Mummy’s Little Soldier: A troubled child. An absent mum. A shocking secret.. Casey Watson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ rolled her eyes. ‘No thanks, I’m good,’ she said. ‘I do get fed before I come to school, you know.’

      Since there was nothing much to be said to that, and I certainly didn’t want to encourage her, I concentrated on the two students who were up for a snack, already breakfasted or otherwise. Which, for Darryl, perhaps predictably, was something of a production, involving taking a tissue from his backpack, wiping the rim of his cup carefully before finally venturing to take a sip, followed by a nibble on the edge of his biscuit, which had to be placed on another tissue between bites.

      That done, and apparently eschewing the remainder of his biscuit, he then crossed his arms across his chest and grabbed his opposite elbows. ‘Six minutes,’ he muttered, to no one in particular. ‘Six minutes until Miss Vickers says settle down.’

      Kelly knelt beside him. ‘Darryl, remember I told you, honey? It won’t be me this morning. It’s Mrs Watson who will be speaking to you from today. Mrs Watson is your new teacher for a few weeks.’

      ‘How many weeks?’ Darryl asked. Though without looking up.

      ‘You’ll be okay, baby,’ Cody joined in, passing him another biscuit. ‘Here, try this one. I haven’t licked any of the chocolate off or nothing.’

      Cody’s gesture seemed to upset Darryl greatly. He began shaking so violently that I immediately intervened, gently but firmly moving Cody’s hand away. ‘That’s kind, love,’ I told her, ‘but you keep that biscuit, and drink up your juice because Darryl’s right. We have to start class in just a few minutes.’

      At which her face fell – she clearly wasn’t pleased that he’d rebuffed her, and, as I could have predicted, but didn’t – I was still focussed on Darryl – she responded by scrambling from her chair, getting down on all fours, throwing her head back and howling like the proverbial wolf.

      It was as bizarre as it was shocking, so the response from Ria was perhaps only to be expected.

      ‘Oh. My. God,’ she said, punctuating each word with an emphatic pause. ‘I swear I’m in some kind of asylum. I am, aren’t I?’ she added, looking from me to Kelly and back again, then whipping a phone from her bag, as Cody hollered on, oblivious, presumably to capture the scene for posterity.

      I quickly moved to block her view. ‘Put that away, please, Ria,’ I told her. ‘Phones are not allowed in class. You know that. And you certainly can’t take photos like that.’

      She grinned, putting the phone away. Clearly testing the water. ‘This might be fun after all,’ she said, her tone almost jaunty. ‘I can just sit back and watch the show, can’t I?’ Her grin widened further. ‘It definitely beats double Geography.’

      It was perhaps at that moment that the nature of the term ahead properly ‘bedded in’ in my brain. You know how women forget the pain of labour the minute it’s all over? Well, that’s sort of what it’s like working in a school much of the time. And why, to my mind, the school year is arranged as it is – so that the teachers can have regular breaks. Half a term, more or less, is around six weeks in length – just about the maximum length of time in which you can expect relative harmony. Any more than that and the teachers – not to mention the pupils – are frazzled and badly in need of some time off.

      And it’s a break that has magical powers. Because whatever traumas and dramas have developed over the term, every time you return it’s as if they’ve been spirited away, and you invariably see things with rose-tinted glasses.

      And just about then was when the glasses flew off, crossed the room and smashed on the floor. I would have my hands full with these three, and then some. And then some. The frustration mounting, I glared across at Ria. Which, of course, had always been her intention. I knew Mike Moore, the head, had a soft spot for her – as well he might. Up till recently, she’d been a genuinely model pupil, although she clearly was no longer. She might as well have ‘Hate Me’ tattooed across her forehead, such was her apparent need to make enemies, and I wondered what kind of teenage angst was responsible for her sudden character change.

      ‘Thank you, Ria,’ I said, ‘but we don’t need a commentary. As you’re the oldest here, I will be expecting a bit more from you. Now, if you don’t want to join us over here, can you please just sit quietly while I sort out the seating arrangements?’ That, I thought but didn’t add, and the maelstrom you can see perfectly well is still going on at my feet.

      Ria looked like she had something to say, but obviously thought better of it. Instead she huffed and puffed and shuffled in her chair before turning to stare at the wall, while Kelly hurriedly gathered up the cups and put the biscuit tin away. Meanwhile, I squatted down beside Cody to try to persuade her to get up, and Darryl, still as stone now, kept his eyes on the clock face. As pictures went, it was definitely one for the album, even if only the one in my head.

      Happily, Cody seemed to be something like a tap, and with or without my encouragement – it really wasn’t clear – the noise that had filled the room suddenly stopped. Although, as I helped her up and into a seat, it didn’t escape my notice that to be alone in here, day after day, with this particular trio, might have me feeling similarly inclined to scream, particularly if Ria – whom I’d hoped would become a stabilising influence – refused to engage.

      ‘I know,’ Kelly said, when I shared my concerns with her, once we’d got the three of them busy with the first task of the day: to write and decorate labels for their work trays. ‘Can you believe we’ve been in here less than ten minutes?’

      ‘Really?’ I said. ‘Going to be a long day then …’

      ‘And, um, brace yourself,’ she said, with an apologetic expression, ‘because I think you’re getting a fourth kid coming down after first break.’

      ‘What?’ I said. ‘How did I not know about that? Who?’

      ‘Another new kid,’ Kelly said. ‘And it’s literally just been decided. I only know because I happened to be there when Don came to talk to Julia. His name’s Carl. That’s all I really know. Got mild learning difficulties.’

      ‘So why here, then?’ I asked suspiciously, simple ‘mild learning difficulties’ being a prescription for Learning Support, not my Unit. Not on its own.

      I said so.

      ‘I don’t know, Casey,’ Kelly admitted. ‘I mean, I agree there must be something – they were certainly talking about his home life. And I heard Don mention something about the report that had come from his primary. Maybe he’s been bullied, something like that. It would figure, wouldn’t it? Anyway, I’m sure Julia will fill you in once she brings him … And at least he’s the same age as Darryl,’ she added helpfully. ‘So, you know, at least those two might bond …’

      We both looked over at Darryl, who was busy colouring his label in – though in one-second bursts, between glances at the clock, his feet thrumming a beat on the floor beneath his chair. Bless him, I thought, as Kelly and I exchanged glances, the word ‘bond’ – perhaps the last verb likely to apply to Darryl – still hanging in the air.

      With a new lad potentially joining us within the hour, I decided that I’d forget about the first lessons I’d planned; relatively unstructured, get-to-know-you, socially intimate activities just felt all wrong, at least for the moment. No, what this disparate group needed was some immediate structure, and because they were all at different levels, both in terms of age, and also socially and academically, quiet work alone seemed СКАЧАТЬ