’s bloody awful, Jen. How are you feeling about it all?”
