"So you say Mrs Smith was hoping for some sort of commitment headmaster?"
"Ronald, I swear she was all over me. Now we're men of the world, we know what women are like. She asked about seeing me again, and as you said, she obviously has marriage problems. She thinks I'm her way out of it all, and that's why I had to tell her straight, it was only a bit of fun."
"How did she take it?"
"Not well, so if you notice she's a little off with me, you'll know why?"
"Yes headmaster, I think I get the picture, perfectly."
He nods and I watch him leave. I go into the classroom. I don't believe a word of it, but to be honest it helps my plan. I have to find out what happened, but all in good time.
"Good morning boys, I assume you're all ready for your photography class? Simpson what are you gawping at out of the window?"
"Who, me sir?"
"Well you're the only Simpson in my class you fool."
The boys giggle as I go to the window. There she is, my Sylvia, chattering away to one of the other dinner ladies. The bright sunlight on those long legs of hers adds an orangey glow. I watch her until she goes out of sight.
"Simpson, stay behind after class."
They file out of the room after an hour. The door shuts and now it is just Simpson, and me.
"Tell me boy, why you were staring at the dinner lady?"
His mouth opens but nothing comes out.
I put my hand behind my ear and lean towards him.
"Maybe I've gone deaf Simpson, or you vocal cords have stopped working?"
He gulps and his face goes a little red.
"Nothing sir.....I swear I wasn't staring at Sylvia."
"Oh Sylvia is it?"
"God no, I mean my mum and her are friends, well mum went round to Sylvia's. When she dishes up the food, she talks to me, Sylvia I mean, not my mum."
"About what?" he looks blankly at me, "Simpson, what does she talk about?"
"Just about school, and, and she talks to all the boys, not like the other dinner ladies."
"Simpson, she's a fine looking woman, but a little old for you."
"God sir, I, I'm not interested in her, well she's nice and all, but I don't say things about her like the others do."
"Simpson, what do the other boys say?"
He gulps again, and his red face goes a deeper shade.
"Tommy White saw up her dress on the stairs last week. He whistled at her. She looked round but she didn't know who whistled. He says she loves it, and said why else would her dress be shorter than the other dinner lady's. Am I in trouble?"
"No boy, and don't worry about White, I won't say anything to him. Now get to your next class."
For the next few days I watch her in the canteen. Simpson was right, she does engage with the boys more than the others do. Simpson is practically swooning every time he sees her. Tommy White looks at her like he wants to devour her; well the boy has good taste.
I saw a brief look between her and the headmaster yesterday. She looked embarrassed, and a little nervous, but nothing was said. I still haven't found out what went on between them, but I intend paying a visit to her house when that useless husband of hers is home. He thanked me for the telly the other day. It's amazing how people are when they get something they really want. All of a sudden we are best mates. He didn't even ask about payment for the telly, and luckily he didn't look in the manual I gave him, where I placed the rental agreement, he just shoved it in a drawer. He asked me to help him with his coursework for his new job, the maths in particular. So I looked at it, and then put him right on a few things. He promised me a bottle of scotch if he gets the job. I think I'd buy him one if he did get the job up there in Scotland, out of the way.
I've seen Mrs Simpson going in Sylvia's house a couple of times now. It's nice she has friends in the neighbourhood; I shall work on driving a wedge between them.
I'm taking Sean's coursework back. He opens the door and asks me in.
"Sylvia isn't in she's round Gillian's."
"Who is Gillian?" I ask, knowing full well who she is.
"Gillian Simpson, she lives a few doors down. So Ron, want a beer?"
"I'd love one," I reply.
"How is Sylvia coping at school?"
"Fine, she's very popular."
"Yeah that's my Sylvie alright, she is a little shy at first, but when people get to know her she's fine."
I hand him the coursework which I have rewritten. He stares at it and nods with a grin.
"You've got really good handwriting."
The door opens and Sylvia comes in, she says hello, and Sean slaps her ass as she goes through to the kitchen.
"Ron, you must come round to dinner one night, our treat for the telly and helping me with the coursework."
I agree and leave them to it.
He has got the job on the oil rigs, and everything is happy in the land of my council house neighbours. I make a phone call, and the next day Sylvia is on my doorstep, looking very worried.
"You'll never guess what has happened. A guy came round and said I had a week to find the money for the television licence, or they will take Sean to court."
"You had better come in."
She sits with her long legs crossed, leaning forward nervously.
"Sylvia, surely you have a TV licence?"
"Well we do, but it is for a black and white telly, not a colour one. I completely forgot about it. It's £12 I don't know how I'm going to get the money."
Poor thing, she looks so beaten.
"Someone phoned them and told them. I don't know who, but it'll wreck everything. You must think I'm a terrible wife."
"No, no, no, it'll be someone who is jealous of you no doubt, maybe a friend who perhaps isn't a real friend. Sylvia that Gillian Simpson has been coming round to your house I notice, far be it for me...."
"My god do you think so? She is always so nice to me. I don't think she would tell anyone."
"Look I'm a little strapped for cash at the moment."
"I didn't come here to ask you for the money. I'd never do that. I know I only half paid back the rent money you lent me, but I'll give you the rest next week I swear. Last week Sean and I ordered a new sofa from York's department store, he'll go mad if I can't pay the first weeks money, and they'll come and take the sofa back."
Oh you poor sweet thing. This is where I offer you a chance to earn it.
"Sylvia, I run an evening class in photography at the school, we usually pay models to pose. Nothing untoward, just a few face shots and arty poses. No taking clothes off, and I develop most of them in the darkroom at school."
