Chains

Larry Talotta may have looked undernourished and appeared to be a pretty dumb kid but he really did know how to place the frighteners on inexperienced French teacher Gina Jones. 

“Can I have my chain back?” said Larry Talotta. He looked up at Gina, screwing one eye up against the sun. He was small for his thirteen years, yet his face was a bit like an old man’s. He reminded Gina of Wilfrid Brambell’s Steptoe.

“I told you,” said Gina, “you’ll have to see Mr Jones. It’s in his desk.”

It was quite handy that she shared a surname with her colleague who also taught French. Most of the students thought he was her husband. She never put them straight. The odd “I’ll have to let Mr Jones know about the way you’re behaving,” was too useful.  Mark Jones taught boys P.E. too and was actually the head of Lower School. Twice a week at Lower School Assembly he would read out the names of those who were in detention. Larry’s name was often on the list.  A distinct advantage, too, that she taught in Mark Jones’s classroom twice a week.  The students were always a little better behaved when they were in there. They probably expected him to walk in any minute. Gina preferred to think it was because some of his authority rubbed off on her when she was in his room.

It never made a lot of difference to 2SA, though. She had double French with them last two lessons on Tuesday in Mark’s room, just after they’d had double P.E. It was pretty difficult to get them to do anything. Larry always brought something to play with. This week it had been the chain and padlock from his bike. He’d somehow managed to wind it round his wrists and lock himself into it in such a way that he couldn’t get out. If it hadn’t have been so disruptive it would have been funny. With the help of another pupil Gina had managed to find the key and undo the padlock. She put the chain and padlock in the desk drawer.  At the end of the lesson, Larry was so eager to get out that he forgot to collect them.

“Well,” said Larry. “When can I have my chain back?”

“You’ll have to see Mr Jones,” Gina repeated. She wasn’t bluffing. She was on playground duty now and she wouldn’t be in that room again until next Monday. Still, she smiled to herself as she thought of Larry having to grovel to the Head of Lower School.

“I’m going to get my mum on to you,” said Larry, screwing up his eyes and looking  even more like Wilfrid Brambell.

Should she be scared of Larry’s mum? She knew Larry was the youngest of nine siblings, so Mrs T  probably be getting on a bit as well.

“What do you know about Larry Talotta?” she asked a colleague in the staff room later on when she had a free period.

“A bit dozy,” answered Paul Davis, the second in the Maths department. “Though I don’t suppose he or his family will worry if he doesn’t do too well with us. He’ll leave school as soon as he can and go into the family business.”

“What’s that?” asked Gina.

“They’re scrap merchants,” said Paul.

“That figures. It’s no wonder he looks like Steptoe.”

Paul laughed. “He does a bit,” he said. “Especially when he screws up his face and shuts one eye.” Paul offered a rather poor impersonation.

“He probably does it on purpose,” said Gina.

“No doubt,” replied Paul.

“Do you know anything about his mother? Only he threatened me with her.”

“You don’t want to mess with her. She won’t stand any nonsense. Mind you, she’s fair and she doesn’t let any of the kids get away with anything, either. She runs a second hand shop, I gather.”

So, not a gentle little old lady then. “Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind,” said Gina.

The bell rang and she went off to her last lesson.

“You look tired, Hinton,” said Gina that evening. She and Mike were visiting a friend of hers from college. Hinton, a police officer, was Danielle’s husband. “Have you had a tough day as well?”

“Oh yes, you could say so,” said Hinton as he passed them all bottles of beer. “The Talottas have slipped through the net yet again.”

“Talottas?” said Gina. “That’s funny. I’ve been having a bit of trouble with a kid called Talotta today.”

“The scrap merchants?” asked Hinton.

Gina nodded.

“You know they’re a British mafia set-up, don’t you?” said Hinton.

“Really?” asked Gina. Her mouth went dry and her heart started thumping. 

“Are you all right?” said Danielle. “Only you’ve gone really white.”

Gina bit her lip and nodded.

“Yep,” Hinton continued. “They use the scrap business to launder their money. They’re evil. And they’re darned clever. We can never pin anything on them.” Hinton took a slug of his beer. “So who is this kid, then?”

“Larry Talotta. His mum runs a second hand furniture business, apparently.”

“Oh, no. You’re not getting on the wrong side of Ma Talotta, are you?” said Hinton. “They say she’s actually the boss. You know. The Godmother, sort of.”

Gina yawned. She hadn’t really slept very well the night before. And she’d probably had a beer or two more than she should have done. She and Hinton had really put it away while Mike and Danielle had watched a bit bemused. Well, they didn’t have to deal with the mafia, did they? 

She was on early morning duty. When the bell rang, it just made the throbbing in her head worse. 

“Are you going to give me my chain back or do I have to get my mother on to you?” said a familiar voice. Larry’s Steptoe looked up at her.

Gina sighed.  “Come on then,” she said. “Let’s go to Mr Jones’ room now.”

“I ain’t talking to Jonesy,” said Larry.

“You won’t have to. He’ll be getting ready for Assembly,” said Gina.

Larry screwed up his jaw Wilfrid Brambell style. Then he smirked. “Just as well,” he said. “You do know my mum’s with the mafia don’t you?”     

Gina’s hands trembled as she removed the chain and padlock from the desk. She hended them to Larry.

He grinned. “Ta miss. You’re all right, you are.”

He scuttled away and joined his mates. Perhaps he was just an ordinary kid after all.