The Examination

The Examination.

This was one duty that he did dislike. It was so boring, not like other activities where time had to pass, when it was possible to turn one's mind to a multitude of tasks or pursuits.

The school hall was quiet, save for the occasional cough or sigh or turning of page. There were seventy of them all scribbling away, heads down. Six rows wide by twelve deep, seated alphabetically left to right front to back, always the same. It wasn't as if this was his subject and could have a go at the questions himself, but "A" level physics was not something he was interested in, his subject being English. Although he disliked invigilating, he hated it even more in the winter. But now in the summer, there was at least the slight benefit in seeing the burgeoning young women in their summer dresses or shorts and T shirts that many of them were wearing, necessitated by the day's early summer heat. He surveyed them from his elevated position at the high desk on the dais at the front of the hall. He removed the black cap from the Bic ball point pen on the desk and using the clip part of the cap with his hands in his lap, surreptitiously cleaned his nails, flicking the resultant debris to the floor, whilst keeping half an eye on the assembly before him.

He did not know many of the students. He had only been teaching at the grammar school since the previous autumn and not many of them took a mixture of arts and sciences. He had looked at the paper, but it had meant nothing to him. He had only just scraped a pass in his "O" level not that many years before and had completely driven all thought of sciences from his mind when he had gone off to Edinburgh to read modern languages and enjoy himself for those three glorious years.

He checked his watch again. Another two and a half hours. Had it only been thirty minutes since he had told them "And now you may start!" And off they had gone, heads down, pens flashing across the paper. At least he did not have to supervise the practical exams for the sciences: would be no good at that at all.

Standing up again, he put his hands behind his back and walked silently and slowly down the middle of the room. Once, a couple of years before at a winter retake exam, he had made the mistake of wearing leather soled shoes with steel heel caps, which not only clicked, but squeaked as he walked. In the end he had been forced to take them off and walk on the cold floor in his socks.

At the back of the room, he turned to view a different aspect of the students. They were about equally divided boys and girls, sitting hunched over their labours - except for one girl who was sitting midway down the right hand row next to the tall windows. He had noticed her before, in that whenever his gaze went in her direction, she was looking out of the window. There was not much for her to see as the playground was empty, all other students being banned from going onto it during exam time. Leisurely, he sauntered up the outside of the row between the girl and the window, looking both across the lines of examinees and out onto the sunlit playground. He paused as he got just behind her and looked at her desk, took out his handkerchief and silently blew his nose. She had obviously being working well, judging by the number of pages that she had covered with neat black writing and diagrams. He continued walking and as he passed her, she looked up and smiled at him with greenish eyes under a mane of long blonde hair. It took him by surprise and he smiled back, and then suddenly felt guilty, not quite knowing why.

Continuing to the top of the row, he turned across the front of the class and again when he got to the far side, where he slowly, with deliberate even steps, strolled down the wall-bar side of the hall. When opposite the girl, he stopped, and turned to look across the rows towards her, She was writing now, left-handed he noticed and surveying the room he was startled to find that over a third of the students were also left-handed. Fourteen girls and eleven boys. He was surprised, for being similarly biased, he tended to notice rather more than others which hand people used, but had not noticed this group until now. The girl was looking out of the window again. She had slim hands with neat un-painted nails, no jewellery, not even a watch.

Turning to face the front of the room, he saw that an hour had now passed. He continued on down the row and stopped again at the centre at the back of the hall. She was looking out of the window again and then she turned around towards him, smiled at him and returned to writing, hunching her back so that her bra strap stood out through the thin fabric of her sleeveless pale yellow T shirt.

Walking slowly up the middle of the hall, he stopped, stooped and picked up a sheet of paper which was covered with a scrawl in blue ball point. He looked around for the owner and identifying it, put it gently on the top of a pile of similarly covered paper belonging to a spotty, greasy, black haired youth whom he did know for his reputation as an undisciplined prankster. The boy looked up at him and nodded his thank you.

Once he had returned to the top of the hall, he returned to his seat at the high desk and slipped off his tweed sports jacket. Now it was really hot. He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his shirt sleeves, wishing that he had worn slacks and not cord trousers that day. The desk was empty in front of him, save for the pen, spare paper, the envelope that had contained the exam question papers, the spare copy for some lad who had not bothered to turn up and the register.

He sensed that someone was studying him and slowly looking up he found that she was, smiling at him and holding her pen so that it rested on her lips. She held his gaze for what seemed like minutes, and then returned to writing. But he could not stop looking at her. Suddenly she sat up, put her hands behind her head and looked up to the ceiling. Her T shirt was now taut over her body so that he could read the logo "Hard Rock Cafe", with some smaller writing underneath that he could not make out. Then with a glance in his direction she was writing again.

A distant class bell rang and he looked at his watch. Still an hour and a quarter to go. Time for another circuit.

What was the other writing on her "T" shirt, Standing up, he stepped off the dais and slowly crossed the head of the room to the tall windows. Not a cloud was in the clear blue sky, just a couple of contrails of high flying jets. Not long now to end of term and off he would be to Greece for a few weeks of sun, sea and not a lot more. He hoped that it was the right decision for him to go on his own this time. In his youth it had always been with his mates, but they were all married now. He had enjoyed his holidays with Debbie, but as their relationship had petered out the previous Christmas, he could not face trying to build up another one with someone else at the moment. Not that other girls had not tried with him, but after a couple of dates he lost interest in them. He turned back to face the room. They were all still writing hard. On with the circuit.

Under the logo he could now make out the words which read "Abu Dhabi". Hard Rock Cafe Abu Dhabi - now someone had sense of humour. As he passed her, she looked up at him and gave him a beaming smile which he automatically returned, She was a pretty girl. He glanced at her pile of papers and saw her name underlined at the top of the page. Anna Morton. The name did not ring any bells with him.

"You now have five minutes left" he said from his elevated perch. There seemed to be more noise in the hall now, with students shuffling papers and pushing back chairs.

"Stop writing now please, leave all your papers, in the envelope provided, on your desk and quietly leave the room." He stood up and walked across to the first desk on the left and working his way across the rows, he picked up the filled envelopes.

By the time he had got to the second row the hall was empty and in his preoccupation, he had not noticed the girl leaving and felt strangely cross with himself. As she would be leaving school in a couple of days, he probably would not see her again, - why should he, for he had not noticed her before. He got to her desk and picked up her envelope and found a smaller one underneath. He also picked it up and was amazed to find his name, printed in beautiful script, on the front. What ever could this mean?