Mister French

By Stephen Hudson

Izzy loves school, and especially learning French. Her headmaster thinks she’s a strong candidate for Oxford. Unfortunately, her French teacher happens to be Mr Trumper, a vain, arrogant man whose plans for her are quite different from her own. When Mr Trumper takes Izzy to court, she has to rely on her friends – and her literary heroes – to get her out of an awkward situation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398485969

Book preview

Chapter 1

I’ve never been in court before. It’s quite intimidating, although I suppose it’s meant to be.

I had the chance to go with Mr Oates—he takes his A-Level Law class every year. There were a couple of spare places, but I didn’t put my name down. Apparently, there were three defendants accused of stealing cars, but only one of them had bothered to show up. All the same, they each had their own lawyer—at huge expense to the taxpayer, no doubt. Each one argued that his client was an unwilling accomplice to the crimes and that one of the others was the true ringleader. In the absence of two of them, this argument couldn’t properly be tested. Then they announced that they were also waiting for social reports, psychologists’ reports and medical reports on the three yobs, so the trial would have to be postponed, probably for several weeks if not months. One of the victims’ representatives asked a question. Could they attend the whole trial, please, and if so, could they also make a statement to say how the crime had affected them?

For some reason, this caused the judge a problem, so much so that he had to adjourn the court and go and consult with some other experts—or maybe nip out round the back for a fag with his mates; I don’t know. When he came back, he said they could do one or the other, but not both. If they heard the other witnesses, apparently, this could affect the statement they might give, which would therefore be tainted, so to speak.

I’m telling you this partly because I’m nervous and partly because it has some bearing on my case. I don’t have a lawyer; the Citizens Advice Bureau said you couldn’t have Legal Aid in a civil case, only a criminal one, and I certainly can’t afford to pay for one myself. And my mum and my friends can’t be in court with me because they’re going to have to give statements too and can’t be allowed to hear what the others have said. It leaves me feeling rather alone.

There are actually five other people in court. The judge, of course, who sits directly opposite me. Below him and to his left is a solemn-looking woman who writes down everything that’s said. Then when she reaches the end of a page, she passes it up to the judge, who glances over what she’s written and nods. To the judge’s right is another man, a sort of assistant judge maybe, who seems to just sit and watch and shows no reaction. Across to my left is an elderly couple, a man and a woman in black robes, who don’t seem to get involved much either. Perhaps they’re there to help the witnesses.

The judge is quite serious looking too, but I suspect he’s got a kind, friendly side to him, a sort of wise old owl, maybe. In a way, he reminds me of Mr Bryant. He asks me my name, but obviously he knows it already because then he says to me, Known to your friends as Izzy, I believe. But after that, he addresses me every time as Miss Lee. The only other time I’ve been called that was at my interview in Oxford.

You could say that being interviewed at Oxford is a bit like being on trial. Awkward questions, which you hadn’t expected and haven’t had the chance to prepare for properly, and quite a lot riding on the result. I suppose the good thing about the Oxford interview is that if you mess up, then you’ll never go back there and never have to meet the same people again. In court, though, a verdict against you could be quite damaging. I don’t think anyone’s ever gone to prison for libel, so perhaps I should say expensive rather than damaging, but probably more than I could afford.

The judge explains to me what I already know. I’m being sued for libel by Mr Peter Trumper, who used to be a teacher at my school until a few weeks ago. Trumper isn’t his real name, but everyone calls him that—even some of the other teachers—because he’s very full of himself. He always likes to see himself as better than the others, even though it’s blatantly not true. I have to explain this to the judge, but I can’t imagine he doesn’t know ‘to trump’—has he never played cards? Trumper had taken a dislike to a sketch I’d written for the Christmas Review, and which I think everyone else quite enjoyed. We’d made fun of a teacher, a man rather like Mr Trumper, and he’d gone straight to a lawyer about it. No sense of humour!