The Man Who Forgot His Wife by John O'Farrell Read Free Book Online Page A

sports shop where he’d bought some trainers, though he was pretty sure I hadn’t been with him. He had given up on the comedy foreign accent, though the concept of the tour guide was still just clinging on. ‘If you look out of the left-hand window you can see a branch of the celebrated restaurant chain McDonald’s, which is where your parents and tutors always hoped you might work if you realized your full potential. Tragically, it was never to be, and you became a history teacher instead. And coming up on our right here is the first school you ever taught at! There – spark any distant memories?’
    I looked at the large Victorian building, recently refurbished with fountains, electric gates and CCTV.
    ‘It says “Luxury Flats”.’
    ‘Yeah, well, they closed the school down once you joined, didn’t they?’
    ‘Oh, Gary – you are rude sometimes! It wasn’t your fault they closed it down, Vaughan. It was something to do with education cuts, which I’m actually
against
because I think children are the future.’
    From there we crossed the river and Gary pointed out a couple more pubs we had frequented. Churches, gyms and health-food shops were passed without comment. Gary and Linda were surprised that I recognized some roads and not others; it seemed that a generic knowledge of London’s main streets and bridges had survived, but nothing that was particular to my own personal experience. After a picturesque dual carriageway and graffiti-covered underpass, we pulled up outside a huge modern comprehensive.
    ‘This is where I teach?’
    ‘Wow – it’s worked! You remember it, you clever bastard!’
    ‘No – you just said my school was in Wandsworth and so I found Wandle Academy on the internet.’
    ‘Oh. Well, anyway, guess what? This is where you teach! Not exactly fucking Hogwarts, is it?’
    The concrete edifice did look a bit shabby and foreboding. The entrance was strewn with litter and, as if to symbolize the growth of young minds, a couple of young silver birch saplings had been planted near the entrance, and then snapped off before they’d barely started.
    I already understood that Gary’s rudeness about my job and the school must signify some sort of grudging respect – that this was the way we must have talked to one another, and that I would have to learn to give as good as I got.
    ‘So am I just a classroom teacher or a head of year or anything, yer bastard?’
    ‘What?’ said Gary, suddenly looking slightly offended.
    ‘Do I have a job title?’
    ‘But why did you call me a bastard?’
    ‘Er – sorry. I just thought that might be how we talked to one another.’
    ‘You can’t go round calling people “bastards”, you stupid bastard! You joined the establishment, you’re
one of them
, man.’
    Linda was marginally more illuminating, explaining that during my time at the school I had been promoted to ‘Head of Humans, or something’.
    ‘Humanities?’
    ‘Yeah, that sounds right – I thought it would be a bit weird to have one person in charge of all the humans …’
    ‘So how long have I been teaching here?’
    ‘Oh, ages now. Over ten years anyway,’ said Linda.
    I felt a twinge of worry that I was supposed to be on the other side of the gates, that there were classes of children wondering what had happened to Mr Vaughan.
    ‘But my own kids don’t come here?’
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Maddy knows what the teachers are like!’
    ‘They go to a school closer to where you live,’ explained Linda. ‘Actually Dillie’s only just left that primary. That’s where we want Baby to go, isn’t it, Gary?’
    ‘
The
baby.’
    Although I could remember nothing about these friends, their characters or personal histories, I had not forgotten the code of etiquette that made this feel rude.
    ‘So – er – anyway, what do you two do for a living?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You know, what line are you two in?’
    ‘What is this? A Rotarians’ Christmas cheese-and-wine soirée or