interested.’
Mrs Newman gave a small laugh. ‘Well, I can see how one might assume that. But let me assure you, it really isn’t a good thing. Peg feels the need to question everything and I mean everything.’ She proceeded to check the notes in front of her. ‘This week’s examples include, why are children seated alphabetically and not allowed to sit with their friends? Why are some of her classmates given two goes at being register monitor, when others are still waiting for a first go? And why are Shahul and Hamjid allowed to miss assembly when others who aren’t sure that they even believe in God have to attend?’ She placed the paper face down and once again looked at Poppy. ‘The list is long, Mrs Cricket, and ever increasing.’ She put her hands on the table in front of her.
‘Why are they?’
‘Why are they what?’ Mrs Newman twitched her nose.
‘Why are some children given two goes at being register monitor when others are still waiting for a turn?’ Poppy understood her daughter’s need to try and fathom apparent injustice and this point seemed the most ludicrous of all.
Mrs Newman removed her glasses and used one of the arms as an indicator, pointing in turn to herself, the wider classroom and Poppy, who found it incredibly irritating. She gave a snort before she spoke, as if surprised at this line of questioning from Peg’s mother. ‘I am not here to defend my teaching methods, Mrs Cricket, but as you ask, I use it as a means of reward. If a pupil is well behaved, attentive and courteous, I reward that behaviour with privileged duties and praise. It is a good lesson for life.’
Poppy thought about her own class in school. Harriet, who already had a pretty cushy life, a nice house, an attentive mum, good teeth and a fabulous lunch box, was also given treats at school, to which she was slightly indifferent. What was the big deal in being given a fun-size Mars when she had a whole cupboard of sweets and goodies at home? Whereas to a child like Poppy or one of her mates it would have meant the world. This she knew because she had been given a fun-size Milky Way once by a neighbour and had got at least six bites out of it.
She considered her response. ‘I just think that maybe if you let one of the less well-behaved, inattentive or discourteous kids be register monitor, it might encourage them to try harder. You might ignite that spark inside them to do better, if they can see they will be rewarded.’ Poppy felt awkward. Maybe she had overstepped the mark – what did she know, a hairdresser from Walthamstow.
‘Was there anything else?’ Mrs Newman looked at the clock over Poppy’s head.
She shook her head, positive that she hadn’t yet eaten up her allotted time. Under pressure, she was now unable to think of a single one of the pre-prepared questions she had conjured on the way over. She knew she would leave having learned nothing about how her little girl was faring academically.
Mrs Newman stood, replaced her goggles and headed towards the door. There were no trills of laughter or suggestions that they get together soon . She reached for the handle and turned to Poppy.
‘I understand that having a husband in prison brings its own set of difficulties, but if I made allowances for every child with a difficulty, chaos would reign and that is something I simply can’t allow.’ Her smile was brief and insincere and at such close proximity Poppy could smell her breath, which was most unpleasant.
Flabbergasted, she stepped from the room. Prison ? Where on earth had she got that?
Then her giggle caught in her throat. Mrs Newman had thought Poppy was going to say ‘inside’ when she’d checked herself earlier.
Poppy fastened her coat and stepped out into the cold night air feeling deflated and frustrated in equal measure. She wanted Peg to question everything and knew how hard she worked. What did Mrs bloody Newman know? Questioning things and having courage had proved invaluable