A Stolen Childhood

by Casey Watson

  ‘I know that face, Casey,’ Gary said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘There’s been a development,’ I told him as I sat down. ‘With Mr Bentley.’

  Gary clicked his mouse and put his computer to sleep temporarily. ‘Okayyy … What sort of development? “Not an encouraging one” would be my educated guess.’

  ‘It would be a good guess as well,’ I said. ‘I’m shell-shocked, to be honest. Though it’s not about him. It’s about what he’s told me.’

  ‘Which is?’

  I relayed the gist of my meeting with Kiara’s father and, as verbatim as I could, what he’d said to me before I left, watching Gary’s reactions to it as I spoke. I had been horrified myself, perhaps even more gobsmacked than I might have been, because if it was all true, it wasn’t just that Mrs Bentley didn’t look like a prostitute: if it really was, then I’d been completely and utterly hoodwinked. But perhaps that was my failing, for having such a clear idea in my head of what a prostitute would look like. Which was insane anyway. I knew as much as the next person about Cynthia Payne, didn’t I? Which was a thought that really brought me up short.

  But Gary never so much as raised an eyebrow, much less flinched. ‘Ri-ight,’ he said finally, once I’d finished recounting the details. ‘So.’

  He left a pause, as if to collect his thoughts, but more, I thought, from habit. His was a job that required an element of calm and cool rather than a tendency to hot-headedness, however hair-raising some of the things he’d seen and heard. ‘We-ell,’ he went on finally, ‘the first thing we have to consider is that what you’ve been told could just be bitter tit-for-tat nonsense, couldn’t it? We both know there is no love lost between the pair of them, after all. On the other hand, if it is true, then we have something else to consider.’ Another pregnant pause. ‘And that is – is it even our business?’

  I was stunned. It was obviously my day for being stunned. ‘What?’ I said, aghast. ‘But of course it’s our business! How could it not be?’

  Gary moved a pen a couple of inches across his desk. ‘But, Casey, if Kiara is being looked after, fed, clothed and generally brought up well, then she isn’t in any danger, is she? Yes, granted, what her mother might be doing to earn a living is against the law – and, if so, potentially actionable, but not necessarily by the school. Unless Kiara is at risk, then I have to be careful how I approach something like this. Yes, again, as a Child Protection Officer, I have a duty of care towards the child, but I also have to be very sure about the facts before throwing around any accusations. Imagine the implications. Kiara would be snatched up from that lovely home you saw, and taken into care, which would obviously be very traumatic for her, and also for ever smeared by the allegations against her mother. Do you see? We have to consider the possible consequences. We have to think.’

  I didn’t want to think at that moment. I wanted to act. But after allowing Gary’s words to sink in, I realised he had a valid point. The last thing I wanted was to be the cause of turning Kiara’s life upside down, particularly if all it came down to was a bunch of nasty, unfounded allegations by her ex.

  ‘You’re right.’ I sighed. ‘I know you’re right. But oh, I’m so angry, Gary. If it turns out to be true, then that woman is some bloody actress, I’ll give her that. It’s making me wonder though, it really is. On the way back here, you know what struck me most? That every single time I’ve ever mentioned her mum’s job, Kiara’s given me this strange look – a weird sort of look, as though she knows something I don’t. Do you know what I mean? Well, you probably don’t – it’s not even something I can really pin down – just this sense that there’s something going on behind her eyes. Something that makes me think she’s carrying around secrets. Perhaps that’s key to everything; perhaps that’s why she keeps herself to herself, doesn’t have friends round the house … God, Gary – d’you think Mrs Bentley takes clients home?’

  ‘Whoah, there, ‘Gary said. ‘You’re running away with yourself here, Casey. All we have is a derogatory comment by an obviously antagonistic ex. And with some motivation, given what you’ve told me about the situation. Perhaps it’s all part of a ploy to get more access to his child. Though if so, slinging mud isn’t exactly the best way to go about it –’

  ‘But it might be true.’

  ‘You could be right,’ Gary conceded. ‘But even so, it’s important we don’t act in haste. To be honest, this is something I’d like to talk through with Mike first, which – hmm, not the best timing, is it?’ I shook my head. No, it wasn’t. ‘Which isn’t going to be able to happen for a good bit now, I don’t think. Which means I need to speak to someone else. Someone who can guide me through the protocol for a situation like this. If indeed there even is one.’

  But I was still having visions of what sort of things – well, potentially at least – young Kiara might be being exposed to. No wonder she felt isolated. No wonder she wanted to be with her father. No wonder she was tired all the time and had developed a self-soothing tic. For me, it was all adding up now. ‘Can’t we speak to Donald?’ I suggested. ‘As deputy, wouldn’t he be automatically the man to go to when the head’s not here?’

  Gary nodded. ‘Indeed we could, and perhaps we should, but I’m still inclined to caution. He’d have said the same as me; that it would make sense to run things by Mike first – or someone in a position of similar authority, anyway. We also need to properly review the evidence we do have; perhaps even to talk more to Kiara herself. Not overtly. I think “softly softly” is the way to go here. At least in the short term. If she’s not deemed at risk – which it doesn’t appear she is, then we have to wait and sit it out, I’m afraid.’ He leaned closer, as if to emphasis his next words. ‘Though, trust me, Casey, I won’t just leave this; I promise, I will do a bit of digging.’

  I could only wait and hope, then – that he dug down deep enough.

  Life is full of ironies, in all sorts of ways, and nothing seemed as ironic as the situation I found myself in over the following week. When I was told that Mr Moore wouldn’t be returning till sometime after the half-term holidays (and he had had his appendix out, to be fair) I found myself in exactly the same situation as I imagined Kiara was in with me – possessed of a secret that I couldn’t share with her. And just to heap a further irony upon the one I was already carrying, I’d never seen her so apparently happy. Strange and closed-off and self-contained as she had been up to now, I was beginning to see an alternative Kiara; more outgoing – she and Chloe were apparently very much BFFs – and more relaxed as well; she now seemed to be leaving her hair alone. And though I suspected she was still up far too late in the evenings, there was a spring in her step that I’d not seen before.

  Her father’s doing? When she skipped in the following Monday (he was good as his word, then) I wondered if her brightness was born out of the belief that he was going to arrange things so she could stay with him more. Or, more than that – would he even try for custody? Wouldn’t any father, knowing what he knew?

  But then, how did he know? And how long had he known? There was just so much we didn’t know, and it grated on me. And there was a third irony, right there in front of me. Just as Kiara was sorting out her life and happiness, I was basically plotting to destroy it. It just didn’t add up.

  The half-term holiday seemed to take an age coming round, but at least I had something else to focus on: the fact that we’d be moving into our lovely new bungalow. And though it meant I’d spent every weeknight coming home from work and then lugging furniture and filling boxes, I couldn’t have been happier about the timing.

  There was also the fact that it meant I could go shopping. A new home naturally meant I needed new things to go in it – at the very least new curtains, new light shades, and new rugs and cushions. Everyone knew this. It was a family given.

  ‘But why?’ Mike moaned on the Saturday night when, with me surrounded by catalogues, he could hardly find a space on the sofa. ‘It’s only two bloody minutes since you change
d everything last time! Why does every move come with spending a fortune?’

  ‘You know the old saying,’ I told him. ‘Out with the old, in with the new. That’s why.’

  ‘Er, Mum,’ Kieron butted in, ‘I think that saying is supposed to be used on New Year’s Eve – not every time anyone moves house.’

  I gave my ‘too clever for his own good’ son a withering look. ‘Even so,’ I pointed out, ‘you grotty pair probably won’t have noticed, but all the old stuff is so out of date now, it’s practically ancient. We’re upgrading and that’s that. I wouldn’t dare hang these old curtains in that new neighbourhood!’

  But, for all my excitement, the move itself didn’t go quite as smoothly as I’d hoped. Having taken a week off at Easter, Mike had been unable to do so again, and Kieron wasn’t much help either. Yes, he’d got the week off from college, but had gone to play football as usual the first Saturday and had, rather conveniently to my mind, badly twisted his ankle.

  With Kieron out of action, and Riley at work, I’d had no choice but to beg help from my poor beleaguered parents, who, though fit and pretty well, were both in their sixties and hadn’t done much in the way of heavy lifting for quite a few years. As a result I had to do the bulk of it, which meant it all went very slowly, leading to the realisation that the sensible thing would be to take an extra day off at the end of half-term.

  I was perfectly within my rights to do this, as it was part of my contract, but I still felt awful when I called the school early on the Monday morning, to explain that I wouldn’t make it in till the Wednesday. I felt bad because it meant that Jim, my fellow behaviour manager, would have to take over the Unit for me, and worse still when the school secretary reminded me that Morgan, the traveller girl who was coming to sit her GCSEs, would be starting, and I wouldn’t be there to welcome her myself.

  Eventually, by the Tuesday evening – just in the nick of time – we were settled into my perfect bungalow, even sitting out on our new decking, tired, yes, but happy to be finally installed in our new home. And as I contemplated the graft we’d put in, and the bubble bath I’d be enjoying later, I realised I’d hardly thought about work in days. Which had to be a good thing, as it had really recharged my batteries. So much so that I realised I was looking forward to going back to school and getting stuck in to whatever came next. Which is probably why you should be careful what you wish for.

  But, then again, I’d missed two days, and as I’d soon learn, that mattered. Like they say, everything happens for a reason.

  Chapter 13

  I arrived at school refreshed and relaxed on the Wednesday after my extended half-term. The weather was sunny and warm, which matched my mood perfectly as I parked the car and strolled the short distance from the car park.

  There was something about the second half of the summer term that had a positive effect on both pupils and staff. Yes, it would fall apart comprehensively during the last few days of term, but at this point the promise of the long summer holidays seemed to inspire everyone to crack on and work hard. The excitement of the holidays, for the pupils at least, seemed almost physical. It meant no work, lots of play time, late nights and lie-ins. It also meant that when everyone came back in September, there would be the thrill of change, brand new uniforms, new stationery and new starts. There was therefore a real sense of carpe diem in the air. It was the half-term most beloved by almost everyone. Particularly now it had been confirmed that our OFSTED inspection had been postponed till at least the second half of the autumn term; many a teacher’s summer would be all the brighter because of that, chiefly because so much less of it would need to be spent working.

  ‘Morning!’ I trilled to Barbara, the most senior of the school secretaries, as I walked by reception en route to the staff-room. She was on the phone to someone as I passed, but gestured that I should stop. I did so, musing, as I waited for her to finish, that this might be something to do with our new girl, Morgan.

  ‘Did you have a nice break, Barbara?’ I asked her, as she finally finished her call and swung her chair round to face me at her hatch. ‘Is it Morgan? Have the records from her tutor come through yet?’ This was something Mr Giles had assured me he’d get for me, just so we’d have some idea of what parts of the syllabuses she did and didn’t know.

  She shook her head. ‘Oh no, Casey, there’s nothing on that front yet. No, I was just asked to grab you as soon as I saw you. It’s Mr Dawson, Jim. He’s waiting to see you and said he’ll be in the quiet room. Said it’s urgent.’

  The quiet room was so called because it was just off the staff-room, and away from the main hubbub as it was where the staff computers were. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Thanks. I was on my way to the staff-room anyway, so I’ll catch him right away.’

  I headed off to the staff-room, intrigued. Jim may have just wanted to brief me on what had been happening in the Unit, but my spidey senses were telling me it wasn’t going to be that simple. So some sort of crisis, no doubt. Jim didn’t tend to bandy words like ‘urgent’ around needlessly. I wondered what urgent thing it might be. Could be something to do with Kiara of course, but it could equally be one of the others, about which I had mixed feelings; I realised I wanted it to be about Kiara. However much I understood the whole ‘softly softly’ thinking, I wanted action – I wanted the facts.

  ‘Ah, Casey,’ Jim said, springing up from one of the computer terminals as soon as I entered. ‘Sit down, sit down. How was half-term? Did the move all go okay?’

  I said okay, fine and yes, and batted the queries straight back at him, though I could tell there were things other than half-term small talk on his mind. ‘Let me fill you in quickly,’ he said, glancing at his watch, once we were both seated. ‘We both need to go see Don Brabbiner before the bell goes, but as we’ve got the room to ourselves still, I’ll catch you up first.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ I said, intrigued now, ‘catch me up. What’s happened?’

  He pulled a face. ‘I warn you, it’s not pleasant. As you know,’ he began, ‘I was asked to replace you till today, but, as it turned out, I didn’t last beyond Monday morning. Kelly had to take over – she’s with Don now, by the way, giving her statement.’

  ‘Statement? That sounds serious. Jim, what’s happened?’ My mind was already heading off over the jumps – jumping to conclusions; had Paddy Giles been down and dragged his daughter out by the hair? Jim was a male, after all.

  If only. ‘It was all going fine,’ Jim continued. The kids were fine, no bother – that new gypsy girl, Morgan, she seemed lovely. No bother – just keen to get her head down and get on with her work. No problems at all until the lunch bell in fact. That was when the ordure hit the fan.’

  ‘What happened, Jim?’ I asked, willing him to hurry up and get to the point.

  He looked slightly flushed; not quite himself. He ran a hand through his thatch of hair. ‘What happened, Casey,’ he said, ‘if you want it in a nutshell, is that Kiara Bentley offered me a damn blow job!’

  ‘What? I squeaked. ‘Surely not. Really? She’s only bloody 12 for God’s sake! I mean I know you’re telling me that she did, and I’m not doubting you for a second, but, really? Actually used those exact words?’

  ‘Well, I’m certainly not bloody making it up!’ Jim said, understandably tetchy.

  ‘Sorry,’ I rushed to say. ‘Of course I don’t think you’re making it up. I just can’t get my head round it …’

  Oh God, this was all beginning to stack up, wasn’t it? For me at least – was Jim even aware of Mr Bentley’s allegations?

  ‘Trust me, Casey,’ he said, ‘this is difficult for me to imagine too, but there you go. That’s what happened.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jim,’ I said again. ‘I’m just in shock. How did it happen? Where? When?’

  It seemed that Kiara had asked Jim if she could stay behind when the lunch bell went, as she needed to talk to someone about what she’d been up to during the holidays. Jim had agreed (so Gary had briefed him about our conver
sation prior to half-term) because he knew she might have stuff she needed to get off her chest. But talking, apparently, was the last thing on Kiara’s mind. She’d apparently acted in a very suggestive manner, pouting and fluttering her eyelashes at him. And when he’d sat on the edge of my desk, the better to chat to her informally, she’d actually reached out and tried to stroke his leg.

  At this point Jim had naturally jumped down and told her to stop being silly, then told her to run along and go and have her lunch. But Kiara was apparently having none of it. ‘You can’t fool me, sir,’ she’d said to him. ‘I know what you want, a nice blow job. I can give you one if you like. I won’t tell.’

  Poor Jim. This was horrible territory for a male teacher – well, for any teacher, in fact, because he was in the room alone with her. She could say anything about the encounter, and might feel inclined to do so, as he’d rebuffed her – and it would be extremely difficult for him; his word against hers. I really felt sorry for him, and didn’t know what to say. Well, other than ‘it’ll be alright’, which I knew wasn’t helpful in the slightest.

  No, if word got around about this to pupils and staff, it could very well put an end to his career, no matter how innocent he was. If a girl did something like this and then told all her friends, they would tell their friends, and they’d then tell their friends, and before you knew it, some parent would hear the attendant whispers and giggles and the story – the fiction – would take on another life completely, and when that happened, there’d be no coming back from it, not really, even if it was proven to be a complete fabrication.

  Even if a teacher survived all that, was acquitted and managed to keep their job, the taunts never went away and the whispers in the staff-room were still present; they just got a little quieter. No, this was serious, extremely serious, and had to be dealt with swiftly and correctly. No wonder Jim wasn’t looking quite himself.

  ‘I honestly don’t know what to say, Jim,’ I said, standing up and smoothing my skirt down. ‘But we’d better get along to Don’s office now, I suppose. So why’s Kelly in there?’ I asked, having just had a thought come to me. ‘Is she a witness to anything?’ I added hopefully.