A Story of Blackmail and Revenge
Mrs Jones stared across the desk at the man speaking to her. From the sour expression on his face she didn’t doubt for a single moment that this was serious. Unlike the series of ‘warning’ letters she had received over the past two months, this time it seemed some action was to be taken. This time, she was sure; her son was to be suspended.
‘You see, Mrs Jones, this kind of behaviour is quite simply unacceptable; we just cannot continue this way. I have to think of the standards of the school and the proper education of the other pupils…’
Suspension she knew would be a blow, Adam could be a little headstrong and boisterous but he wasn’t a bad kid. Since his father had left he had blown off a little but nothing that warranted this. She looked across at the man tormenting her and knew he was everything she despised.
In his expensive suit and gold-rimmed glasses, his well-cared-for skin and thin, high-pitched voice she knew he had come from money, and coming from money he had education and power as a bonus. He had never had to struggle, never had to worry about putting food on the table, he had never had to hunt bargains or cut corners. And there he was sitting across from her, sitting in judgment and about to tell her that her son was to be suspended from school. There he was about to threaten what little she had…her hopes for her son’s betterment.
She just wished he would get to the point and get it over with. Even if it was a week she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging. She would accept it, keep her dignity and self-respect.
And then he came to the point; suddenly and directly to it. And the words hit her like a fist.
‘Permanently? What do you mean, permanently?’ Permanently? What the….’
‘Well what I say Mrs Jones, we simply cannot tolerate Adam in this school environment anymore. I have taken a decision, which will be ratified by the School Governors to exclude Adam permanently.’
‘There is a perfectly adequate school at Hesketh Grange which will perhaps…..suit his…temperament better.’
Hesketh Grange? Everyone in the area knew what Hesketh was. It was a slum school on a slum estate. It had windows they had stopped repairing they had been broken so often; it had dubious young men always hanging around the school gates; it had a record of bullying and crime that was always in the local newspaper.
Hesketh Grange. Please God no.
Her mouth felt dry. Her heart was beating hard. She wanted to cry, run away. But she knew she couldn’t. She had to say something. ‘Please’, she began. ‘Please no.’
‘He looked at her and smiled the thinnest of smiles, one that didn’t show his teeth. ‘I am sorry Mrs Jones. I have my job to do and leaving your son in this school wouldn’t be doing it. I am sure he will find Hesketh more to his…liking.’
It was a calculated insult and found its mark. ‘But he’s…he’s just not…’
‘Well, I am afraid to say Mrs Jones that he is, he simply does not meet the standard of behaviour that we require, and so, ispo facto he must therefore be transported to a place where his behaviour is more suited to his surroundings.’
It sounded brutal he knew. He meant it to. He enjoyed making it so nasty. He could feel himself hardening at her obvious distress, could feel his cock itching for his touch or…more preferably, hers. Soon he thought. Soon.
‘…so there is nothing more to be said, you will be getting the requisite documents in the post when I have ratified them tomorrow. Thank you for coming Mrs Jones.’ He smiled at her. It was a smile of dismissal.
Go now it said, you don’t belong here. You are nothing.
She walked out feeling like a ghost; invisible.
When she had gone he replayed the scene over in his mind several times. Permanent Exclusion was a potent weapon with such women, the ones who had enough decency to be distressed at the thought of their little bastards having to go to Hesketh Grange. He had used it a number of times before with great success. He knew all the moves; Mrs Jones didn’t stand a chance. He loved this job.
Gloried in it.
The next move was the phone call. But not too soon, let it all boil up inside her, let the desperation build.
Debbie Jones smiled at her son. He had her colouring, corn-blond hair and pale blue eyes. He was basically a good-natured boy, but the series of petty scrapes had begun to build up, but no way did he deserve to be expelled. What did they add up to? Just a few stolen wads of drawing paper, some cheeky backchat in the classroom, a mobile phone in an exam, and then finally the drawing of a naked Miss Lamb on the classroom blackboard. Miss Lamb was the schools youngest and prettiest teacher and all the boys had a crush. That picture was nothing more than an adolescent prank. Saving his work on his phone had been a big mistake. Sharing it on Facebook another…Hit the ‘like’ button if you’ve wanked about her. Apparently 342 did.
But there was no real harm in him. He smiled back at her from the sofa where he was watching TV. She would have to tell him tonight that there would be no school tomorrow. ‘How did it go?’ He looked worried, a little shamefaced she thought, that she had been summoned to face Mr Whittaker. Whittaker the wanker, Whittaker the wimp.
‘It went…’ She knew she had to explain to him, but she couldn’t find the words. Not that he would have to go to Hesketh. ‘…okay…I’ll tell you all about it over dinner, just need to sort the washing now.’ She was buying time. In truth she wanted to break down and cry. She couldn’t bear the thought of her boy at that school. It would be Hell for him. And Hell for her knowing he was there, among those estate kids; the bullies and the druggies and God knows what else.
He was tall for fourteen but quite slender, not at all sports inclined – more of a thinker rather than a do-er. His looks gave him a certain detached air. To some boys, she thought, those of the rougher variety, he might even appear feminine. He would be prey to them. Bully-fodder. The thought sickened her. He wouldn’t survive. She was sure of it.
And how could she tell him?
The phone rang at five o’clock exactly. ‘Hello?’ She had been crying, she tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. She didn’t succeed.
‘Yes’, she knew who it was, the slimy headmaster who had so just shattered her life, shattered her son’s future; consigned him to the scrapheap.
‘Hello Mrs Jones its Mr Whittaker from the school…’ His voice was starting to grate on her, it was the kind of plummy-posh that she hated.
I just wanted to add to our conversation of this afternoon that you will of course need to get the application papers from Hesketh Grange itself as soon as possible if he is not to miss any significant schooling. You will need to make an appointment with—‘
‘I know that yes.’ She was abrupt and meant to be abrupt. She didn’t owe him anything, especially not civility. He was just rubbing it in she thought, just gloating. ‘So thanks very much’, she said unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice and in truth not wanting to.
There was a silence at the other end, she was about to hang up. ‘Mrs Jones, I have not yet ratified my decision. The Chairman of the Governors is away on business tonight, I will have to wait until tomorrow.’
Why was he telling her this? Was he saying that Adam hadn’t been expelled yet? She didn’t understand. ‘Oh yes?’ she said it in a flat voice; a wary voice, a voice trying not to give him the satisfaction of her hope.
‘I was just thinking that…well, if you wanted to discuss matters further…I mean…before I go to the Governors with the Exclusion Order…’
What did he mean? Discuss more? What was there to discuss? So the Chairman hadn’t signed yet, but he would….Wouldn’t he?’ Would he?
She cleared her throat. ‘Is there anything to discuss? Is your decision final?’ It had seemed about as final as final could be this afternoon…and yet here he was ringing her at home…what did it mean?’
‘Mrs Jones, is Adam there now? Perhaps I could…’
‘Yes he is…’
‘Ahhh.’ There was silence. ‘Well sorry it might not be appropriate then for me to come around and talk about this in a less antagonistic way than was possible this afternoon.’
He wanted to talk more? And around here, in her home? Why? Had he changed his mind? Her mind was a blur of possibilities; she couldn’t hold a single thought. Maybe he was thinking of changing his mind and wanted her reassurance that Adam’s behaviours would improve. That must be it, he wasn’t going to expel him at all; this had just been a scare, like a final warning of what could happen if things continued as they were. That must be it; it was the only explanation she could think of.
‘I’, she had to swallow hard, her mouth was dry. Suddenly she was nervous, needing to be careful, not wanting to spoil a possible last chance. If she was clutching at straws so what? It couldn’t be worse than seeing Adam sentenced to Hesketh Grange. ‘Well, I would like to talk if that is possible.’ She could give Adam money, send him to the movies, and do something, anything to make this change happen.
His voice was calm, perhaps even with a hint more friendliness than before. ‘Well let me ask you this Mrs Jones, would you like to come here, we could chat in my home office, let’s see if we can sort this out?’
For a moment she didn’t know what to say. He wanted her to go to his home for a chat? For a second she wondered if… but put that thought away. He couldn’t mean that? Of course, he couldn’t, hadn’t he said home office? It would be a professional chat, perhaps in the form of that very final warning. Yes that would be it.
‘Yes….yes of course.’
‘Good’, he said. ‘Almost purring in an odd shrill manner. ‘You can come round as soon as you like, I will be in all evening, but perhaps the sooner is more convenient.’
She wrote down the address and went to change from the clothes she had used to clean the house.
Where there was a chance she had to go with it…
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A powerful story of the abuse of power, blackmail, exploitation, and (oh so satisfying) revenge…
A meeting with her young son’s Headmaster begins a nightmare for Mrs Debbie Jones.
Her son is to be ‘permanently excluded’ from the ‘good’ school he attends, and the only alternative is the notorious Hesketh Grange, a rough slum school on a crime-ridden estate.A school that she herself suffered as a child.
Mr Whittaker, the Headmaster, is consumed by dark and deeply-rooted needs He is fully prepared to achieve his corrupt ends by ‘any means necessary.’ He holds her son’s fate in his hands. What he wants to know is whether Debbie is prepared to be a ‘cooperate’ to save her son from the bullies, the druggies, and the delinquency of the other school. Is she prepared to be a ‘good mummy’ to save her only child?
But is it enough just to be ‘good’? When does such power go too far? Ask too much? Can even a ‘good’ mummy go bad? And what then? Sometimes even a seemingly cut and dried ‘deal’ can spin out of control
A story which is both powerfully erotic and psychologically insightful, dealing with the abuse of power, the craving to possess and the instinct for, and satisfactions of, revenge…
‘Janey Pilsbury at her considerable best…’
I’m just a woman with an exceptionally ‘grimy’ mind, who loves turning my Immoral thoughts, lewd fantasies and deeply-felt desires into words and stories. Life is just too short to keep them all to myself.
Born and live in Oxford. Divorced. Hobby…..exercising my luring imagination! 🙂