02 Mister Teacher by Jack Sheffield

Beth and I walked through to the lounge bar, we spotted Jo Maddison and Dan Hunter, apparently deep in conversation about the possible chemical formula of Kryptonite. We pulled up two stools to join them and Dan and I walked to the bar and ordered drinks from Don, the barman.
    At that moment, John and Pauline Paxton walked in. Pauline waved a greeting and set off for the taproom, while John joined us at the bar.
    ‘Evening, Mr Sheffield,’ said Whistling John. ‘We managed t’get a baby-sitter.’
    ‘Would you and Mrs Paxton like a drink, John?’ I asked.
    ‘Nay, Mr Sheffield, we’re not stopping. We’re goin’ down t’Bluebell. We only called in ’cause my Pauline saw Stan Coe’s Land Rover an’ she wants a word wi’ ’im.’
    ‘Oh, I see,’ I said, and glanced at Dan.
    John looked at Dan Hunter square in the eyes. ‘Ah see y’not in y’uniform, Constable,’ he said.
    Dan appeared to guess what was going on. ‘I’m not on duty, if that’s what you mean.’
    ‘In that case, ah’ll apologize in advance for my Pauline. She’s a bit vexed. In fact, she’s spittin’ feathers,’ said John.
    Dan and I looked across the lounge bar into the taproom, where Pauline Paxton was making her way towards Stan Coe like a nightclub bouncer. She towered over him and tapped him on the shoulder.
    ‘Mr Coe,’ she said, ‘ah want an apology. Y’called my little Molly a thief today.’
    ‘That’s reight. There’s nowt t’say she’s not,’ said Stan ungraciously.
    ‘Ah’m askin’ politely, Mr Coe,’ said Mrs Paxton.
    The taproom went quiet. Stan Coe was not well liked, although few would have confronted him in this way.
    ‘Get back ’ome, woman, t’that dimwit of an ’usband,’ growled Stan.
    Whistling John suddenly stiffened and Dan Hunter put his hand on his arm.
    ‘No trouble, please, John,’ said Dan.
    Surprisingly, John simply smiled and replied, ‘Don’t worry, Constable. My Pauline’ll ’andle it.’
    Pauline Paxton moved slowly and methodically. With immense strength, she grabbed Stan Coe by the collar of his faded shooting jacket and lifted him up, so that his feet dangled in the air. Stan Coe was paralysed with fear. Never had he met such a woman as this.
    Mrs Paxton stared into Stan Coe’s frightened eyes. ‘Ah’m waitin’ for an apology, Mr Coe.’
    A group of well-lubricated farmers began to cheer. ‘Watch out, Stanley,’ shouted one of them. ‘She used t’castrate pigs!’
    ‘An’ ah were good at it an’ all,’ said Mrs Paxton, not relaxing her grip or showing any sign of strain in lifting sixteen stones.
    ‘Ah’m s-sorry,’ stuttered Stan.
    ‘Insult my family again an’ ah’ll show you just ’ow good,’ she said, replacing him in his seat.
    With that, she walked back towards the exit and beckoned Whistling John to follow. Applause and laughter broke out in equal measure, while Stan Coe looked as if he had just gone three rounds with
The Bionic Woman
.
    ‘Ah’ll be round t’morrow t’finish that gate, Mr Sheffield,’ John said with a grin.
    ‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink?’ said Dan, looking both relieved and amused.
    John looked at his watch. ‘No, thanks, Constable. We’ll ’ave a swift one at t’Bluebell and then ah’m off ’ome t’watch
Match o’ the Day
.’
    I smiled and shook his hand. ‘Will you be watching it with Mrs Paxton, John?’ I said.
    ‘Ah don’t think so, Mr Sheffield. She knaws nowt abart football,’ said Whistling John. ‘In fact, she still thinks Sheffield Wednesday’s a public ’oliday.’
    And with a great roar of laughter he was gone.
    It was a good night, although Beth and I stayed later than we should. When we kissed goodnight and drove off in opposite directions, we were both very tired after such a busy week.
    The next morning my brain was slow to function. Dawn was breaking but, thankfully, it was Saturday and I was looking forward to a lazy start to the day. I lifted the bedcovers a little, rolled my