‘Ten minutes to the bell, guys. Check your timetables, finish that last-minute homework or chat – quietly.’ Donna scanned the room to check that her instructions were being followed and then tapped on her keyboard to check through her PowerPoint presentation for her first session of the day – a year-seven lesson about Roman Britain culminating in an exercise where they got to plan the layout of their ideal Roman fort. It was probably a bit more ‘fun’ than academically rigorous, but it was the last week of term and at least it wasn’t a DVD, the banning of which by the senior leadership team had caused much grumbling among her colleagues.
Donna loved teaching history. From year seven to A-level it was always a joy because it was a chance to share her passion with young people. Some of the other staff saw her as a bit of a starry-eyed idealist, but she didn’t care because she knew that her students appreciated her enthusiasm and expertise.
She’d got off to a bit of a shaky start to her career, though. Two years in an inner-city comp in Sheffield had nearly put her off for good. There had been something serendipitous about the job advert that had offered her a better school and the opportunity to return to her native Cumbria to indulge her love of hill walking, so applying for a job in a school in a small town on the edge of the Lake District had taken very little consideration. Now, with a sixth-form tutor group and a timetable which included a hefty dose of A-level and GCSE history, she was content. She even had a classroom with one of the best views in the whole school – across the playing fields to the northern fells.
A loud scream of laughter from the back of the room prompted her to automatically shush the class without even looking up to see what was going on.
‘Sorry, Miss,’ Lauren Jefferson mumbled but the apology was obviously empty as another laugh immediately followed. Donna looked up to see three students huddled over something on the desk.
‘Hey! Phones away. You know they’re supposed to be in your bags when school starts.’
The three culprits had the good grace to blush and there was a hurried rearranging of seats as Tom Cleaver slid his phone into his jeans pocket. Donna stared at him for a second and then went back to her planning. She hadn’t been overly pleased to see Tom’s name on her form list. A bright student with excellent grades and plans to study law, he was good at keeping himself out of trouble. He was the son of the headteacher, Cam Cleaver, but he always played down the relationship when interacting with staff and his peers.
Still five minutes until the bell. Donna checked her register for the next period and was guiltily glad to see that the most disruptive member of the year-seven class had a V next to his name indicating that he was on some kind of trip or educational visit. They were a lovely class, but one of the students could be a bit challenging at times and she was relieved to not have to worry about whether he’d ‘kick off’ – the phrase the teaching assistant used to describe the boy’s periods of non-cooperation.
Feeling fully prepared for the day ahead, Donna finally gave in to the lure of the large windows that formed the whole upper wall of one side of her classroom. The view was stunning, and she loved that she could watch the seasons change even though she was trapped inside for much of the day. Today was no different. The skeletons of the oak trees that marked the north and east boundaries of the school fields were black against a pale blue winter sky, contrasting with the darkness of the evergreen bushes that formed a border around the tennis court. Beyond the greenery the fells towered, a dusting of snow covering the very tops. She could make out Skiddaw and beyond that Lonscale Fell and the back of Blencathra. All places that she knew well; that she’d walked in all conditions and at all times of the year.
There was something grounding about the mountains. Even when she was struggling with a tricky class or the latest nonsensical edict from the senior leadership team, the mountains were her constant. A long look and a deep breath and she was ready for most things.
Just as she was about to tell her form group to pack up their possessions and tuck the chairs under the desks, a movement from near the most northerly oak boundary caught her eye. She struggled to focus on the interplay of light and shadow, trying to work out what it was that she’d seen. The trees around the field were a well-known hang-out for the small but dedicated group of smokers that seemed to span all the year groups – even some of the year sevens seemed to have arrived with a dedicated vaping habit – but all students should have been in school. Anybody hanging around on the perimeter would end up in serious trouble.
Donna was torn. She could get involved; send a message to reception and report the culprit but based on what she’d seen there wasn’t anything to report. Maybe a quick email suggesting that it might be worth checking out the thin strip of woodland? She turned to her laptop and then back to the window. It was there again. This time there was no doubt. There were figures amongst the trees. Figures dressed in black – not students then: the uniform was bottle green. Possible trespassers? That raised an entirely different set of
