Ahead of his Time by Adrian Cousins (children's books read aloud .txt) 📕

A young male officer hopped out of the driver’s seat and stared in our direction. It was fairly obvious for anyone to see we weren’t having a friendly chat. Then to my utter delight, Frenchie appeared from the passenger seat and marched almost army drill sergeant style towards us as the male officer stood and watched, holding the police car’s door.

She muscled herself in between Martin and Paul, which was a tricky operation. Her buxom form – that could support a tray of beer steins at a beer festival – came to a halt as her chest nudged its way in between the opening in Paul’s leather jacket. Now millimetres from him, she looked up and glared.

“What … are … you … doing … here?” she delivered slowly and confidently, which made me grimace thinking about my own wimpy performance thus far.

Paul looked down at her chest. I willed one of her tunic buttons to ping off and garrotte him as he glanced over her head towards me. “We ain’t done.” He backed up and walked away.

“I don’t expect to see you here again,” Frenchie shouted after him, as Paul hurried to the school gates.

Assuming Miss Colman or Roy had called the police, this would be a difficult situation to explain.

Her partner had now closed the car door and was in the process of locking it. Frenchie turned to address me. “Mr Apsley, whenever I have an encounter which involves the Colney family, you always seem to appear.” She barrelled her way over to me whilst Martin just looked on. “Well, Mr Apsley, why was Paul Colney here at the school?” Frenchie stood with her hands on her hips, awaiting my answer. Then in one swift movement, she swung her tray-of-beer-chest in Martin’s direction. “Well?”

“I have no idea why he was here. We’d just come to ask him that very question, and you lot turned up. I’m sorry you were called. I think that was an overreaction on the school’s part,” I replied.

“Sir, nothing is an overreaction where a Colney is involved. I think I’ve said this to you before, but I suggest you take care who you are mixing with as Paul Colney is not a suitable friend and an extremely unsuitable enemy. Am I clear?”

“Very clear,” I responded, feeling like I’d just been told off.

“Err, yes,” replied Martin, looking like he’d just been told off.

“Good. We weren’t called to attend. We actually need to speak to you regarding an incident that involved some of your pupils up at the chip shop on Haverhill Road this lunchtime. Shall we go inside?”

The other officer adjusted his cap and joined us as we walked back into the school foyer. Martin trailed behind. Whatever the chip shop incident was, I didn’t really care. Martin and I were firmly on Paul Colney’s radar, and long before I intended us to be. Once again, Frenchie was right. I seemed to be involuntarily involved with the Colney clan.

30

Stifler’s Mom

Roy and I listened to Frenchie regarding the chip shop incident. Both of us were not surprised as the culprits had a tendency to cause trouble. Three senior boys had got involved in a fight with a group of boys from the Howlett School. It appeared to be a ‘turf’ war over who had the rights to use the chip shop, which was situated an equal distance from both schools. Roy said this had happened before with the troublesome pupils from that rotten school, as he put it. I was fully aware he had a very low opinion of Malcolm McDonough, the Headteacher. The telephone conversation between them was tense, with raised voices, and Roy became red-faced and angry after slamming the phone back in its cradle.

“Idiot! The man’s a buffoon! How he’s held the position of Head at that ruddy school is beyond any understanding. Jason, can you deal with those three boys? Although I’m certain it’ll be that rowdy lot from the Howlett School who caused all the problems. The punishment needs to be severe as I can’t tolerate the City School being brought into disrepute.”

“Of course, Roy, leave it with me.” Although I wouldn’t be dishing out the punishment that he expected. Corporal punishment in my mind served no purpose, and I certainly wasn’t going to spend my afternoon swinging the ‘School Slipper’ back and forth at three male arses bent over a desk. As the school day finished, I caught up with Maggie, the school cleaner. She was an unassuming middle-aged lady who diligently performed her cleaning duties in her blue and white house-coat without anyone noticing she existed. Today she’d have three unwilling apprentices.

Maggie found the whole episode somewhat irregular, but I could tell she was pleased as I made her a cup of tea. I raided the biscuit tin that yielded three Nice biscuits, although as they’d languished at the bottom of the tin for so long they were now probably anything but nice. I set her up to listen to the radio in the staff room, whilst I organised her three apprentices to clean the male toilets.

“Right, Maggie, put your feet up for half an hour and enjoy yourself whilst those three boys take their punishment.”

“Mr Apsley, this is very kind of you. I’ve never had a teacher make me a cup of tea before. I didn’t think I was allowed in the staffroom, well, only to clean. I won't get into trouble, will I?”

“Maggie, you use the staffroom whenever you want. I’m the Deputy Head – am I? – so, no, you won’t get into trouble. Those three boys have to have their punishment, and I think cleaning toilets is better than the ‘Slipper.’ I want you to sit back and relax whilst I crack the whip on those boys.” Maggie smirked and settled into her chair.

As all men know, male toilets facilities are horrific places. It didn’t matter whether it was 2019 or 1977 – they were the same. A large proportion of the male