I have left school.
I keep saying it because it does not sound true yet. At half past three I was still a pupil at Portchester County Secondary. By four I was home and Mum asked me to change out of my uniform before I marked the chair.
The last day was mostly waiting for things to finish.
We had to return books in the morning. Mine were all there except the history book I thought I had handed in last week. The teacher found it in a pile behind his desk and still wrote my name down before crossing it out. I said I had returned it. He said the important thing was that it had been found. This was his way of being right after he had stopped being right.
We did very little work. Some people had stopped bringing pens. Denise had one and I had two because I knew somebody would ask. Three people did.
There was an assembly before lunch. The head talked about the next stage of our lives and the responsibilities of adulthood. A boy behind us whispered that his next stage was the chip shop. Denise laughed and was told to pay attention.
The head said we would remember our school years with affection. I looked at the hall floor, which still had the black mark from a chair being dragged across it during the Christmas concert. I may remember parts of school with affection. I am not making promises about the whole building.
They read out names of pupils going to college, sixth form or apprenticeships. My name was not read because I am starting work at Wessex Marine Supplies in Fareham. The job begins on 6 August. I will be a junior clerk.
When I told Denise about the job last month, she said ‘junior clerk’ sounded as if I would be expected to fetch things.
I said there would be office work.
She asked whether fetching things counted as office work if the things were in an office.
I do not know what Denise is doing yet. She has applied for two jobs and may take a course if neither comes through. She says she is not worried. She has said this often enough for me to think she might be.
At lunchtime we sat on the wall near the field. We were not supposed to sit there, but nobody stopped us. By then, no teacher came over to move us.
Denise asked whether I would miss it.
I said no.
She said, ‘Not any of it?’
I said I would miss seeing people every day. This was closer.
She promised to phone. Our telephone is in the hall, so any private conversation has to take place within hearing of the stairs, the kitchen and anybody waiting to make a call. I told her to ring after six because Dad sometimes phones the Dockyard before then.
In the afternoon, one teacher let us talk. Another gave us a worksheet because she said it was still a school day. I completed half of it and put it in my bag. I do not know why. Nobody is going to ask for it on Monday.
The final bell went at the usual time. I expected people to cheer. A few did. Most of us picked up our bags and left because that was what the bell had always meant.
Outside the gate, everyone stood around longer than normal. People said we would meet in town, go to the beach and keep in touch. Some arrangements had actual dates. Most did not.
Denise and I walked home together. She said I would be wearing office clothes soon. I said I already had a skirt and two blouses.
‘That’s not a wardrobe,’ she said.
‘It is for three days if I change the order.’
She said she would come round tomorrow.
At home, Mum asked how it had been.
‘All right.’
She wanted more than that, so I told her about the missing history book and the assembly. She asked whether I had thanked my form teacher. I had. She asked whether I had brought home everything from my locker. I said yes, then remembered my games shoes.
Mum said they were probably not worth going back for.
This is the first time she has admitted that.
Dad came home and asked whether I was finished now. I said yes.
‘Work next,’ he said.
I told him I had two weeks.
‘Be early on the first day.’
I said I would.
Peter came in later and said work was better because nobody made you do games. He did not mention that work also starts earlier and lasts all year.
My uniform is hanging on the back of the bedroom door. Mum says she will wash it before deciding what can be kept. I do not know why any of it needs keeping. Perhaps the skirt can be altered.
My school bag is on the floor with the unfinished worksheet inside it. I should throw it away. I have not yet.
Tomorrow Denise is coming round. On Monday there is nowhere I have to be.