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My God but Port Emblyn was beautiful in the sunshine: cobbled streets glistening, holly and red bows and gold bells strung between streetlamps, shop windows full of Christmas things handmade, bespoke, organic. The higgledy-piggledy stone buildings clustering about the port all wearing bright coats of white paint. Reflected light dancing on boats’ hulls. Seagulls wheeling in pure blue above the harbour wall.
But after noting the time Frances, with her dyed-blonde curls and tan handbag, dipped back into Riot after her rather lengthy lunchbreak, I ignored the postcard scene and got back to the Port Emblyn School app.
As it was accessible to parents, most of the unofficial acronyms I’ve always found so useful were missing. No LP (Little Prince/Princess), TAPS (Thick as Pig Shit) or DI (Devil Incarnate).
I did my best to read between the lines. If you add ‘Ava is a confident young woman with strong leadership skills’ to ‘She sometimes faces challenges in her interactions with less confident children’, you get: Ava is an arrogant little boss bitch bully.
Her brother seemed much the same, while Lydia’s daughter Rose was a rare gem – academically brilliant, mature, kind, athletic – and Jenna, well…
Her profile described her as hard-working, quiet and considerate, but threaded through were lines that tugged at my heart.
Jenna’s devotion to music might be likened to obsession.
Jenna’s artwork sings with a visceral melancholy.
Jenna is a thinker.
Jenna does not often contribute in group situations.
Jenna finds conflict challenging.
Jenna’s outburst was quite shocking to her class members.
Jenna could engage more with her peers.
I was delighted she was doing drama, and planned her first class with her record open in front of me, and I barely slept until the day I met her.
Outside, the trees were bare and the grey sky pressed against the windows. The classroom was overheated. As the children entered, laughing, jostling, it started to rain. I sat behind my desk, just watching. They snatched glances at me, taking in the new teacher, as if they didn’t quite believe in me yet.
I sensed her before she stepped through the door, and I held my breath. Her hair was so long, like she was clinging to childhood by her split ends. Around her neck hung her headphones. She had coloured in her fingernails with black pen. Her eyes studied the floor as she shuffled to a desk at the front, next to Rose.
