Ahead of his Time, Adrian Cousins [short story to read .txt] 📗

now confused at what she was on about. Although I was delighted for her, I couldn’t imagine what I had to do with Mr Trosh’s proposal of marriage.

“Don’t you remember? You said I should go and see Mr Trosh in hospital, so I jolly well did. When I visited on Saturday morning, he said he’d been thinking about his life, and the operation had spurred him into making some important decisions. He said he’d wasted so much of his life and wasn’t going to waste any more time.”

With all the events of the last two weeks, I’d forgotten pushing Miss Colman to visit Clive. So, I’d been right all along, and that little nudge was enough to get these two lovely characters together.

“So, he proposed?”

“Yes! He called for the nurses and they helped him out of bed and to get down on one knee. Then in his pyjamas, he asked me to marry him!” She clasped her hands together as if praying. “Mr Apsley, it was the most romantic moment of my life.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news. I’m so pleased. Have you got a ring?”

A slight dent formed in her smile. “No, not yet. Mr Trosh isn’t very wealthy, but he said he’ll save up for one as soon as he gets back on his feet. But that doesn’t matter. I’m so happy.”

“No, you’re right … it doesn’t matter.”

I wondered if the first time around Mr Trosh had proposed to Miss Colman. Perhaps that tiny butterfly effect of my experience and the nudge I’d given Miss Colman had changed their futures. I decided it had, and that was a good thing. I felt a need to nip up to my safety deposit box, and another trip to see Mr Maypole was required. Jenny and I had more than enough wealth for our lifetime, and I thought one diamond less in that box and sitting on Trish’s finger felt right. I would get up and see Clive this week and float my idea to him.

“Well, Trish, I better get on. Just think you will be Trish Trosh when you’re married!”

“Ha-ha. Yes, I will. Trish Trosh. Trish Trosh. Trish Trosh,” she repeated to herself in different tones and accents, as if deciding which sound she liked best. It was the first time I’d used her Christian name without her pulling me up and putting me straight on the need for formal address during school hours. Trish had other things to think about, and so did I. My matchmaking skills needed to be put to the test once more when I planned to align Sarah Moore and Carlton King’s planets over a Bunsen Burner in this morning’s chemistry lesson.

“Right, all settle down … QUIET!” My first request had no effect. The second shorter, one-word request had the desired effect as the class all turned and looked in my direction and closed their mouths.

“Mr Roberts, you can remove the rubber tubing sticking out of your trouser zip, unless you would prefer it inserted up your backside,” I bellowed.

Stephen Roberts pulled out the tube and adjusted his trousers. Carlton King smirked, and a few of the girls giggled but soon returned to silence as I delivered one of my, now perfected, Paddington stares.

“Okay, this morning, we’re going to be conducting experiments in pairs. But rather than working with the person next to you, I’m going to mix it up a bit. The purpose of this is to encourage you to work with others and, ultimately, collaboratively deliver the conclusions to the experiments.”

The class groaned and started to look about the room, I guess scanning the faces of who they prayed would not be their allotted partner. The murmuring stopped as a few clocked my stare. Yes, I had a lot to thank the cardboard-cut-out cartoon character of Paddington Bear. The crowd or rabble control tool I’d copied from that Peruvian brown furry orphan was invaluable in maintaining class order; my students over the past few months had grown wise to my stare and consistently obeyed.

Once I’d set them into their new partnerships, I instructed them on the gripping task of identifying cations with metal salts through the use of the flame test and left them to crack on.

Sarah Moore and Carlton King seemed nonplus with their pairing, but I guess I was optimistic to expect Sarah to gush over this immature lad as he held a wooden spatula to the burner flame. I needed Mr King to recognise the lovely, intelligent girl he was paired with and take the initiative to ask her on a date. The main problem I faced was Carlton’s lack of maturity. Although sixteen-year-old girls were maturing and, if this lot were anything to go by, their male counterparts were not. In Sarah's eyes, Martin probably appeared sophisticated and exciting. Whereas Carlton, I imagined, looked like a dork.

The lesson ended with only a few pairings delivering a full set of correct answers from their experiments. Sarah and Carlton were one such pairing, and they appeared pleased with their collaborative achievements; also, they looked okay about the fact that the pairing would stay the same for the next lesson. I was fully aware their partnership had produced successful academic results because Sarah was a grade-A student. What frustrated me was in the future, she didn’t aspire to a great career which I knew she was capable of. Carlton-Dork-King, who really was a bit of a pillock, became editor of a newspaper. I was sure Sarah would’ve performed far better in that position based on her academic capabilities.

My matchmaking skills didn’t seem to progress any further than the Bunsen Burner. As break-time arrived, Sarah quickly migrated back to her friends whilst Carlton looked about for his delinquent mates – Roberts and Cooper.

“Mr King, a word, please,” I boomed out over the melee of chatter as the whole class attempted to squeeze out of the door at the same time.

“Sir?” he replied, as he sauntered back to the front of the lab, I guess fully