THE PRICE OF SUCCESS – PART THREE
By Bob French
Padma
collapsed onto the ground just as the Head of PE, Mr. Beverington, came around
the corner. When he saw Padma, he rushed to her side and started to
question her. He could only hear a few words in between floods of
tears and..… “Mohammad… knife… vile and wicked threats.” Then she
fainted.
Beverington instantly called the Head, who had only
just got rid of the police and the McGregor girl and was now a little confused
as to why Mr and Mrs Mohammad and their Imam had suddenly arrived for a 2pm
appointment with him. He snatched his phone up off the desk and
listened. Then without thinking who was sitting in his office, he
swore into the phone, then told Beverington to get hold of Miss bloody Mohammad
and bring her to his office immediately. The mentioned of their
daughter’s name brought Mr and Mrs Mohammad and the surprised Imam up out of
their seats and without being invited, followed the Head out of the office and
down the main corridor towards the gymnasium.
The Head’s secretary stood behind her desk in a state
of shock. In all the year’s she’d been at the school, she had never
witnessed such goings-on. Her office fell into silence, then without
warning, the police sergeant popped his head around her door and nodded towards
his hat, which he had forgotten during the arrest of McGregor.
He smiled and raised his eyebrows. “More
trouble?” All she could do was nod and point towards the
gymnasium. The police sergeant collected his hat, and with a nose
for trouble, followed the crowd.
By this time a small crowd of teachers and students
had gathered around Mr Beverington, who had a very firm grip of Miss
Mohammad. They met the Head just outside the science
department. The Head spoke only one word to Beverington. “Explain!”
Beverington took his time, explaining what he had
found. The Head looked at the tearful and dishevelled Padma and asked
her if what Mr Beverington had said was true. Padma, sniffed,
dragged her sleeve across her dripping nose and nodded. She was
doing her best not to grin as she watched the Head’s face slowly darkened and
the veins in his neck started to bulge.
He then turned to Rashi Mohammad who stood very
calmly, ignoring those around her. Well, Miss Mohammad. There has
been a very serious allegation made against you. It would appear
that you not only battered a student, you verbally abused her, insulted her
religion and used racist language against her.” He took a deep
breath, “Then, to crown it all, you used a knife to threaten
her. What have you got to say for yourself?”
Rashi Mohammad stood her grown and without the
slightest change of expression denied everything. “I don’t know what
you are talking about Sir.”
Mrs Mohammad, who had invited her Imam to the meeting
with the Head, in the hope of gaining credence for the family, rushed forward
to comfort her daughter just as Franky pushed his way to the front of the
crowd.
“Sir, I..”
The Head frowned at him and waived him away, but
Franky had rehearsed his part of the plan to a T.
“Sir, I was in the PE storeroom looking over some
basketball equipment when I heard the rumpus outside the storeroom
doors. When it got ugly, I decided to film it on my mobile
phone. If you want to look at it Sir, I can show you.” Before
the Head could take it out of Franky’s hand, the police sergeant stepped in and
plucked it out of his hand, then switched it on. The film lasted no
more than a minute or so, but Louis had doctored the short video in favour of
Padma. it clearly showed Mohammad slapping and kicking the defenceless Padma,
then threatening her with a knife and verbally abusing her in a very nasty racist
way.
There was total silence in the corridor, then the Imam
spoke quietly to Mr Mohammad. “This behaviour of your daughter is most disgraceful. You
have clearly not been good parents. I think you need to visit me in
the morning with your daughter where we must discuss what action to
take. I must warn you it may mean sending her back home for
re-educating and corrective action.” He shook his head in shame as
he looked at the Mohammad’s. “Most distressing Mohammad, most
distressing indeed.”
The police sergeant politely stepped
forward. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but before any action, you or your
church may wish to take, Miss Mohammad had broken UK
Once the police had returned to the school to take
Rashi Mohammad away, accompanied by her parents and a very disgruntled Imam, a
degree of calm settled on the school. Mark’s elder brother, who was
still wearing Jimmy’s school blazer as part of his disguise took him aside and
asked what’s next. Mark shrugged his shoulders.
“Don’t know. Jimmy kept each part of the
plan a secret from everyone else. He only told me to tell you to be at Dalton’s
early on Friday morning, then get up to school for the rest of the plan.”
It was nearly three o’clock by the time the Head
finally got back to his office and as he slumped back into his chair, after
begging his secretary for a nice cup of tea, the phone on his desk ran.
“Good afternoon This is…..” A broad scouse accent cut
him short.
“Hi, this is Baz Macintyre from the
Gazette. Would you like to make a statement about the conduct of a
Miss Miriam Smith, a student from your school?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, you don’t know. Well, Smith was
arrested this morning for public disorder, shoplifting and being in possession
of stolen credit cards. The police are viewing CCTV cameras to see
if they can add the charge of assault to the ticket. Do you want to
make a….”
The Head slammed the phone down and lunged for his cup
of tea which had just been placed on his desk, spilling it all over the end of
the weekly finance reports.
Just then he heard a woman screaming at the top of her
voice. Still suffering from mild shock, he stood and rushed out of his office
only to be impeded by the students who were making their way to the lunch area
for their afternoon break.
He arrived at the bottom of the stairs just in time to
see a middle-aged woman grab hold of one of the female students and give her
one hell of a slap across the face. The Head raised his voice
and students quickly parted to let him through.
It took him a few seconds to identify the woman.
“Mrs Thriftwood! What in God’s name are you doing?”
By this time, the age-old playground chant of ‘fight,
fight, fight’ had begun from those who now formed a circle enclosing Mrs Thriftwood and her daughter Mandy.
Mandy stood, expecting her mother to stop once the
head had intervened, but instantly regretted it as she caught a good backhander from her mother and went down. The cheering grew louder until
the head blew his whistle, instantly bringing silence to the public flogging.
In an attempt to stop the violence, the Head stepped
in between Mrs Thriftwood and her daughter. Mr Beverington seeing the danger leapt forward and tried to warn the Head, but it was too late. Mrs Thriftwood
was already swinging her hand-bag like an Olympic champion shot putter,
catching him on the top of his head and causing him to
collapse. Instantly the cheering started again.
Mrs Thriftwood realized that she had pole-axed the
headmaster stopped. The Head staggered to his feed.
“Mrs Thriftwood, please madam. Kindly
settle down. Now, what is this all about?”
Mrs Thriftwood, whose face was still flush with anger
at her daughter’s behaviour, ripped open her handbag and took out a rather long
shopping till receipt.
“This is what the bloody hell’s the
matter. My excuse for a thieving and conniving daughter has gone
behind my back and order an extra £370 worth of extras. The supermarket
wouldn’t take my card, because we had exceeded our limit and when my husband
tried to pay by cheque, it bloody well bounced.”
The Head carefully raised his hand and asked to see
the list. Silence descended upon the masses as they crept a little
closer to the action. He slowly read down the list. Then
looked up and at Mandy.
“Six bottles of Krug 'Du Soliste a l'Orchestre' Champagne
Someone, hidden within the crowd, shouted out that
she was going to attend the rave, that Josh had talked about. Before
Mandy had a chance to defend herself, her mother landed two beautiful slaps
across Mandy’s face again. The place went ballistic as teachers
tried to separate the two women and the Head who was now in the middle of the
wrestling match.
The weekend edition of The Gazette was packed full of
articles surrounding the behaviour of the four girls and their
parents. There were some really good photographs of Mandy, her
mother and the Head rolling on the floor in what appeared to be a three way
tag-wrestling match in the school foyer. A full-blown article with
photographs of Mr McGregor, an upstanding person in the local community and
his daughter Philippa, being dragged off to the cells for possession of drugs, and
some really good shots of Miriam Smith lying face down on the floor outside
Dalton’s, whilst being handcuffed for shoplifting amongst other
things. Lastly, a sensitive article about the behaviour of a Miss
Mohammad who had been expelled from school for racist and threatening behaviour
against another student. The photographs of her parents and a short,
bearded Iman outside the police station did not do them justice.
The following Monday, the school seemed a really jolly
place to be. Everyone was talking and laughing as though they had
just been told that today was a half day. Julie found Jimmy sitting by himself
on the side of the sports field with the face of someone who had just lost a
winning lottery ticket.
“Hi Jimmy, thanks for sorting out Thriftwood and her
thugs. I think everyone really appreciates all the hard work you put
into it.” She was hoping to see a smile, but Jimmy’s face remained
serious. “What’s up. I thought you’d be over the moon, but you seem
down in the dumps. Can I help?”
“Not really. I promised Alex that if she
helped me out with part of the plan, I promised to take her out on a date of
her choosing next weekend.” He paused, then took a deep breath. “I
think I can put my mood down to having to pay the price of success.”
Copyright
Bob French
Ah yes! The punch line, nice one Bob...
ReplyDeleteIntricate plot with many characters but well plotted.
ReplyDelete