St Agnes’s girls returning to school after their Michaelmas holiday were stunned and perplexed to be greeted with a welcome-back banner no one could have seen coming. And had it not been for a fortuitous lifting of the ubiquitous Knobble Hill mist, no one would have. Strung across the imposing entrance gates of the prestigious R300,000-a-year private school was a huge makeshift canvas sign worthy of a B-grade horror flick. Written in blood-red lettering, still dripping onto the freshly washed brick paving, it proclaimed with murderous outrage:
BRETT HATTON-JONES IS FUCKING MY WIFE!
Once the initial shock had worn off, one question formed on the lips of everyone at the scene: exactly whose wife was Brett Hatton-Jones, HOD of the St Agnes music department, running extra murals with? As more and more parents arrived at the drop-off point, events in the car park quickly escalated into a full-scale gossip-fest. Girls gathered in huddles to snigger and speculate, whilst mothers covered their mouths in shock. One rubber-necking parent, attempting a surreptitious drive-by, ploughed her SUV into the azalea bushes.
Grimly intent upon keeping his head while all about him were losing theirs, headmaster Bruce McDougal, tasked some of the more agile learners with climbing the gate to dismantle the scandalous banner. Ever the eager, Mr. Lee Franklin was on hand to give the girls a boost. Meanwhile the deputy head proceeded with plan B, and darted off to locate a ladder.
All the while, Hatton-Jones, wearing the expression of a smug self-satisfied Lothario, remained remarkably calm under scrutiny, idly smoking a Camel Plain while chatting with saxophonist teacher Jeff Judge. At one point, with a smirk, he casually remarked to Judge, “I have know idea who wrote that. I fuck a lot of wives, including my own.”
Pulling up to reception in her Porsche Cayenne, one of the matric girl’s moms Zamafuthi Chonco, whose husband currently serves on the Governing Board was quick to launch into a vitriolic character assassination of Hatton-Jones. Joining a group of thunderstruck tiger moms who had gathered in the foyer to speak to school receptionist, Sandy Fraser. Mrs. Chonco didn’t hold back, “He’s a total lecher!” she shrieked. “Do you know Sandy, he has a bed in his office where he conducts his relations and when the girls go looking for him in the afternoons the door is always locked. I worry that he will pilfer my daughter’s virginity and she won’t be able to wear a white dress to the matric dance. Look at him with his *buka mina pants and his fancy leather jacket. Aagh sies man!”
Not all parents were ready to sing from the same hymn sheet. Emerging from her husband’s Lamborghini, sporting a leather micro-mini and barely there boob-tube, Jilly Bertinelli the stilettoed Joburg yummy-mummy flicked her long blonde extensions appearing only too happy to voice her ardent support for Hatton-Jones. Fresh out of a **mansoek degree from Stellies and not much older than her spotty uniformed stepdaughter, Mrs. Bertinelli had this to say: “I mean the man’s a babe. He’s giving me legit silver fox vibes. Who could resist hey? Sorry doll, but if I was still in school, close your ears Gemma, I’d be singing in the choir and sending him boobie shots from the bird hut. Yes I know all about the bird hut Gemma, that’s where all you girls go to smoke.”
When faced with questions about his professionalism and extracurricular activities Hatton-Jones simply shrugged and responded that he was frequently tired in the afternoons and needed to take an extended nap between morning lessons and evening practices with the choir and vocal ensemble. Yes it was true he had a bed installed in his office but he had cleared it with the school nurse following a lengthy consultation with her whilst her husband was out of town attending the IEB annual conference.
Hatton-Jones wished it known that he has a very bad back which needs to be rested on occasion and the moaning heard by the girls was because of the agonising pain he was in. On numerous occasions Hatton-Jones required the services of Mrs. Cheryl Byres, the school bookkeeper who apart from being a wizard at balancing the accounts was a highly skilled massage therapist. Mrs. Byres was unavailable for comment however Mr. Byres, her husband, maintained that although he had not yet caught Mr. Byres en flagrante it was only a matter of time as she had seriously upped her lingerie game and this alone convinced him that Hatton-Jones was indeed fucking his wife. Although he vehemently denied stringing up the banner.
When asked for comment, the headmaster stressed that this was an internal matter which would be handled by the St Agnes management and, if deemed necessary, would be referred to the Board of Governors.
While there remained much speculation over whose husband had made the banner, many wives agreed that the sacking of Hatton-Jones would be the most devastating setback in educational history since Fiona Viotti was axed from Bishops.
*Buka mina: Zulu for “look at me!” As in: Jeff pulled up in his Ferrari, climbed out in skinny jeans, salmon Polo shirt and sunglasses then adjusted his toupee and sucked in his gut — what a buka mina!
**Mansoek degree: Afrikaans for “man-seek” degree. As in: Tanya spent four years at Stellenbosch, officially studying B. Comm, but really earning her Mansoek degree- graduating cum laude with a 3-carat diamond on her left hand.