Read A Thousand Cuts for Free Online

something else. For a while nothing came to her, until she remembered what she had said to the DCI, about the weekend, about her plans, and she wondered whether he had believed her.

We didn’t get on. So what? It wasn’t a secret. It’s hardly a crime. Turns out I had him down pretty good, wouldn’t you say?
    Physical education, since you ask. I have a degree in sport and leisure studies from the University of Loughborough. It’s the best course of its kind in the country. Tough to get on. Even tougher to complete. Hardest damn thing I’ve ever done and I used to compete. Triathlons, Ironman, marathons sometimes. My knees put me out. My knees and my ankle.
    Physical education: it’s a science. When we were at school it meant a cross-country run in our underwear. A game of rugby for the boys, hockey for the girls. No discipline, no organisation and no specialisation. Our headmaster used to take us. He would chuck us out a football and sit refereeing from the window of his office. Refereeing. Hah. He used to read the paper. He would look up if he heard a holler but otherwise he left us to it. When you fouled someone you had to foul them quietly. You had to wind them so they couldn’t yell.
    There’s something to be said for it. The Darwinian approach to sport. You know Darwin, right? But you wouldn’t get away with that now. Like I say, it’s a science these days. It’s become a science. We teach them sportsmanship and skills - transferable skills, we call them - and nutrition and stuff like that. Just last week we had an hour on callisthenics. I can never say that word. Callisthenics. Callisthenics.
    People assume it must be easy. There’s a lot of prejudice that surrounds my job. Szajkowski, he’s a perfect example.
    We have a week, before the start of term. The headmaster’s there and all the teachers are there and we have to do this training, attend these sessions. It’s bullshit most of it, a waste of time. But part of it is a social thing. You know, everyone getting reacquainted, meeting the newbies, that sort of thing.
    Anyway. So there were two new teachers last term. One of them’s Matilda Moore, she teaches chemistry. Quiet girl but nice enough. Not much into sport but she’s not ignorant about it. She’s not arrogant. The other one of course is Sam Szajkowski. Sam ‘Call me Samuel’ Szajkowski.
    So it’s the end of the day and we’re in the hall and the headmaster’s laid on a spread. You know, sandwiches with their crusts chopped off, mini sausage rolls, crisps. We’re drinking wine or fruit juice or whatever and everyone’s having a nice enough time. The headmaster’s standing here, Matilda’s over there, we’re all dotted about in groups. All a bit low key for my tastes, not particularly lively, but you just get on with it, don’t you?
    So I see Szajkowski on his own and though the headmaster has introduced him to everyone, I haven’t said hello myself. So I do. He’s new here, I’m thinking. The guy’s on his own. I should make an effort to make him feel welcome.
    Now I realise me and him aren’t exactly alike. He’s about half my size and pasty and he looks a bit like Woody Allen but with a scraggly black beard and without the glasses and not as old or into sex. Or maybe he was, who the fuck knows? But just because we’re not alike doesn’t mean we can’t get on. Like George. George Roth. He teaches RE and we’re about the least similar people you can imagine. I mean, I’ve never set foot in a church, let alone a mosque or a temple or a Jew hall, but we get on well enough, we get along. We talk about football and he tells me football is a type of religion and I don’t suppose he’s wrong. Which would make Pelé God, right? Or Matt Le Tissier, depending on where you’re from.
    But Szajkowski: right away we’re on the wrong foot. I say hi and pleased to meet you. I tell him my name and tell him to call me TJ, because everyone else does, even the kids.
    He says, hello