Olivia Thompson stood before the headmistress, crumpled papers clutched in her hands. “Margaret Davies, I’m begging you! Please don’t sack me! I’ve got two children, a mortgage!” Olivia’s voice trembled. “I’ll make it right, I swear!”
“Olivia,” Mrs. Davies sighed, “You forged your university degree. That’s a serious breach which…”
“I was planning to finish!” Olivia interrupted, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Honestly! I only had one year left at the university college! Give me a chance, please!”
The headmistress of Oakwood Primary gazed at the young woman with sympathy. Olivia had taught here for three years; the children adored her, parents praised her work. But rules were rules. “Very well. You have one month to present a legitimate degree. Otherwise…”
“Thank you! Thank you so much!” Olivia rushed towards the door but turned back. “How… how did you find out?”
“County Council Education Services did an audit. Yours showed a discrepancy.”
Bursting out, Olivia nearly collided with Bernard Atkins, the tall, grey-haired PE teacher in his mid-fifties. He steadied her elbow.
“What’s happened, Olivia? You’re pale as a sheet.”
“Bernard, it’s awful!” she hiccupped. “I’m being sacked!”
“Sacked? Whatever for?”
Olivia hesitated, ashamed. Bernard was principled, with an impeccable reputation after twenty years at the school. “My documents… they weren’t in order,” she mumbled vaguely.
“What wasn’t right? Perhaps I can help?”
She looked up at him through wet eyes. Bernard always had a fatherly manner, offering sweets, asking after her children. Since her divorce, Olivia had missed male support terribly. “My degree… there’s a problem with my degree.”
“Lost it, have you?”
“Yes,” she lied, clinging to the excuse. “Lost during my last move. Getting a replacement takes ages, terrible bureaucracy.”
Bernard stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Where did you study? What year you finish?”
“London University College,” Olivia said smoothly, though she’d only completed three years before marriage, children, and life got in the way.
“Right. I know a fellow at their records office. Maybe he can speed things up. What name were you registered under? Maiden or married?”
Olivia felt the quicksand of lies deepen. “Maiden. Olivia Thompson.”
“Alright, I’ll have a word with Simon Parker. Runs their student archives. We were mates at uni.”
“Bernard, you’re… you’re so kind. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Think nothing of it! We’re colleagues. Must help each other out.”
At home that evening, Olivia paced the kitchen like a trapped animal. Seven-year-old Liam did homework at the table; five-year-old Sophie played with dolls in the corner.
“Mum, why are you crying?” Liam asked, looking up.
“Nothing, love. Just tired from work.”
“Is Dad coming?”
“No, Liam. Dad lives elsewhere now, remember?”
Olivia looked at her children, her heart squeezing. For them, she’d faked the degree. She needed work, any decently paid work. School jobs had holidays and benefits.
The next day, Bernard approached her during break. “Olivia, I spoke with Simon Parker. He checked the archives.”
Her heart skipped. “And?”
“Odd thing. Your surname isn’t on the graduation lists. Wrong year, maybe? Check the exact faculty name?”
Olivia felt the ground shift. She needed a story. “Bernard, I must be confused. Post-divorce stress, my mind’s a blank. Been forgetting everything. Perhaps it was a different place? I’ll remember and tell you.”
“Course, don’t you worry. Heads go funny after shocks, perfectly normal.”
He looked so concerned it made her feel worse. Bernard was a widowed man; his wife died of cancer three years ago. They’d had no children. Colleagues said he’d taken it hard, even went abroad alone for a holiday.
“Bernard, can I buy you lunch? To thank you?”
“Olivia, there’s no need! Don’t spend your money.”
“But I want to. You’ve been so supportive. I don’t even know much about you, beyond you teaching PE.”
Bernard hesitated. “Well, perhaps the school canteen. Their cottage pie is decent.”
Over lunch, they talked. Bernard enjoyed fishing, loved historical novels, spent weekends at his cottage. He lived alone in a small flat and cooked for himself.
“How do you manage? Must be tough alone with the kids?”
“Managing,” Olivia sighed. “Liam helps with Sophie. He’s my big helper.”
“Ex-husband pays maintenance?”
“Sometimes. Irregularly. No job or some excuse.”
Bernard frowned. “That’s appalling. Leaves his children, won’t support them properly.”
“What can you do? That’s life.”
“Olivia, hope you won’t mind if I check in on you sometimes? You seem so worried about these documents.”
“I wouldn’t mind. It’s… nice knowing someone cares.”
From then on, Bernard checked in daily, often bringing apples from his cottage for the children. Olivia felt his genuine care, yet agonised over her lies.
A week later, he asked about the degree again. “Olivia, remembered the university college?”
“Bernard, I need to confess something,” she said, gathering courage. “I’m afraid you’ll think badly of me.”
“Tell me.”
“I… I didn’t finish university. Married in my third year, had children. Then my husband left, I had to work. I forged the degree to get this job. I know it was dreadful, but I had to feed my children.”
Bernard was silent for a long moment. Olivia couldn’t look up.
“So you deceived me all this time?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“Olivia, this is serious. Falsifying documents…”
“I know!” she exclaimed. “I know what I’ve done! But what choice had I? Little children, no money, everywhere told me: no degree, no job!”
Bernard sighed heavily. “Can you study? I mean, do you have the ability?”
“I can. I always did well. And I’m good with the children, you see.”
“I do see. You’re a good teacher, that’s true.” He paused, thinking. “Here’s an idea. What if I give you the money to re-enrol? Finish your degree part-time, get a real one. Meanwhile, we tell Mrs. Davies there are technical delays with your documents.”
Olivia couldn’t believe her ears. “Bernard, why would you do that? I deceived you!”
“Because…” he hesitated, “because I don’t want you to sink. And your children deserve stability.”
“But I couldn’t repay you quickly…”
“Take your time. Pay when you can.”
Tears threatened to choke her. “Thank you. You’re saving us.”
“Think nothing of it. Just no more deception, alright?”
“Alright,” she nodded, smiling for the first time in days.
Bernard helped her re-enrol, handled the paperwork. They told Mrs. Davies an archive fire delayed the degree replacement.
Olivia studied evenings while Bernard sometimes helped with the children. Liam quickly grew fond of him, asking football tips. Sophie called him Uncle Bernard, giving him plasticine figures she made.
“Olivia,” he said one night as the children slept, and they sat over tea. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you… ever think of marrying again?”
Olivia was startled. “I… haven’t really thought about it. Why?”
“It’s just… children need
Olivia Tremayne clutches crumpled certificates before Headmistress Victoria Bennett in her Sheffield Primary School office. “Please, Mrs Bennett! I’m begging you! Don’t sack me! Two children, the mortgage!” Her knuckles were white. “I’ll make it right, I swear!”
“Olivia Tremayne,” sighed Victoria, “forging a PGCE certificate. It’s a serious professional misconduct…”
“I was going to finish my degree! Truly! Just a year left at Leeds College of Education!” Olivia interrupted, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Mrs Bennett, allow me a chance!”
Victoria regarded the young woman with pity. Olivia had taught Year Two here for three years, adored by pupils and praised by parents. But rules were rules. “Alright. You have one month to produce the genuine qualification. Otherwise…”
“Thank you! Thank you so much!” Olivia dashed towards the door, pausing. “How… how did you find out?”
“County Council audit. A routine record check revealed the discrepancy.”
Rushing out, Olivia nearly collided with Bernard Clarke, the tall, silver-haired PE teacher in his late fifties, who steadied her elbow. “Goodness, Olivia! You look ashen-faced! What’s happened?”
“Mr Clarke, Bernard… it’s all over! I’m getting the sack!” she managed between sobs.
“Sacked? Whatever for?” Olivia hesitated, ashamed. Bernard, a principled man with spotless standing after twenty years teaching football and cricket, wouldn’t understand. “Paperwork… issues,” she mumbled vaguely.
“What sort of issues? Perhaps I can help?” His kind, paternal gaze met her tear-filled eyes. He often inquired about Max and Sophie; since her divorce, such kindness felt rare. “My degree… my teaching certificate.”
“Lost it during house move?”
“Yes,” Olivia lied, seizing the straw. “During the move to Chesterfield. Getting a replacement takes ages, terrible bureaucracy.” Bernard thoughtfully scratched his chin. “Where did you study? Which year?”
“Leeds,” Olivia answered without blinking, though she’d only managed two years there before marriage and motherhood halted her studies.
“Right. I know an old student friend, runs the archive department there, Simon Baker. Might be able to expedite things. Your name then? Maiden or married?”
“Maiden,” Olivia whispered, sinking deeper into deceit. “Olivia Jane Tremayne.”
“I’ll ring Simon. Bernard, you’re… incredibly kind. How can I ever thank you?”
“Tosh! Colleagues stick together.”
At home in their Chesterfield terrace, Olivia paced the cramped kitchen. Seven-year-old Max did homework at the table; five-year-old Sophie played with dolls nearby. “Mummy, why you crying?” Max asked. “Just tired, love.” “Is Daddy coming?” “No, sweetheart. Remember, Daddy lives elsewhere now.”
Olivia’s heart tightened. For the children, she’d forged the certificate. She’d needed a job – any job with solid pay and school benefits like a pension.
Next day, Bernard approached her at break. “Olivia, I spoke with Simon. He checked the archives.” Her stomach lurched. “And?” “Oddly, no record under Tremayne. Wrong year? Faculty name?” Olivia felt the floor vanish. “Bernard, perhaps I’m confused… Post-divorce stress, memory’s awful. Maybe it was another college? I’ll let you know.” “Of course, don’t fret. Perfectly understandable after such upheaval.”
He looked so caring it deepened her shame. A widower after his wife’s cancer three years prior, he lived alone; colleagues said he was still grieving, even taking solo holidays to Cornwall.
“Bernard, may I buy you lunch? To thank you?” “Olivia, really! No need!” “I’d like to. You’ve been so concerned. I barely know you, besides your mastery of the football field.” Bernard smiled shyly. “Well… perhaps the school canteen? Their fish fingers are surprisingly decent.”
Over lunch conversation flowed. Bernard enjoyed fly fishing, reading Bernard Cornwell, and weekends at his Derbyshire cottage. He lived alone in a small flat near the park. “And you cope? Must be tough, single mum?”
“I manage,” Olivia sighed. “Max helps with Sophie. He’s a good lad.”
“Ex-husband paying maintenance?”
“Sometimes. Irregularly always something.”
Bernard frowned. “Disgraceful. Abandons his children, shirks his duty.”
“What can you do? Life.”
“Olivia… I hope you won’t mind if I check in occasionally? See how you’re bearing up?”
“Mind? I… I appreciate your kindness.”
Daily chats became routine. He brought apples or gooseberries from his cottage garden for the children. Olivia valued his support yet writhed with guilt over her lies. A week later, he brought up the certificate again. “Olivia, remembered the right college?”
“Bernard, I must confess something,” she said bravely. “Fear you’ll think terribly of me.”
“Go on, please.”
“I… I never finished my degree. Married young, had the children. Then he left, had to work. I forged my certificates to get this job. I know it’s appalling, but I had to feed Max and Sophie.”
Bernard was silent for a long moment. Olivia couldn’t look up. “You’ve deceived me all this while?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Forgive me.”
“Olivia, this is serious. Forgery…”
“I know!” she cried. “I know what I did! But what choice had I? Children to feed, no options without a degree!”
Bernard sighed deeply. “You can teach? I mean, are you capable?”
“I am. Good grades. The children respond well – you’ve seen.”
“Seen it. You’re a natural teacher, that’s true.” He paused thoughtfully. “Listen. What if… I help fund your reinstatement? Study part-time, get a real qualification? Meanwhile, we tell Victoria Bennett there’s a delay retrieving records?”
Olivia stared. “Bernard, why help me? After I lied!”
“Because…” he hesitated, “…I don’t want to see you or those children fall by the wayside.”
“But repaying you…”
“Take your time. Return it when you can.”
Tears welled. “Thank you. You’re saving us all.”
“Nonsense. Just… no more lies, alright?”
“Alright,” she nodded, smiling properly for first time in weeks.
Bernard arranged her reinstatement at Leeds, handling the admin. They told Victoria about ‘archival complications’ delaying the certificate. Evenings saw Olivia studying; Bernard often visited, helping with homework or reading bedtime stories. Max quickly warmed to him, asking for rugby tips; Sophie called him Uncle Bernie, gifting him plasticine models.
“Olivia,” Bernard said softly one evening once the children were tucked in, sharing tea in her kitchen. “May I ask you something?” “Ask away.”
“You… haven’t considered remarrying?” Olivia was taken aback. “Hadn’t given it thought. Why?”
“Just… children need a father figure. And you deserve companionship.” Olivia’s breath caught. “Bernard, what are you saying?” He flushed. “I find myself thinking constantly. About you. The children. I care deeply. Know I’m much older… But…”
“Bernard…”
“Please, let me finish. Realise this might shock you. But you should know my feelings.”
Olivia was silent, overwhelmed. Bernard was good, reliable, kind. Yet starting something
Seeing David’s grateful smile as they swayed across the dance floor, Emily finally understood how a single desperate lie could weave itself into the very fabric of a beautiful, honest life they were building together, brick by brick of kindness and second chances.
