10. Plans Crumble
“There’s no money!” said
the Chairman of Governors, Barney Williams and he twirled the ends of his
moustache as he frowned.
“What do you mean?”
snapped Dikkerby, who was pacing around the Headmaster’s study with his hands
intertwined behind his back.
“Kitty’s empty. It’s all
gone, Dikkerby. Gone. There’ll be no building. Not any more.” Barny sighed
deeply. “Ask Elsie.”
The moaning from the hunched figure in the corner was
becoming an irritation. Johnny Marjoram was sitting on the carpet, holding his
knees and rocking regularly back and forth. As he did so he emitted a wailing
moan of despair.
“Shut up, Marjoram, for God’s sake. I’m trying to think.”
Dikkerby’s mind was thrashing around like an electric eel, darting from idea to
idea, snapping and then spitting out.
“Nowt left in ‘t bank, Dikkerby” Elsie spoke through a
mouthful of sausage roll, having just nipped out to Greggs’.
“Nothing?” Dikkerby was rapidly becoming exasperated.
“We owe £657,000.” Elsie wiped a rogue crumb of pastry
from her lower lip.
Silence reigned as Barny, Elsie and Dikkerby mulled over
the situation. Johnny’s moaning had subsided to a continuous whimper.
Dikkerby stopped pacing and glared at his fellow
conspirators. “Cut the wages?”
“We’ve done that.” Elsie and Barney spoke together.
“Another building?”
“No money!” Elsie and Barney spoke together.
“Sell the school?” Dikkerby was really floundering now.
“Who’d buy it?” Elsie and Barney spoke together.
The silence of
desperation returned to fill the room. Johnny moaned on rocking his way to some
sort of mental calm area.
The phone rang. They all turned to stare at it as though
it were an alien apparition.
“Answer it, Dikkerby!” Barney commanded.
Feeling, as he reached a hand forward, that this would be
the lifeline they’d all been hoping for, Dikkerby felt his mouth go dry and his
heart stop beating.
“Hello, Dikkerby here.” His voice sounded crackly and
nervous.
“Cove here. Ricky Cove. Hear you’ve got a spot of bother
there, old chap”
Dikkerby shot a glance at the others and flicked the
switch to put the call on speakerphone. The Secretary of State for Education
himself, on their phone line.
“Yes, Mr Cove, that is correct.” Dikkerby was measured in
his response. “How did you ....er....hear?”
The Secretary of State’s coarse laughter filled the
study.
“Little birdie. What? Doncha know? Look, Dikkerby, we
don’t want a private school to be seen in trouble. Bad for the sector, what? We
keep a close eye on you chaps on the front line, doncha know.”
“I see,” said Dikkerby who didn’t. Not at all.
“Thing is, Dikkerby. I may be able to help you, old boy.”
The conversation lasted for another thirty-three minutes.
Dikkerby finally placed the phone on its holder and scrunched his mouth into an
expression of sheer stupidity.
“Brilliant. Absolutely ruddy brilliant.” Elsie and Barney
shook their heads in disbelief. Why hadn’t they thought of it? Johnny rocked
on.
Three days later the main hall was filled with parents
and teachers. It was seven o’clock in the evening. Dikkerby had laid out a
table at the front. He took a sip of
sparkling Perrier water from the glass before him. Elsie had arranged her
clipboards and folders and even a laptop on the table in front of her. Barney Williams,
in a charcoal grey suit, was smiling at every member of the audience in turn,
in a manner he considered to be reassuring. Johnny Marjoram was sitting bolt
upright with an unnaturally straight back. They’d pumped him so full of
tranquilisers he didn’t even know which planet he was on. The rocking was
almost imperceptible, a sort of subterranean twitch.
Dikkerby rose to his feet and waited for the rumble to
die away.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Now there was total silence.
Someone coughed. Dikkerby glared.
“Thank you for attending this meeting. I have some dire
news for you.” The audience gasped in shock.
“The school is bankrupt.” The intake of breath was
universal.
“However, after lengthy negotiations with some of the
most influential and powerful people in the land, we believe we have found a
solution which will enable the school to continue; hopefully for many years.”
He pause and glanced down to the stranger sitting at the table.
“I would like to introduce you all to Miss Tracy
Battersby, who has come straight from a meeting with the Secretary of State for
Education himself in London. Tracy?”
A young bob-haired blonde in a navy blue suit with a very
tight skirt, stood slowly and fixed her audience with a steely blue-eyed stare.
“Thank you, Dikkerby. Yes, Mr Cove is taking a very keen
interest in the future of this very school.” The audience gasped again.
“Here is the plan, ladies and gentlemen. We are to become
a Free Academy School!”
Uproar broke out in the audience. Johnny Marjoram’s rock
grew more noticeable. Elsie popped a mint into her mouth. Dikkerby smiled
confidently. Cove could not have recommended this young woman more highly.
“This way you can access funds from the government, you
can carry on the wonderful work this school does.”
“What about the riff-raff?” One voice shouted from the
audience.
“Yeah. You’ve got to let any old Tom, Dick or Harry in.
That’s the rules!” Shouted another.
“Normally yes. But, in this case, we are to make an
exception. The Department of Education itself will recruit all new students. We
will take charge of that. I will be responsible for the paperwork application
and, I can tell you, Ladies and Gentlemen, I have never had an application
turned down. Never.” And she sat down.
Dikkerby ended the meeting with a promise to communicate
further details within the next week.
The post-mortem in the study was accompanied by small
glasses of Sherry.
“I knew there was a solution.” Dikkerby had cleverly
managed to convince most people that the rescue package was and always had
been, his idea.
He smiled and sipped his tea from the fine bone china tea
cup.
*
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