Love Is Usually Where You Left It Read online

  Ok, it was time to flex her unofficial supervisor muscles and get some work out of the pair of them. She cast her mind back to a week last Thursday when they had all been sent on that teamwork workshop with the man who promoted his “own, copyrighted positive mind technique”. Yep, PMT! What were the chances that Gayle would be sent on a mind-numbing “workshop”, that dragged on and on, with an acronym of PMT when it was her own, personal “time of the month”? Chances must have been pretty good, seeing as every single training session she had ever been on, that turns out to be a tediously, monotonous waste of time and a challenge of concentration skill, coincides with Gayle’s, shall we say, least patient time of the month?

  “Ok, you two.” She announced in a “clear but calm” manner. “We’ve got lots of work to be processed here. I’ll split it into three and we’ll be done in no time. Many hands make light work.”

  She took a deep breath before adding. “Remember what we learnt about TEAM and TEAMWORK last week? We are a TEAM and Together Everyone Achieves More, and good TEAMWORK is Talented Employees Attaining Meaningful Well Organised Rewarding Knowledge.”

  Janine looked up from doing her nails and gave Gayle the kind of look that, quite frankly, she deserved. It was a mixture of surprise and disgust; the kind of look usually reserved for if you ever see anyone on a motorway hard shoulder having a shit. Jenny just carried on intensely looking at her phone almost as if she was no longer able to hear anything.

  Gayle felt a bit dirty. Not only had she had to sit through that meaningless training course, but she had actually listened enough to take some of it in, and was now quoting it. It felt like some kind of “career” low for her.

  Thankfully Janine changed the subject.

  “So, you’re going out on a date with Lee?” she said while at the same time shaking her hands in a way that you would only do if you either wanted nail varnish to dry quicker or you were starting some kind of epileptic fit.

  Jenny suddenly looked up from her phone, proving that she hadn’t actually gone completely deaf.

  “Yeah Lee..... lucky you! He’s well fit and I bet he’s a right good laugh when he’s out-out. I bet he’s really dirty in bed as well.....” she added as a naughty smile grew on her face “.....and I bet he’s got a huge cock! You’ll be lucky if you can walk on Monday morning!”

  Both her and Jenny smiled and laughed at each other and continued talking about Lee and speculated about how good he may be in bed and how well endowed they both thought that he would be. Gayle could feel her cheeks warming up and instead her mind diverted in a different direction.

  When Lee had asked her out she hadn’t thought that Sundays date could mean she ended up in bed with him; not right away anyway. The only man she’d ever slept with was Clive and, well, they were both kids really when it first happened; and they’d got to know each other really well before anything happened. These days though it appeared that people didn’t mess around wasting time getting to know each other really well before jumping into the sack. She tried to think about how that made her feel. She was just about ready to accept going on a date with somebody new, was she also ready to have sex with them, straight away? Also, she could do with being able to walk on Monday morning; it was her primary way of getting around.

  “WELL, GAYLE?”

  She was brought back into the office by Jenny, who it appeared now had been trying to ask her a question.

  “When is Clive the loser moving out?” she asked as both her and Janine stared at her smiling.

  “He’s not.” Gayle said. “We’re just going to sell the house and then see what to do. The estate agent is coming around this morning and..... wait, he’s not a loser! He’s a good man. We just lost our way, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I have to hate him. It doesn’t mean we have to hate each other. We just.....”

  She looked up to see that Jenny had gone back to her previous state of mobile phone ignorance and Janine was beginning a second coat of nail varnish.

  Gayle gave out a deep sigh before picking up the various pieces of paper behind the filing cabinet and adding them to the huge pile in the tray. She struggled to carry them back over to her desk; this time the journey across the room silent of any music within her head. She justified her actions thinking that, usually, she had to double check Jenny and Janine’s work anyway. She may as well make sure that it was right first time.

  Before she started though, she needed that coffee she had promised herself, which meant that she had best get one for Jennine as well. Couldn’t expect them both to go to the brew machine whilst they were both so busy.

  TEAMWORK eh?

  As she left the office and made sure her bra was on properly, preparing herself in case there any warehouse guy “banter / abuse” as she walked to the coffee machine, Gayle wondered why she felt the need to stick up for Clive all the time. They were nearing the end so she didn’t really need to do so anymore, did she? The thing was though: he was a good man. And things were pretty special; at least at the start anyway.....

  Chapter Eleven: The Pre-Dinner Snack Club. (23 Years Ago)

  Clive sat there at his usual desk by the window and watched as Mr Jackson paced back and forth past the blackboard as he always did at this time of day. It was 3.30 p.m., the official start of detention time which was exactly five minutes before he would disappear for thirty-five minutes before returning for the final five minutes of the “punishment forty-five”. His pacing was probably brought on as he pondered the need to set thirty-five minutes worth of “token gesture” work that needed to be achievable with absolutely no supervision, whilst he went and spent over half an hour doing whatever he did for over half an hour with his favourite eighteen stone member of the after-school cleaning team. It came as no surprise that Mr Jackson could often be heard whistling Alison Moyet songs – he certainly seemed to have a preference for the larger lady.

  Because of Mr Jackson’s habit of disappearing, most detention sessions were largely unsupervised and so Clive actually quite enjoyed having them now and again. Being there felt pretty similar to the cool ‘80s movie The Breakfast Club but it didn’t really warrant being given a similar title because The Pre-Dinner Snack Club didn’t sound anywhere near as snappy.

  It certainly wasn’t any real punishment having to attend. There were no lines to be written on blackboards or in books, no chance of the cane or a ruler rap on the knuckles (it was the 90’s – the decade of letting kids get away with anything) but rather it was a chance to sit for a while in a quiet and (usually) warm classroom either listening to music or chatting to any of the other “naughty” kids who fancied doing the same thing.

  As such, there was almost an unspoken agreement between the detainees and Mr Jackson: he wasn’t too bothered about whether anyone actually did any of the aforementioned “token gesture” work he had set (he certainly never checked it) as long as they didn’t bring it to anyone’s attention that he always volunteered to run the detention sessions because he was actually shagging the big woman who was responsible for mopping the main hall floor. (It was confusing that none of the other school staff had ever actually realised what was going on seeing as that hall floor was, more often than not, dirtier than the playing fields.)

  Gayle pulled her bag over her shoulder and let out a big sigh as she pushed open the toilet door. She couldn’t avoid it anymore, it was now slightly after 3.30 p.m. and she was already late for her first detention with Mr Jackson. She wasn’t bothered about the fact that she would be late getting home, her Mum (if she was even there) probably wouldn’t notice anyway, but it was the idea that she would have to spend forty-five minutes with Mr Jackson, possibly even alone with him, that concerned her.

  He creeped her out.

  Although that wasn’t really saying much because all men creeped her out; because all men were bastards. But there was something about Jackson that was even creepier than all the other bastards – he had strange, vacant eyes that were either showing he was completely bored all th
e time or were a façade that concealed a dirty imagination. As such, as she walked towards the classroom she was juggling a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, she hoped that she wouldn’t be alone with Mr Jackson yet, on the other, she couldn’t think of one, single kid she had come across in her first week at this shithole of a school that she actually liked and might hope to also be in detention.

  Oh well, she decided as she got to the classroom, it would, as usual, be left to fate to decide; so it depended on how cruel he or she was feeling today.

  Mr Jackson finished explaining to Clive that he wanted him to look through pages 71–79 of the Ancient Egypt History book he had given him and “write 250 words on the construction of pyramids during the old and middle kingdom periods.” He would “check it later”. Clive nodded to let Mr Jackson know that he understood and that “he would do that”. Both of them knew and accepted that none of this would happen.

  Clive began to get his walkman out of his bag realising that this was probably going to be a solo detention. He was a little disappointed because Knobhead had promised the day before that he would try his best to also get detention. Bloody Knobhead – what a letdown.

  Not even Kev or Dan looked like there were going to be there this evening - they were quite regular attendees; or Stacey Wellington. She had also been getting more detentions of late and was quite funny..... for a girl. And, actually, quite cute.....

  Oh well, it would just be Clive and his music.

  Just then the door opened and so Clive looked up. Had good old Knobhead made it after all? He hoped so; they’d had some right laughs together whilst in detention. Or maybe Stacey Wellington? Oh no, it wasn’t either of them, but actually that new, arrogant kid with the big hair who had just started in his class: Poodle Girl.

  Bloody Knobhead – complete waste of space.

  At least he had his walkman with him; as long as Poodle Girl kept herself to herself it would be ok.

  Gayle walked through the door and felt a little momentary relief as she noticed someone sitting by the window on the far side of the room; at least she wasn’t alone with Jackson. Her relief soon died down though when she realised who it was, it was that weird guy from her class that liked to draw on the windows: Penis Boy.

  She sat down at a desk on the opposite side of the room thinking as long as she didn’t have to talk to him, then it would be ok. At least it wasn’t just her and pervo Jackson.

  “Ah, Miss Platt, you made it then? I thought I said to be here at three-thirty, on the dot?” said Mr Jackson. “Being late for the detention you got for constantly being late? That’s not a good start is it?”

  “I was just in the toilet, sir” said Gayle “You know, women’s stuff!”

  At first Gayle thought that playing the “women’s stuff” card was the way to go, it certainly worked for most of the teachers in this school, but she should have known better than to use it with Jackson. The ridiculous look that grew on his face as his left eyebrow arched into a position that looked impossible, even for Roger Moore, made her wish that she had just told him that she couldn’t be arsed getting there on time. How can someone make a statement about “women’s stuff” seem almost porn-like? He was such a dirty, old perv.

  “I can hardly check that can I?” said Mr Jackson.

  He stared for much too long following that comment, his eyebrow arching so much now that it looked like it could tie itself in a knot, before turning to head towards the door.

  “Very well, I’ll let Mr Ford here..... fill you in.....”

  He also left this innuendo-laden comment lingering, smiling back at them as Gayle and Clive both looked at each other in disgust. He was obviously feeling a little frisky about the thought of his latest liaison with Mrs Mop.

  He closed the door behind him and the room soon filled with silence. Gayle looked over at Clive and waited for him to let her know what work she needed to do while Jackson was, thankfully, away from the room. But he was just ignoring her, instead looking for something in his bag: he was so ignorant. As she looked at him Gayle noticed that he had a walkman sitting on his desk and cursed herself for not having her own with her. This ordeal may be something closer to bearable if she had her music with her.

  As Clive looked through his bag for a tape for his walkman he couldn’t help but feel Gayle staring right at him. What was her problem? She was so rude. Eventually he decided that he best let her know what was happening, it might just stop her staring if nothing else; rude bitch.

  Finally, thought Gayle as Clive turned his head in her direction, he may just be letting me know what to do; arrogant prick.

  “Jackson asked us to.....” Clive started, but then stopped as he noticed Gayle snigger.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” said Gayle “It’s just that you called him Jackson and not Mr Jackson..... just like I do.”

  Clive smiled. “Well I don’t think he’s ever earned enough respect to justify anyone using the Mr part of his name.”

  Gayle smiled at Clive.

  Wow she was smiling, thought Clive, she looked so much friendlier when she wasn’t scowling or frantically chewing.

  “I think the only title he’s ever earned is: Pervy.” Said Gayle, still smiling. “Pervy Jackson – that’s what I call him.”

  Clive laughed a little. “Yeah he’s definitely earned that title!”

  They both laughed and smiled at each other.

  “Sorry,” said Gayle “You were about to tell me what work Pervy Jackson has left us?”

  Still smiling, Clive said “Well he asked us to read pages 71 to 79 of this history book and write 250 words about pyramids..... but we don’t have to do it.”

  Gayle looked puzzled, so Clive continued.

  “He never checks any work he gives us to do. He won’t be back until it’s time to go home. He’ll be on his way now to see his favourite cleaner. The big one. You know, big Bertha..... I think he’s shagging her!”

  Gayle looked a little shocked. “Really? How do you know?”

  “He goes to see her every detention. They meet by the vending machine near the canteen. He buys her a king-size Mars bar and then head off somewhere together. We’ve tried to follow them a few times but they gave us the slip; they’re pretty good at being sneaky. I’m pretty sure though that they go to one of the science storerooms.”

  “Wow” said Gayle, not able to shake the look of disgust that she knew had twisted itself onto her face. “He really is Pervy Jackson. The science storerooms? I wonder what they do in there? I’m not sure I’ll be able to look at a Bunsen Burner the same from now on!”

  They both laughed again.

  “And it’s always the big one who’s usually mopping?” she added.

  Clive nodded.

  “And is her name really Bertha?”

  Clive nodded again as he smiled. “I think every woman of that size is named Bertha..... it’s the law!”

  Gayle laughed again.

  “What are you listening to?” Gayle asked after a few seconds.

  “Oh,” said Clive, desperately trying to think of someone modern and “cool” to pretend he was listening to. He couldn’t think of anyone so decided to go for the truth, besides he wasn’t trying to impress Gayle or anything.

  “It’s an American band called Bad English. You won’t have heard of them. They only did a couple of albums and broke up a few years ago.”

  Oasis or Blur!

  Damn it, he could have said Oasis or Blur, that would have sounded more impressive. It didn’t matter though he told himself again: he wasn’t trying to impress her.

  Gayle’s eyes lit up.

  “No way!” she said. “I love Bad English. I thought I was probably the only one in England who’d ever heard of them. When I See You Smile is my absolute favourite song of all time!”

  “No way!” said Clive in exactly the same, excited way that Gayle just had.

  “Is that the only copy of that history book?” asked Gayle, standing up
and swinging her bag over her right shoulder.

  “I think there might be some more.....” Clive started saying, pointing towards the bookshelf by the teacher’s desk, but Gayle spoke over him.

  “Looks like I’ll have to sit next to you then!”

  She walked over to Clive’s desk and let her bag drop to the floor as she sat down in the chair next to him. Clive got a scent of her sweet, almost fruity, perfume as Gayle positioned herself close to him and felt his cheeks reddening slightly, without really knowing why. He’d only really smelt perfume on Sue, his step-mum, before but Gayle’s smelt and made him feel different. It was alluring, enticing; somehow seductive. He gulped deeply, as quietly as he could, as he moved the history book across his desk so that it was exactly half way in between the two of them.

  “I thought you said we didn’t have to do this?” said Gayle, picking the book up.

  “Err we don’t….” said Clive at the same time that Gayle threw it over her shoulder and on to the desk behind them.

  He laughed again.

  “So, how did you get to know about Bad English?” Gayle asked, shuffling her body side on to the chair so that she was fully facing Clive.

  Clive reached up and touched his left cheek, half expecting that his fingers may well be burnt right off, before answering.

  “I had a foster Dad, Jim, who used to record Americas Top Ten off the TV. It was on overnight in the, you know, night.” He stuttered.