Open Writing

'Mum, I've got an interview at Cambridge!' James looks both excited and alarmed. 'I'll need a suit.' He hurries off to consult his friends and figure out how to prepare.

I'm delighted that this news seems to have dispelled James' deep disappointment at receiving a rejection from another university. We're told some places reject anyone who has also applied to Oxford or Cambridge. I'm not sure of the logic of this but then I've never been involved in the process before.

James' college runs seminars in Oxbridge preparation and I'm proud enough for tears when he sets off with his dad on the interview day. I hurry home from school eager to hear all about it.

'Cambridge is a wonderful place,' Howard tells me.

'They have porters and the buildings are so old and so beautiful.' I can hear the longing in James' descriptions. 'But I made a mess of the interview.' A dark shadow crosses my son's face.

'You can't know that, James. Everyone's bound to be nervous and make mistakes.' But I can see I haven't convinced him.

We don't have to wait long for the letter. The college are sorry they don't have a place to offer James but they'll put him in the 'pool'. This is a collection of worthy overspill students looking for spare spots in other colleges within Cambridge University. This is a very long shot and we're quickly told there's nothing for him.

When two more rejections come through, James is distraught.

'This is worse than having cancer,' he cries in despair. 'Everyone else has had offers. Rory's had five! Why am I not good enough?'

Most of his friends also have girlfriends and I can see the fears he had before the amputation are being confirmed in his mind.

'For a start, James, none of your friends have applied to do medicine. You know it's much harder to get into than most other subjects.'

'It's that B in physics,' James says with finality.

'When we interview for jobs, it can be the tiniest thing that separates candidates. If you have a lot of good people but only one place, it can be very hard to choose. Perhaps they're afraid your cancer will come back or medicine will be too physically demanding for you.' I'm desperate for him to know that he isn't being rejected as a person.

'If I'd gone to private school, I'd have had a better chance. It's your fault. I've missed out because you care more about money then my future.'

James glares at me. It's his frustration speaking and he knows this isn't true. We've had this discussion before. One of his friends is a day pupil at a prestigious fee-paying school.

'If that's the reason they've rejected you then it's their foolish mistake and you shouldn't want to have anything to do with a place like that.'

Unfairness always makes my blood boil. 'If these people can't appreciate what you've achieved under the most difficult circumstances, then they don't deserve to have you in their university.'

This makes James pause and think. 'Ravi has had a load of rejections, as well. He's had all top grades and he's come from one of the hardest, most deprived areas of Huddersfield.' James shakes his head.

I cannot understand why these mysterious university bodies, sitting somewhere in an ivory tower, can't see the value there is in pure strength of character.

I phone my father and brother, to investigate the possibility of James going to study in Arizona or Michigan, where they live. While people in England are protesting about having to pay £1000 tuition, we discover it would cost $14-15,000 a year for tuition in the US. Additionally, James' ongoing medical and living expenses would have to be paid for.

Finally, after weeks of watching James smile and congratulate all of his friends, he receives an offer from Leeds University. He'll be studying in the very hospitals he was a patient in. I suspect someone there put in a good word for him. He's relieved but a little disappointed.

'It's so close,' he says.

And so familiar, I suspect he's thinking. James longs to leave home and get out into the world.

I'm selected for interview for a deputy headship post. As part of the process I'm asked do a fifteen-minute presentation on "a recent piece of work, of which I'm proud, that demonstrates my educational philosophy
and includes a discussion of how I would disseminate the good practice throughout the school community". I'm veiy nervous sitting on my little wooden chair, while six pairs of eyes study me from behind a semicircle of tables. But the passion I feel for the work I'm doing carries me through and I get the job.

I'll be the deputy head of a nursery and infant school, with approximately 130 children plus a 48-place nursery. It's in a delightful village on the edge of the moors and the headteacher seems lovely. When she originally showed me around the school, before I applied, she'd had something specific and positive to say about every member of staff and the walls were covered in the clearly cherished work of the children. Very excited about the prospect of this change; I'm also a little frightened of leaving the friends and security of a school I've worked in for twelve years.
We bask in the pleasure of this new opportunity for a week before we receive a phone call from Australia to say that Delith has a brain tumour and only two months to live.