Triumph Over Adversity 3-in-1 Collection. Casey Watson

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      The effect was instantaneous. Imogen carefully replaced the uneaten half of her sandwich in her lunchbox, then said, ‘No, not really, Miss.’

      Just like that. I was stunned. And her big eyes were still on me.

      ‘I understand, love,’ I started. ‘And I kind of guessed that today. That picture you painted this morning … All red and angry … Is it your mum?’ I added gently.

      She looked confused. And hadn’t spoken. Was she going to shut down again?

      ‘Your painting?’ I tried again. ‘Was that about your mum leaving? I’m sure I’d feel angry too … You said it represented anger, remember?’

      But she was now shaking her head. ‘Yes. I mean, no. I mean it’s not about my mum.’

      ‘It’s not?’

      ‘No. I always kind of knew she would leave.’

      Now it was my turn to be confused. Had I got this whole thing completely wrong? ‘So that’s not what’s upsetting you? Your mum and dad splitting up?’

      She shook her head again. And now her face began crumpling, her features falling in on themselves.

      ‘Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry,’ I said, getting up and going round to where Shona usually sat, next to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, sitting beside her. ‘I didn’t want to upset you. I just thought that it must be your mum leaving that started this all off. And if it’s not … sweetie, you must tell me. If you tell me I might be able to help you.’

      ‘That’s just it!’ she said, her voice stronger than at any time since she’d come to us. ‘You can’t help me, Miss. No one can!’ She was properly sobbing now so I put an arm round her and pulled her in close. ‘It’s her!’ she said. ‘Gerri! She hates me! And I hate her too! And my dad is so stupid!’ she gulped. ‘He thinks the sun shines out of her backside but she’s a horrible witch!’

      I digested all this while I held her. It was an incredible amount to have said and I could tell she’d meant every word of it. So the grandmother was right on that score, at least. Her granddaughter did hate her step-mum. Which was natural in itself. Almost mandatory, sometimes. For taking her dad away? For pushing her out? For merely existing?’

      ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘You know, I can tell just how much you’re hurting. And I know how hard it must be for you, all of it. First your mum leaving and then your dad meeting someone new – aren’t adults a pain, eh? And I know how difficult it can be to adjust to all that new stuff. All the changes. Having to get used to this stranger being in your life – specially if you don’t agree with dad’s choices … but, you know what? Nothing’s changed between you and your dad – I know that. You will always be his little girl, and he will always love you, and what you have to do is …’

      ‘NO!’ The word was shouted, and as Imogen uttered it she pushed me away. ‘No!’ she repeated, sobbing. ‘You’re just as bad as my nan and grandad! Nobody ever listens to me! What’s the point of talking to anyone if nobody ever listens to me!’

      It was a shocking and sudden outburst and it seemed she’d done with me. Turning her body away from me she immediately snatched up her book and started pretending to read it. I could tell she wasn’t really doing so because her eyes were still so full of tears. But, even so, I had clearly been dismissed.

      But the only response was to soldier right on. ‘I am so sorry, love,’ I tried, speaking mainly to her curtain of hair, ‘but if you don’t tell me what is wrong, how can I possibly understand? If I have it all wrong then you have to put me right. And I will listen, Imogen. Honestly, I will.’

      But that, it seemed, was that. I was persona non gratis. She seemed determined to completely ignore me. Blank expression, head down, ‘don’t come near me’ demeanour. An impenetrable shield, but shielding what?

      I went back to my desk, taking my remaining one and a half soggy biscuits with me, and praying I hadn’t completely blown it. That we weren’t back to square one as far as speaking was concerned. And I had a good 20 minutes in which to ponder what to do about it, before Kelly breezed back in, bearing a ‘Well?’ kind of expression, a tuna mayo sandwich and a chocolate bar.

      ‘Greetings!’ she announced to the classroom in general. ‘I bring a gift from the dinner-lady gods!’

      Imogen didn’t even lift her head. Not a millimetre.

Chapter 12

      The next couple of days were strained, to say the least. Though Imogen continued to make progress with her mutism in class – answering direct questions from both me and Kelly, and interacting with the rest of the kids to the extent that she’d been doing before, it was as if a light had gone out behind her eyes. Gone were the accompanying smiles I’d begun to enjoy when she spoke to me; now she just looked sullen and slightly hostile and also tired. Defeated, even – as if every day was just something to be got through. And I felt awful, as if it had all been my fault.

      I knew that wasn’t the full picture and that I should stop beating myself up about it – this was a complicated problem with an as yet undiscovered root. That I hadn’t managed to unlock Imogen’s one unsolicited utterance – I thought she was going to … – was hardly for want of trying, after all. And though she’d been quick to ‘punish’ me for apparently barking up the wrong tree (something I still wasn’t entirely convinced about) I felt even more determined to get to the bottom of whatever was making life so unbearable for this troubled, unhappy girl.

      But for all my good intentions, it was difficult to know what best to do next, underlining once again just how hard it was to make progress with the root problem when the symptoms it had caused were such a barrier – no, the ultimate barrier – to communication: she couldn’t tell us! And I couldn’t speak to Gary about it, either. He was away working in one of our feeder schools this week, doing training in child-protection issues.

      I’d written up my report, and handed copies to both learning support and Don, the deputy head, but these people were always busy, and had scores of problems requiring their attention at any given time, so I wasn’t optimistic that I’d get anything in the way of feedback for at least the next few days. No, I’d just have to hang on, keep the lines of communication open with Imogen, and bend Gary’s ears about it once he was back in the following Monday.

      But I hadn’t factored in Kieron, who gave me a fresh perspective on the problem – one I really should have worked out for myself. It was on the Friday evening, and bar Riley, who was at the cinema with her boyfriend David, we were all sitting down to supper, and I was summing up the frustrations of my week to Mike.

      I suspected he wished he’d never asked, but I ploughed on in any case. It was in the marriage vows, wasn’t it? Listening to your wife blathering on when she’s had a hard time at work? ‘So, of course, it feels like it’s all my fault,’ I was saying, ‘that we’re back to square one. And I’m really not sure what’s the best next step to take.’

      ‘How can it be your fault, Mum?’ Kieron wanted to know. ‘She hasn’t spoken for months, has she? And now she has. So, actually, that’s progress, isn’t it? Because you’ve done what you set out to do, haven’t you?’

      ‘Ah, would СКАЧАТЬ