Work Text:
FEBRUARY: THE TEACHERS
COACH SINGH:
“Knock, knock!” I call, tapping lightly on the propped-open art room door. I hesitate on the threshold, peering around the corner into the classroom as best I can. Nathan and Youssef are just visible, sitting at their usual table, feeding each other noodles – urrgh – and flirting nauseatingly.
No wonder every kid in this place knows they're together. Subtle, they are not.
Nathan clears his throat and cheerfully responds, “Come in!”
I loiter in the entrance way. “Can I, er… can I close the door?”
Seeming to sense the seriousness in my tone, Nathan cocks his head to one side, his forehead scrunching into a slight frown. “Of course,” he says, glancing at Youssef, who mirrors his boyfriend's quizzical expression.
I kick the doorstop away and give the corridor a visual once-over to check there are no students nearby who might overhear. The coast appears to be clear, so I carefully close the door and take a few steps closer to my colleagues.
My friends.
“I, er… I just wondered if I could have a quick word about Charlie?” I ask, keeping my voice low, just in case.
“Charlie?” Youssef repeats, his thick brows knitting together.
“Charlie Spring,” I clarify.
The two of them exchange another brief glance and a barely-there nod. Nathan spreads his hands, gesturing to the empty seat directly opposite him. “Please, sit down.”
I situate myself into one of the uncomfortable school chairs – splattered with paint and no doubt littered with chewing gum on its underside – and prop my elbows on the table, clasping my hands together.
“What’s this about, Priya?” Nathan asks softly.
I take a deep breath. “I just got off the phone with Charlie's mum. She told me about what's been going on; about why he was off school before Christmas. She told me you two already know, is that right?”
Another look passes between them; they're clearly checking in with each other about how much they feel they can say. Nathan gives a reassuring little smile, and his boyfriend nods before turning back to me.
“Yeah, that's right,” Youssef admits. “Because I'm his form tutor, I've known since he was admitted to the clinic, back in October.”
“And Charlie told me himself pretty much as soon as he came back,” Nathan adds. “He asked if I could be the one to sit with him while he eats lunch, rather than someone from the pastoral team. He just left, actually; he did really well today.”
I swallow hard past the rising lump in my throat. “Anorexia?” It comes out hushed, almost a whisper.
They both nod, looking sombre. A wave of nausea roils in my stomach as I wonder if I'd have put two and two together had Charlie been a female student. I'm not usually one to fall into stereotypical thinking like that but this one got me, I have to admit.
Shit.
I take a deep inhale through my nose, nod briskly and clear my throat. “Well… the good news is that Mrs Spring rang to tell me that his treatment team have cleared him to return to rugby this week–”
“Aw, that's brilliant!” Nathan interrupts, a relieved smile spreading across his face.
I nod my agreement. “Yeah. His mum asked me to keep an eye on him though; he has to take it easy to begin with. And I just wondered if you guys could help me watch over him a bit? Like–” I look directly at Youssef, “–if you notice he seems tired in form–” I switch my gaze to Nathan, “–or if he doesn't do very well at lunch, can you let me know? So I can make sure he takes it easy at practice? Training is Mondays and Thursdays this term.”
Nathan nods. “Absolutely, of course. We, er… we've sort of already been keeping an eye out for things like that anyway.” Another look to Youssef. Another reassuring nod in response. “Youssef researched–”
“A lot,” Youssef interjects.
Another nod, a hint of a fond smile. “A lot,” Nathan agrees. “We know the signs to look out for now. I–” He inhales sharply. “I think he tried to tell me– Charlie, I mean… before and… and I didn't realise what he was saying.” He swallows, and then fixes me with a determined gaze.
“I won't make that mistake again.”
🐚🐚🐚
MR AJAYI:
I find myself distracted all afternoon after Priya's news about Charlie. Pottering around after my last class of the day, washing brushes and tidying drying racks, my mind flits back yet again to that day at the start of the Autumn term.
“My brain isn't… good at the moment.”
I should have known.
There were so many signs.
Charlie passing out in Paris.
Charlie coming to eat lunch alone in the art room.
Charlie telling me his brain wasn't okay.
And yet, I did nothing.
As a teacher, I know I shouldn't have favourites. But every teacher I know does.
And Charlie Spring is mine.
I see so much of my younger self in him. He's a good kid – sensitive, intelligent, conscientious. He found a safe space in my art room two years ago, and with that, carved himself a safe space in my heart, too.
Yes, I'm a sap, I know.
It's true though. I care about all my students, of course, but Charlie… Charlie is kind of special to me. And I can't help but feel a little bit like I failed him. Looking back now, I know he was trying to tell me about his anorexia that day back in September.
Stop it, Nathan. You've been over and over this.
I heave a sigh and squat down to straighten the tins of pencils stacked up in the GCSE supply cupboard. It's the one right by the tree painted in the corner, the corner where Charlie always used to sit and pick at his lunch. My gaze slides subconsciously to the spot, picturing Charlie sitting there, looking so small and lost.
He was struggling so much. More than I ever realised.
“You okay?”
Youssef's voice cuts through my rumination and I startle, my head whipping up to look at him, one hand flying to my chest.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” he soothes, rushing to crouch by my side.
I shake my head. “It's okay, I'm fine. I was just miles away.”
Youssef's eyebrows crinkle in concern. “Where were you?”
I inhale deeply through my nose. “Charlie,” I admit, and I know Youssef knows exactly what I mean.
He nods, an empathetic little smile pulling on one side of his mouth. “Yeah, me too.”
“Could use a hug,” I say lightly.
He smiles, just a little, his dark brown eyes warm and full of care. He glances briefly over his shoulder and then pulls me to him, both of us tipping onto our knees and wrapping our arms around each other.
“He's getting better,” Youssef reassures me quietly. “He wouldn't be allowed to go back to rugby if he wasn't.”
I feel a lump rising in my throat and tears pricking my eyelashes. “I know. I just–”
“I know.”
And he does. I can tell by the sound of his voice and the way he grips onto me.
Youssef cares about Charlie, too.
🐚🐚🐚
MR FAROUK:
I can't stop sneaking glances at Nathan as I drive us back to his place after work. He's staring unseeingly out of the car window, and I can tell he's still thinking about Charlie, about everything he believes he missed.
He's actually known about Charlie's anorexia for a lot longer than he let on to Priya earlier; I didn't tell him, of course – that would be extremely unprofessional of me – but he guessed pretty early on, while Charlie was still in hospital, and I might have just quietly acknowledged that his suspicion was correct. He was telling the truth to Priya though – Charlie really did tell Nathan about his anorexia at the start of term. Which was a massive relief for both of us, not gonna lie.
I place my hand tentatively on my boyfriend's thigh and he meets my gaze with a soft, sad smile.
“It's not your fault, Nathan,” I remind him, for the umpteenth time.
He nods a tiny nod. “I know.”
But he still looks so sad.
Before I can overthink it, I indicate left and pull over at the side of the road, turning the engine off and twisting in my seat to face my beautiful boyfriend properly. I reach out and take his hands in mine.
“Nathan… you are a fantastic teacher,” I start.
He shakes his head self-deprecatingly.
“No, you are,” I insist, before he can protest. “You are so supportive and encouraging, and you really listen to your kids. But no matter how good of a teacher you are, you're not psychic. You can't see everything. You see these kids for a few hours a week, if that. His parents didn't even see it; it was Nick. This is not on you, okay?”
Nathan sucks in a ragged breath, a tear glistening against his ebony cheek. “Okay.”
I lean across the centre console and kiss his hairline softly. “You. Are. Amazing,” I whisper, then rest my forehead gently against his.
He pulls back a little, a soft smile playing on his full lips. “Thanks,” he says quietly.
“Any time.”
I lean in and kiss him – just the lightest press of my lips to his – then pull back with a smile. “He's getting better. Our job now is to watch over him, support him as best we can, yeah? He's got this. He's a tough cookie.”
Nathan smiles, and for the first time since Priya spoke to us at lunch, it meets his eyes.
Relief washes over me.
He's gonna be okay.
And, hopefully, so is Charlie.
I don't let on to Nathan, but I'm worried about Charlie, too. I haven't known him as long as Nathan has, and I don't know him as well, but I do know he's a good kid, and although I'd never admit it out loud, even I kind of have a soft spot for him.
We'll watch out for him now.
And he'll get better.
I know it.