Cupboard Loveby Pseu

Cupboard

Love

by Pseu

A Boa Book 2010

The rumour was that Miss Rosenthal had

been found in the chemistry lab store

cupboard with Mr Armitage with her

blouse undone, and buttons missing, and her hair all over

the place, and that the headmistress had called them into

her office to discuss their future prospects at the school.

Sheila never knew who started these rumours or if there

was ever any truth in them, but at an all-girls school the

occasional male teacher was bound to make a bit of a stir,

especially a slim, fit man with a good sense of humour.

Miss Siobhan Rosenthal was the Irish accented,

dark haired beauty who had recently started as biology

teacher to cover a maternity leave. She was in her early

thirties. Mr Bob Armitage was a married man in his

early forties. He had a smattering of grey at the edges of

his sand-coloured wavy hair. With his bright blue eyes

and a ready smile he was very appealing, and he was a

good teacher. He made physics fun. There had, of

course, been a huge surge in uptake of physics amongst

the girls choosing their ‘O’ and ‘A’ level subjects in the

three years since he had started at the school.

Sheila was the lab assistant whose job it was to

set up the experiments, source the materials needed and

ensure safety as far as it was possible in all three science

labs. She was largely disregarded by the girls who consid-

ered her function to be primarily that of a cleaning lady

with special responsibilities and this, she found, gave her

a certain invisibility that other members of staff did not

have. It was unlikely that the little madams had any idea

that she was an ex-Abingley High School girl herself, and

was studying on an Open University program that was

way beyond their reach. University hadn’t been an op-

tion for her when she left school, but she was making up

for lost time now. This gave her a quiet, shy superiority

as she silently went about her tasks.

The first question that sprang to Sheila’s mind

when she overheard the rumours (told in hushed tones

by Sophie Ellington to three of Abigail Johnson’s clique

as they waited for the bell) was this: why were the biol-

ogy and physics teachers loitering in the chemistry lab

cupboard? If there was preparation needed for the les-

sons they generally (the lazy types that they were, in her

humble opinion) asked her to sort it out. Each lab had

its own store cupboard, with its own supplies and she

could think of no reason for either of them to venture

over to Mr Matthews’s domain.

James Matthews, the chemistry teacher, was the

only other male teacher in the school. He had a large,

untended bushy beard and wore nylon shirts: he there-

fore attracted less attention from the girls than Mr Ar-

mitage. He strode around the place, hands plunged deep

into his white coat pockets, not really caring what im-

pression he made, just as long as he could transfer enthu-

siasm for his subject to at least a few of the brighter

pupils. Mr Matthews did not engage in any flirting or

teasing and seemed immune to the overt feminine wiles

of the students. He was the one person in the school

that Sheila had told about her studies. He was the one

person in the world who seemed to take any interest in

her and the only person to whom she would now confide

her latest snapshot of gossip.

At the end of the morning Sheila went straight

into the chemistry lab and found Mr Matthews intently

writing out a formula and a series of questions on the

blackboard in readiness for the next class.

“Were you planning on having lunch in the staff

room, or up here, Mr Matthews?” asked Sheila.

“Kettle’s on,” came the reply. He hadn’t turned

around, but continued scribbling. “Have you bought

your sandwiches? There’s a packet of biscuits on the top

shelf in the cupboard.”

Sheila opened the unlit cupboard and was hit by a

pungent smell which she couldn’t identify, plus the

sound of the kettle coming to the boil. She clicked on

the light and reached up to the top shelf to find a packet

of chocolate digestives. Had he been thinking of her

when he bought them? Was he starting to be attracted

to her? Oh, how she hoped so. Sheila let her imagination

boil over as she waited for the kettle. He was shy, she

knew that, but maybe with the right encouragement

things may develop?

Mr Matthews was just finishing his blackboard

scratchings as she carried the coffee through to the

classroom. He had taken off his white lab coat and had

his strong muscular back to her. She knew he was a keen

swimmer and often went scuba diving in the holidays.

She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to master her claus-

trophobia enough to manage to join him in the scuba

diving, but she was a sound swimmer herself. She knew

he was also a musician – a guitarist with a local band, and

she could sing, though up to now folk music had been

her interest. She was sure she could adapt if needs be.

“Coffee’s ready, Mr Matthews,” she said.

“Ah, good.” He gave her a rare flash of a smile.

“Thank you, Sheila.” He took a mug from her. “But ‘Mr

Matthews’ is a little formal, perhaps, when there are no

students around. Call me James.”

“Force of habit –” she hesitated. “James,” she said,

and smiled.

James opened up the patio window at the back of

the classroom, which led out onto a small flat roof. This

part of the school was modern, built less than 10 years

ago, in the early 70s. It had been designed by an award-

winning architect and it had a few unexpected foibles,

including a bell tower accessed from this flat roof. The

area acted as sun trap, and in recent weeks Sheila had

once or twice sat out with James at lunchtime on the

pretext of needing advice about her chemistry project,

which she had to send in to The Open University before

the end of the month.

“How’s it going?” he asked as he unwrapped his

sandwiches.

“Nearly there. Would you mind looking over the

final draft for me in the next day or so, James?” She

handed him an envelope. “It’s all in here.” He took the

envelope and placed it on his knee.

“You have worked so hard, I’m sure it will be ex-

cellent. I just wish some of the girls would show your in-

terest and enthusiasm.” He put down his coffee cup and

started to open the envelope.

“Oh!” said Sheila, “Please don’t open it now and

spoil your lunch break. Leave it until later, then I won’t

get so embarrassed!”

He smiled at her again and put it back down on

his knee.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he asked her.

Sheila’s heart thrummed against her chest. Was

this it? Would he ask her out?

“No, not really,” she said. “Just the usual.” She

hesitated. “What about you?”

“The band’s playing tonight at Hightown, and

then tomorrow Siobhan and I are planning a meal out at

The Swan. Do you know it?”

“Siobhan?”

“Siobhan Rosenthal, the new biology teacher. She

was lucky to get the job when Jo Evans left to have the

baby. Makes our lives a lot easier.” He wasn’t looking at

her. “Before Christmas we were travelling between here

and Cantbridge every weekend, fixing our gigs around

that.” He was focussing on his sandwich, talking be-

tween mouthfuls.

“Of course,” said Sheila. “Does she play in the

band?”

“She’s the singer. Wonderful voice,” said James.

“It’s what attracted me to her.” A moment later he said,

“Did you know she’s discovered a colony of bats up in

the bell tower here?” He gesticulated over to the modern

monstrosity. “A rare and protected species, none-the-

less,” he said. This was the most he had ever said to

Sheila outside the language of chemistry tuition.

“Really?” she said. “How interesting.”

“She’s recruited Bob Armitage into the project.

Apparently he came up the other evening after school to

help rig up some ultrasonic equipment so that she can

get some recordings. It’s all wired up to the chemistry

lab store. And she’s after a small camera to be set up

there too, with infrared technology.”

“Incredible,” said Sheila.

She took a bite out of her sandwich and chewed

slowly, while her mind buzzed. Were the rumours true,

or at least based in fact? Had Bob and Siobhan been

caught kissing or were the rumours complete fabrica-

tion? And should she say anything about them to James?

She imagined how she could comfort him if they turned

out to be true, how she could support him through his

grief, and maybe that way he would come to love her?

There may still be a chance. She glanced up and found

he was looking at her.

“I hear there are rumours going about the

school,” he said, “that suggest Siobhan and Bob were

caught in a compromising situation in the chemistry

cupboard by the caretaker.” He laughed. “It’s incredible,

isn’t it, what the young overactive female brain will con-

coct out of thin air given a shred of insubstantial evi-

dence!” He shook his head. “Would you believe it?”

“Crazy,” she said. “Absolutely crazy.” She shrugged

her shoulders. “Of course, no one in their right mind

would believe that sort of thing, would they?” She

glanced at her watch. “I’d better be going.”

She stood up and took hold of the back of the

chair to steady herself. “I’ve just remembered something

I omitted to include in my write-up. I’ll need to take the

essay back, James and find a way of slipping it in. Can I

give it to you on Monday?”

“Of course,” he said, “I wouldn’t have much time

this weekend anyway.”

“Thank you for all your help,” she said, taking the

envelope, resisting the urge to snatch it back, feeling the

shape of the card she had put in there, written the night

before, after a glass or two of gin and tonic, declaring her

feelings, asking him to dinner. “Have a good weekend,”

she said.

She held the envelope to her chest and walked to

the French window and through it, back into the room,

seeing the classroom in a blur, through her tears. As she

reached the classroom door Siobhan Rosenthal came in

and smiled at her with a wide, innocent smile.