My Policeman Read Online Free Page A

Monkton’s office, I announced that I would like to become a teacher. It was the only thing I could think of at the time; it sounded better than saying I’d like to become a secretary, but it didn’t seem completely absurd, unlike, say, becoming a novelist or an actress, both of which I’d privately imagined myself being.
    I don’t think I’ve admitted that to anyone before.
    Anyway, Miss Monkton twisted her pen so the cap clicked and said, ‘And what’s made you reach this conclusion?’
    I thought about it. I couldn’t very well say,
I don’t know what else I could do
. Or,
It doesn’t look like I’ll be getting hitched, does it?
    ‘I like school, miss.’ As I spoke the words, I realised they were true. I liked the regular bells, the cleaned blackboards, the dusty desks full of secrets, the long corridors crammed with girls, the turpentine reek of the art class, the sound of the library catalogue spinning through my fingers. And I suddenly imagined myself at the front of a classroom, in a smart tweed skirt and a neat chignon, winning the respect and affection of my pupils with my firm but fair methods. I had no conception, then, of how bossy I would become, or how teaching would change my life. You often called me bossy, and you were right; teaching drills it into you. It’s you or them, you see. You have to make a stand. I learned that early on.
    Miss Monkton gave one of her curled smiles. ‘It’s rather different,’ she said, ‘from the other side of the desk.’ She paused, put her pen down and turned to the window so she was no longer facing me. ‘I don’t want to dampen your ambitions, Taylor. But teaching requires enormous dedication and considerable backbone. It’s not that you’re not a decent student. But I would have thought something office-based would be more your line. Something a little quieter, perhaps?’
    I stared at the trail of milk on top of her cooling cup of tea. Apart from that cup, her desk was completely empty.
    ‘What, for example,’ she continued, turning back towards me with a quick look at the clock above the door, ‘do your parents think of the idea? Are they prepared to support you through this venture?’
    I hadn’t mentioned any of this to Mum and Dad. They could hardly believe I’d got in to the grammar in the first place; at the news, my father had complained about the cost of the uniform, and my mother had sat on the sofa, put her head in her hands and cried. I’d been pleased at first, assuming she was moved to tears by her pride in my achievement, but when she wouldn’t stop I’d asked her what was wrong and she’d said, ‘It’ll all be different now. This will take you away from us.’ And then, most nights, they complained that I spent too long studying in my bedroom, rather than talking to them.
    I looked at Miss Monkton. ‘They’re right behind me,’ I announced.

WHEN I LOOK over the fields to the sea, on these autumn days when the grass moves in the wind and the waves sound like excited breath, I remember that I once felt intense and secret things, just like you, Patrick. I hope you will understand that, and I hope you can forgive it.
    Spring 1957. Having finished his National Service, Tom was still away, training to become a policeman. I often thought with excitement of him joining the force. It seemed such a brave,
grown-up
thing to do. I didn’t know anyone else who’d do such a thing. At home, the police were rather suspect – not the enemy, exactly, but an unknown quantity. I knew that as a policeman Tom would have a different life to our parents, one that was more daring, more powerful.
    I was attending teacher training college in Chichester but still saw Sylvie quite a bit, even though she was becoming more involved with Roy. Once she asked me to go with her to the roller rink, but when I got there she turned up with Roy and another boy called Tony, who worked with Roy at the garage. Tony didn’t seem to be able to speak much. Not to