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The next day Michael rode the bus home after school.
He had hoped for a quiet Monday. It was always hard
to give up the freedom of a weekend and he liked to
use Monday to ease into the school week slowly, with
minimal effort.
Most days he woke at 5am. As long as he could manage
seven hours sleep he seldom felt tired. That gave him
time to shower and eat breakfast and then work for two
hours before school.
Never in his life had he received pocket money. Instead,
from a very early age, he was put to work sorting bottles,
cleaning, tidying, helping in the kitchen. During the
week he could easily accumulate ten hours of work, and
at weekends he could add five more. This was part of
his father's belief in the work ethic but it suited
Michael just fine. Cash, someone once observed, is king.
During the school holidays he helped wherever he could,
working as a waiter in the beer garden in the summer
and helping behind the scenes at Easter and Christmas.
He had no pride. Washing dishes lacked glamour but it
paid just as well as any other job.
It didn't make him rich but it brought most of the
toys he wanted. Every year he bought a new computer.
He had a television, VCR and DVD player in his bedroom,
a couple of good cameras, and a small but growing savings
account against the day when he earned a driving license.
The school day had passed peacefully except for one
short, unhappy interlude that began when he arrived
with Lea for History. They filed into the classroom
together but they sat apart, she with her friends, Michael
with his.
Mr Bicester was already at the desk. He was a character,
which should have made him popular. Two years earlier,
they had discovered, almost by accident, just how much
of a character he was. At lunchtime Bicester ran the
school chess club. He was a strong chess player and
a masterful backgammon player. Little by little, rumours
began to emerge that he played in high stakes games
which he consistently won. No one was entirely sure
whence these rumours came but they had a ring of truth
about them, for he drove a blue BMW coupe, a car substantially
smarter than any of the other teachers could afford.
They soon discovered that Bicester had another fondness.
In fact, it was the car that had been his downfall because
it was so easy to spot, and thus it was that the other
half of the Bicester mythology arose. One Saturday afternoon
he was observed sitting in his car reading a newspaper.
The car was parked outside the betting shop in the High
Street.
Two days later the rumours began to circulate. It was
perfectly obvious what was happening. Bicester was betting
on horses and waiting for the results to come in. The
car was his mobile office.
Once this odd habit became public there was no shortage
of eyes willing to report his whereabouts. A little
research determined that he typically spent two hours
each Saturday in this pursuit. One girl recruited her
older brother to follow Bicester into the betting shop
where he collected an impressive 370 pounds.
When Bicester noticed the attention he moved his business
to the next town and then the next, but in rural areas
the school catchment areas are large. There was nowhere
to hide. Eventually he admitted defeat and simply saved
the fuel, returning to the original establishment where,
and this part the school never found out, he had some
explaining to do.
For a term or so the sport of Bicester Baiting provided
an amusing diversion. He was part hero, part villain,
just the sort of victim that caught the public imagination.
On the whole he might have presented himself as a lovable
rogue were it not for the vindictive part of his character
which came out in the classroom. He made it clear that
you would not get the better of him, even when you weren't
trying to. He had a peculiar need to be right all the
time and to show each and every student that they were
wrong. That was the main problem in Michael's view.
People had no right to expect to be right all the time.
Certainly not people employed as schoolteachers.
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