The New Samurai

  One of the nurses who’d wheeled Sylvie in saw Sam, and marched purposefully towards him. She had a set of surgical scrubs in her arms.

  “Put these on, please,” she said.

  “What?” said Sam, in shock, his feet still rooted to the spot with no apparent intention of ever moving again.

  “Baby’s on the way,” said the nurse, sharply. “We can’t have dad miss the main event, can we?”

  Sam’s jaw dropped open.

  “What? No! I…”

  But the nurse pushed him into a room and ordered him to change. Sam did as he was told then was led like a lamb to the slaughter into Sylvie’s birthing suite.

  “Sam! Sam!” screamed Sylvie in between shrieks.

  Sylvie was laid across a bed, her stomach huge and pulsating like an overblown jelly on top of a spin-dryer. There was entirely more of her on view than Sam had ever wished to see. He swallowed nervously and looked away.

  Then the nurse pushed a horrified Sam further into the room towards Sylvie.

  “Take her hand and help her with her breathing,” she instructed.

  Thrashing wildly, Sylvie grabbed Sam’s hand and hung on with a vice-like grip that actually made him wince. He was pretty certain he’d have a row of nail marks up his arm the next day.

  There was also some pretty colourful language coming out of Sylvie’s mouth. Sam hadn’t heard swearing like that since his rugby days: and Sylvie was also inventing a few he’d never heard before. She had quite an imagination.

  “Er… I spoke to Wayne,” said Sam as soothingly as he could manage, with his right hand being mangled, “and he’s on his way.”

  “That bastard!” screamed Sylvie. “You think I’m ever going to let him near me again after putting me through this? He’s never touching me again!”

  The midwife looked puzzled. So Sam wasn’t the father after all. Even so, the mother had clearly chosen him for her birthing partner. During her years with the NHS the midwife had seen it all. Drawing her own conclusions, she sighed. Why was it that all the good-looking ones were gay?

  Sylvie clamped down on Sam’s hand and he nearly let out a yell himself.

  “That’s it, mum!” encouraged the midwife. “One more big push; baby’s on the way.”

  “Get it out! Get it out!” snarled Sylvie, her eyes rabid.

  “Nearly there: one more big push!”

  Sylvie screamed and twisted Sam’s arm so hard, she held him in a wrist lock. He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder to see what was happening, and really wished he hadn’t. The walls lurched suddenly and Sam felt his knees start to buckle.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, focussing instead on the talons digging into his skin.

  Then with a long sigh, Sylvie’s grip relaxed. The midwife smiled and Sam felt the blood returning to his arm. He looked round as a purple, slimy-looking baby was placed wriggling on Sylvie’s belly.

  Sam collapsed in a chair, breathing heavily. He stared at Sylvie, stunned by the look of ecstasy on her face. The baby squalled softly.

  “Well done, mum,” said the midwife, her voice calm and pleased. “You’ve got a glorious baby girl.”

  “A girl!” said Sylvie, more tears pouring down her face, this time for joy. “A girl! Oh, Sam!”

  She smiled up at him and he felt tears of his own gathering in his eyes. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and held her hand, gently now.

  “Well done, Sylvie. You were amazing!”

  “Thank you, Sam!” she wept. “Thank you so much.”

  Two health care assistants arrived to clean Sylvie up, and Sam was told to make himself scarce and get a coffee. He wandered off to find a vending machine, his limbs feeling oddly disconnected.

  The hot, sweet drink was reviving. By the time he got back, he was feeling more like himself, though still strangely light-headed. Of course, he hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime: that was surely the reason. He wondered abstractedly if Elle had enjoyed her meal.

  When he returned, Sylvie was sitting up in the narrow bed, a tiny baby wrapped in white, resting in her arms. The look of astonishment on her face was hilarious and wonderful and amazing. Sam pulled out his phone and took a quick snap while she wasn’t looking: Wayne would really want to see this.

  He sat down next to her and she looked up at him with shining, exhausted eyes.

  “Wow!” said Sam, gingerly stroking one finger down the baby’s cheek.

  “I know,” said Sylvie. “Wow!”

  They sat in silence, marvelling at the funny little bundle who had so suddenly arrived in the world.

  Sylvie was drifting off to sleep when a grey-faced Wayne came careering through the doors.

  “Where… what… is…?” he stuttered.

  “She’s fine,” whispered Sam. “They both are. Congratulations – dad!”

  Wayne gaped like a goldfish and Sam patted him on the shoulder. He sort of knew how he felt. Sam stepped silently out of the room and let the little family be together for the first time.

  As Sam drove home from the hospital, the lightening sky and orangey-pink clouds heralded dawn. There was absolutely no point in going to bed. Instead he stood under the chilly shower as long as he could bear it, hoping the bone-shattering cold would wake him up enough for a day at the chalk face, even if it couldn’t make up for lack of sleep.

  Truthfully, he was still in a state of near shock that had little to do with a sleepless night. Being so close to new life: it had an intensity that had caught him unawares. His mind drifted back to the look of adoration on Sylvie’s face as she gazed at her new baby daughter. She’d seemed a new person: someone entirely unfamiliar to him – she’d been a mother.

  Sam drove to school in a daze and trudged into the staffroom, heading straight for the kettle and the strongest coffee he could find.

  “God! You look awful!” said a voice from one of the overstuffed armchairs.

  He looked round.

  “Thanks, Julie. Good to know.”

  She smiled. “Seriously! Rough night? You look like you haven’t slept.”

  “I didn’t,” he said, then felt his face start to redden when he realised how that sounded, what with the previous day having been Valentine’s Day. “I mean… I was with Sylvie: the baby came early. A little girl – they’re going to call her Bella.”

  Instantly Sam found himself surrounded by the female staff, all demanding details.

  “So you were actually there,” said Julie, wrinkling her nose slightly, as Sam finished his description of their hectic dash to the hospital and the birth itself – the parts he could bring himself to describe. “How was that? I mean… how were you…?”

  “Yep,” said Sam, for the fifteenth time. “It was… intense.” He grinned, “but pretty amazing, too.”

  There was a lot of cooing, ooh-ing and ah-ing after that and Sam managed to slip away, whilst a decision was made regarding a gift for Sylvie and her new baby. It was out of his sphere of expertise.

  The news spread swiftly. Pupils and staff alike were particularly intrigued that Sam had been there. A few eyed him speculatively, obviously wondering if his and Sylvie’s relationship was closer than either had admitted to.

  And Sam still hadn’t told anyone that it was his penultimate day at school; he had a mountain of things to do, but one job was a priority.

  Sam made his way to the PE department. Their office was cramped and scruffy, filled with old kit, well-used equipment and several deflated footballs.

  “Alright, Sam,” said Tony, warily.

  Sam and the head of PE had had a stand-off soon after Sam had arrived. Primarily because Tony had laughed openly at the idea of a girls’ rugby team and partly because he resented Sam’s presence, challenging, he believed, his alpha male status. There’d also been considerable professional jealousy when he’d found out that Sam had actually played for the Saracens. He’d turned down Sam’s offer of help coaching the boys’ team, point-blank.

  “Those girls
of yours giving you a hard time?” said Tony, his face politely neutral.

  Sam hunched his shoulders. “Not exactly, but I am here to ask a favour.”

  Tony’s eyebrows disappeared under his thick fringe, giving him the look of a surprised ferret.

  “How’s that then?”

  Sam rubbed his eyes tiredly, not sure how to begin.

  “Mrs Snow’s coming back from sick leave. I was hired as a supply to cover her classes… and now she’s coming back…” he repeated lamely.

  “Oh,” said Tony, his expression surprisingly sympathetic. “I see. And…?”

  “And I’m surplus to requirements apparently. Anyway… I really hope you’ll consider taking on the girls’ rugby team. They’re hard-working and they’ve got real potential.”

  Tony gazed at him appraisingly, scratching his chin.

  “Yeah, I saw them training on Wednesday,” he admitted. “Pretty good. Yeah, I guess I could find a slot to train them after Easter.”

  Sam shook his head. “It would need to be before that: it’s my last day tomorrow.”

  Tony looked angry now. “Well, why have you only just let me know? I could have sorted something out.”

  Sam shrugged. “Because I only found out yesterday myself.”

  Tony was shocked. “That’s a bit rough, mate. You still on a supply contract then?”

  Sam nodded miserably.

  Tony chewed his lip. Then he clapped a meaty hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about the girls’ team: I’ll take them on. You’ve done a good job with them, Sam. What are you going to do?”

  Sam shrugged. “Look for a job.”

  Sam’s final day at school was difficult. His tutor group had taken it badly when he’d told them that Mrs Snow was coming back, and that he was leaving. They’d stared with disbelief and a look of something like betrayal in their eyes: here was another adult who’d said they’d stay with them and help them, and was now leaving in just a few hours time. It was more than some could bear.

  Ayesha had screamed at him and run from the classroom.

  The school grapevine worked with its usual efficiency and pupil after pupil came up to Sam to tell him they’d miss him. After lunch he found an enormous hand-made card on his desk covered with signatures and messages from the children. It looked like half the school had signed it.

  His final afternoon felt unreal: he returned his library books, handed in his laptop and received his P60 from Yvonne.

  Julie had organised a small gathering in the staffroom, but it was a muted affair and Sam had left as quickly as was polite.

  When he got back to his car, one of the tyres had been slashed and the paintwork badly scratched. Ayesha was watching him from a distance, her stance belligerent. Sam called to her but she ran away, swearing foully. It looked like she was crying.

  He sighed and spent the next quarter of an hour wrestling with his spare tyre – which also looked rather woebegone.

  Keith was waiting for him when he got in.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Grim,” said Sam, honestly.

  “Yeah, I bet,” said Keith. There was a brief, sympathetic silence. “But I heard from Wayne: Sylvie’s home so I said we’d go over and see them this evening – if you like.”

  It was definitely a better plan than Sam’s – which had been to drink himself into oblivion as quickly as possible.

  Instead he grabbed a sandwich and started flicking through the jobs pages in the TES. Nothing much looked suitable, unless he wanted to travel the entire way across London every day, or move to Northumberland. Then an ad caught his eye:

  TEFL teachers wanted

  Two years teaching experience minimum

  Immediate start

  Situations all over the world – salary tax-free.

  Sam’s interest was piqued. Maybe that’s what he needed: a fresh start. Somewhere with no ties, no memories. He’d never taught English as a foreign language, but it couldn’t be that hard, could it? He’d taught lots of pupils who had English as a second language – surely that experience was relevant? He decided to find out.

  Impulsively he pulled out his mobile and dialled.

  He explained his situation to the woman who answered the phone.

  “And you can get references?” she said.

  “Yes, my Principal said he’d do that for me no problem.”

  “And you can start immediately?” she said.

  Sam confirmed that he was available.

  “Well, Mr Patterson, from what you’ve said you’re just what we’re looking for. If you could email your CV to me now, I’ll put it to our clients. Would you be available for a Skype interview later on tonight?”

  Sam was surprised. “Tonight? Sure. What time?”

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  She took his details and assured him that he’d be hearing back from her very soon.

  Sam hung up, his head spinning. Maybe things would work out after all.

  Feeling nervous and keyed up, Sam fidgeted in front of Keith’s computer and pulled his tie straight again. It might have been because he was waiting for a job interview that could change his life, or the four coffees he’d had at Wayne and Sylvie’s to keep himself awake. He tried to calm down: he didn’t want to come over like a lunatic.

  At the appointed hour, the computer informed him that EdOverseas was calling him. He pressed the ‘accept’ button and found himself face-to-face with a severe looking woman who introduced herself as Eva Schmidt.

  “Apologies for the lateness of the hour, Mr Patterson,” she said, a slight accent colouring her voice. “We prefer to conduct our business during office hours but because our clients are all over the world, it makes things a little tricky on occasion. I need to inform you that our interview will be recorded: do you have any objections to that? No? Good. Well then, perhaps you could talk us through some of the key points on your CV…”

  For the next half an hour, she analysed Sam’s CV and experience both inside and out of the classroom, expressing particular interest in his girls’ rugby team. She asked which countries he’d travelled to in the world (France, Italy, South Africa, New Zealand, Australia, predictably); which languages he spoke (GCSE French and Spanish); and how he thought he’d adapt to living overseas.

  “Do you have any family, Mr Patterson?” Ms Schmidt asked finally. “I apologise for asking but it will affect which clients will be willing to accept you: no EU labour laws here, I regret.”

  “Just my sister and niece,” he said. “There’s no-one else.”

  She nodded quickly, seeming pleased with the answer.

  “Well, that’s all very satisfactory. Subject to references from Principal Skinner, I will be in touch early next week.”

  Sam was turning off the computer as Keith entered the room.

  “How’d it go?” he asked.

  “Good, I think,” said Sam, thoughtfully. “But I’m so wired… God, I hope I didn’t come over like an idiot.”

  “Sounded alright to me mate,” said Keith, yawning widely. “Although she was asking questions so fast that it sounded a bit like one of those psychometric tests where you have to answer with the first word that comes into your head. Can you fail those?” He laughed. “No seriously, mate, it definitely sounded alright… pity you looked like crap.”

  Sam smiled wryly and dodged easily as Keith threw a playful punch at him.

  Then he dragged himself upstairs and crashed for 12 hours.

  When he woke up, bleary-eyed on Saturday morning, there was a text from Ms Schmidt informing him that he’d been offered a job.

  In Japan.

  Chapter 4 – March

  Sam looked around his room: there really wasn’t much left to see.

  He’d sold off almost everything he owned, tossed what he couldn’t sell and had given Keith the keys to his car – with a warning that the poor beast was on its last set of brake discs and had little chance of making it through the next
MOT.

  A few favourite CDs and the most precious of his books were stored at his sister’s flat. She wasn’t happy about his move but recognised that he needed a fresh start.

  “Just don’t stay away too long,” she said, quietly. “Rosa’s growing up so fast: I’d like you to be here to see it – you’re all the family she’s got now.” She stared down at the table, blinking back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her again.

  Sam pulled her into a hug.

  “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Sam. Honest,” she muttered into his chest. “Just promise you’ll email lots. And I’ve set up a blog for you so all your friends can keep up with what you’re doing. Promise you’ll write on it – every week.”

  He’d made the promises easily as he had every intention of keeping them.

  In two days he’d be on a flight to Tokyo, and Keith would be breaking in a new housemate.

  “He’d better not turn out to be a weirdo,” Keith grumbled, “or I’m holding you responsible. And he’d better not be a Trekkie, or into any freaky shit.”

  Sam laughed. “You’re the one who interviewed him.”

  “Yeah,” complained Keith, “but you know I’m a rubbish judge of character – I ended up with you for a roommate, after all.”

  Sam was having a goodbye drink with all his friends. Wayne and Sylvie had understandably cried off – on the grounds that they were too sleep-deprived to walk straight, let alone risk alcohol complicating matters. Besides, they were so besotted with Bella that all they wanted to do was to stare at her frowning face and watch her awareness growing with each day that passed.

  “I’ll be reading your blog so I know what you’re up to,” said Sylvie, her voice softened with love. “And you take care of yourself, Sam. I’m furious that you’re going to miss Bella’s christening: the poor kid is going to end up with Keith for a godfather now – God help her!”

  Keith had nixed the idea of having Sam’s leaving drinks at the Ram’s Head on the grounds that he’d been barred from there since Burn’s Night after an unfortunate incident with a haggis: completely misunderstood – an over-reaction, he’d insisted. Instead they were heading into the West End.