Aware that her pupils weren’t listening as they noisily pushed and shoved their way out of the classroom, desperate for the freedom that lay beyond the door, Lynn sighed. Then, locating Chantelle at the back, she caught her eye and said, ‘Could you stay behind for a moment, please?’
‘Aw, what’s she want now?’ Chantelle’s friend Immy muttered. ‘Hope she’s not gonna give you one of her epic lectures or you’ll be here all day.’
‘Go on ahead,’ Chantelle said, a sinking feeling already settling over her. ‘I’ll try not to be too long.’
‘I’ll wait by the gate,’ Immy said, flashing the teacher an unimpressed look. ‘But I promised my mum I wouldn’t be late, so I’ll have to go if you’re not out in ten.’
Chantelle nodded, and hung back as the classroom quickly emptied. When they were alone, the teacher closed the door and waved for her to sit down.
‘I’ll try not to keep you,’ she said, taking her own seat and linking her hands together on the desktop. ‘I just wanted to speak to you before the summer holidays, because I’m a little concerned about you.’ She paused now and smiled before continuing. ‘Nothing to worry about – you just haven’t seemed yourself lately, and I wondered if there was anything worrying you?’
Chantelle shook her head and dipped her gaze. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lynn probed gently. ‘I know you struggled with your exams, and that wasn’t like you because you usually do so well. If there’s something wrong, I hope you know that you can talk to me?’
Chantelle inhaled deeply and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. ‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘Honestly. I’m just tired, that’s all.’
Lynn nodded slowly. ‘I understand that; it’s been an arduous few weeks. But you’re one of our brightest students and you don’t usually have so much trouble with tests. I know you’re not the kind of girl who likes to talk about your feelings, but it’s my job to help if you’re having difficulties.’
The teacher stopped talking and Chantelle knew that she was waiting for a response. But she didn’t dare speak for fear of what might tumble out. Everything was a mess, and it was getting worse by the day. It had been three weeks now since her mum had disappeared, and not only was she struggling to keep Leon under control but the money that her mum had left was long gone, so she’d been forced to break into her savings – which she really hadn’t wanted to. Ever since she’d first started high school she’d known that she wanted to go to college so, while her friends spent their pocket money on magazines, make-up and clothes, Chantelle had put every penny she’d ever managed to get her hands on straight into her bank account. She was determined not to end up like her mum: struggling through life on benefits, with unwanted kids to feed and an insatiable appetite for fags, booze and drugs to cater for. It had been hard, but she had managed to accumulate just under £300 and she resented having to spend it on food. But what choice did she have? She wasn’t old enough to sign on, and she definitely couldn’t ask anyone for help because then the authorities would know that their mum had abandoned them and it would be game over.
‘I wish you’d talk to me.’ Lynn tried again, watching as the troubled thoughts flashed through the girl’s downcast eyes.
Chantelle shook her head and inhaled deeply. ‘There’s nothing wrong. I’m absolutely fine.’
Lynn sighed. As she’d already said, Chantelle was one of the school’s brightest students, and yet she looked set to do badly in every one of the exams that she had sat. It didn’t make sense.
‘Maybe I should talk to your mum?’ she ventured.
‘No!’ Chantelle’s head shot up. ‘Please, don’t. She’s not very well at the moment, and I don’t want to worry her.’
‘Ah …’ Relieved to have finally got an insight, Lynn leaned forward. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’
‘No, we’re all right.’ Chantelle dropped her gaze again.
The teacher’s voice was so soft and kind that she felt like bursting into tears. She had always liked Mrs Foster best of all the teachers in the school, and she knew that the woman was fond of her, too. But, in her experience, the kindest adults were often the most easily shocked, and if Mrs Foster were to discover the truth she would feel duty-bound to alert the social worker.
‘It’s just a bit of flu,’ Chantelle lied, forcing herself to look the woman in the eye now as she rose from her seat. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to go or I’ll be late picking my brother up.’ She reached for her bag. ‘And I said I’d go to the doctor’s on my way home and get my mum’s prescription.’
‘Okay, well, try to relax during the holidays.’ Lynn stood up and came around the desk. ‘And don’t worry too much about your exam results. If they’re not up to par we can talk about re-sits when the new term starts.’
Chantelle nodded and pulled the door open. Then, forcing a smile, she fled down the corridor, determined to get out of there before the tears came.
When the girl had gone, Lynn gathered her own things together. Chantelle had always been reserved but she’d been even quieter than usual of late. And she’d lost weight, which was a definite indicator of stress. As she made her way to the staffroom Lynn wondered again if she ought to call the girl’s mother. But she quickly decided against it. Chantelle had asked her not to, and she didn’t want her to think that she’d gone behind her back. Apart from which, Mary Booth was hardly the most approachable of women – as Lynn had discovered to her cost on the one occasion when the woman had actually bothered to turn up for parents’ evening, eyes glazed and reeking of alcohol. Lynn had only spoken to her once since then: eighteen months ago, after Chantelle and her brother returned home after being placed in temporary care. She had called to offer the school’s support, but Mary Booth had made it quite clear that she neither needed nor wanted their help.
So, no, she wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
As much as she suspected that something was bothering Chantelle, she sensed that no good would come of interfering. All she could do was be here when – if – Chantelle decided that she wanted to talk.
Chantelle was glad to see that Immy had gone when she reached the school gates. They had been best mates for years and always walked home together, but Immy would be bound to ask what was wrong if she saw how upset Chantelle was, and Chantelle couldn’t risk telling her. She couldn’t tell anyone. It was too dangerous.
She had more or less pulled herself together by the time she reached Leon’s school, but her heart sank all over again when she turned the corner and saw her brother standing at the gates with Anton Davis.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, quickening her pace when she saw Leon’s ripped shirt and the thin trail of blood that was dribbling out of a little cut above his eye. ‘Oh my God, what have you done? Have you been fighting?’
‘Everything’s cool,’ Anton assured her, shifting the little girl he had in his arms onto his other hip. ‘Your bro was having a beef with some older kids, but it’s sorted now. Ain’t that right, Champ?’ He ruffled Leon’s hair.
Leon nodded and grinned, and Chantelle frowned when she saw the adoring look in his eyes as he gazed up at Anton. It was bad enough that he’d been smoking and drinking and hanging around with a gang, without him adopting Anton as his new hero as well.
‘Right, well, thanks for looking after him,’ she said, pulling Leon away. ‘But I’ll take it from here.’
‘It was no probs,’ Anton said, falling into step beside her as she started walking away. ‘Didn’t realise him and my little sis went to the same school. Small world, eh?’
‘It’s the closest primary to the estate,’ Chantelle replied frostily. ‘Where else are they going to go?’
Amused by her feistiness, Anton grinned. ‘Haven’t seen you at Abdul’s in a while; been shopping somewhere else?’
‘Yeah, the market, where they don’t bump up the prices from one day to the next,’ said Chantelle. ‘Why aren’t you there, anyway?’ she added sniping
ly. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been sacked already?’
‘Day off,’ Anton told her, frowning now. He was only trying to be friendly, and he seriously didn’t know what her problem was.
‘If you don’t mind, I need to talk to my brother,’ Chantelle said. ‘In private.’
‘Cool. No problem.’ Anton slowed down. ‘See you around sometime.’
‘See you,’ Leon said, glancing back at Anton wide-eyed. He was a legend among the lads on the estate, and Leon was chuffed that his sister was mates with him. Not that she was letting on, but Anton had told him they were so it had to be true.
‘Get moving,’ Chantelle snapped, pushing Leon roughly on ahead of her. ‘And what the hell do you think you were playing at, fighting at school?’
‘It weren’t my fault,’ Leon protested. ‘I was just waiting for you and they started on me. Anton stuck up for me,’ he added proudly. ‘And then he stopped with me till you got there in case they came back. He’s well cool.’
‘No, he’s not, he’s a thug,’ said Chantelle. ‘And I don’t want to catch you talking to him again.’
‘I like him,’ Leon grumbled. ‘Anyhow, why can’t I talk to him if you can?’
‘I don’t,’ Chantelle retorted sharply. ‘And I meant what I said, so stay away from him.’
‘Get lost!’ Leon turned on her angrily. ‘You can’t tell me who to talk to.’
‘Yes, I can,’ Chantelle hissed. ‘I’m doing my best here, but don’t you think I’ve got enough on my plate without having to chase around after you to keep you out of trouble?’
‘Who says I’m getting in trouble?’
‘You were fighting. What if one of your teachers had seen you?’
‘It weren’t my fault.’
‘Do you think your teachers would believe that?’
‘I don’t care what they think.’
‘Well, I do!’ Chantelle yelled, annoyed that he wasn’t taking this more seriously. ‘What do you think would have happened if they’d called the police? You’d get put back into care, that’s what! Or is that what you want?’
As she glared down into his eyes, Leon dropped his gaze and scuffed the toe of his trainer on the ground. There was no way he wanted to go back into care, but he wasn’t lying about the fight. He hadn’t started it, and he thought Anton was ace for stepping in.
‘You’ve got to stop this,’ Chantelle said now, an edge of desperation creeping into her voice as tears began to glisten in her eyes. ‘I’ve already made a mess of my exams ’cos I’m so stressed out.’
‘’S not my fault you’re thick,’ Leon grunted, offended that she was blaming him for that as well.
‘It’s your fault I couldn’t revise properly,’ she shot back.
‘No, it ain’t!’ Leon screamed up into her face. ‘It’s mum’s fault, so blame her. And stop having a go at me all the time, ’cos I’ve done nowt wrong. You’re a bitch, and I hate you!’
When he pushed past her and ran off down the road, Chantelle stayed where she was and blinked back the tears. He was right: none of this was his fault. But he definitely wasn’t helping the situation. The six weeks’ holiday was going to be a living nightmare if their mum didn’t come back, and she had no idea how she was going to cope. But, for Leon’s sake, she would have to try.
Leon was nowhere to be seen when Chantelle got home, but Tracey was standing on the step and Chantelle’s heart leapt at the sight of her.
‘Is she back?’ she gasped, pulling her key out of her pocket and rushing to open the door.
Unable to look her in the eye, Tracey shook her head. ‘No, but I have heard from her. Can I come in for a minute?’
‘Where is she?’ Chantelle stumbled into the hall. ‘When’s she coming home? What did she say?’
‘Look, don’t have a go at me,’ Tracey said, shuffling her feet when Chantelle switched on the light and gave her an expectant look. ‘But she’s not coming back. Not yet, anyhow,’ she added quickly when she saw the disappointment wash over the girl’s pretty face. ‘I’m sure she will – eventually; but she’s just not ready yet.’
‘What do you mean, she’s not ready? She’s been gone for ages. How much longer does she think she can stay away?’
‘If it’s any consolation, I told her she’s out of order. But you know what she’s like. You can’t tell her nothing.’
‘She can’t do this,’ Chantelle croaked. ‘She’s got to come back. I can’t deal with this on my own any more.’
Unable to look her in the eye, Tracey pulled a £20 note out of her pocket. ‘She asked me to drop this round for you. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I could manage. At least it’s something, eh?’
‘Not much?’ Chantelle squawked. ‘It won’t last two minutes. I’ve been using my savings, but what am I supposed to do when they’re gone? Look …’ She snatched a pile of envelopes off the hall table and flapped them in front of Tracey’s face. ‘Bills! Electric, water, phone … Who’s going to pay them? I can’t.’
When Tracey gave an awkward little shrug, Chantelle threw the bills back onto the table and buried her face in her hands. ‘She can’t do this to me. It’s not right.’
‘Aw, don’t cry.’ Tracey extended a hand but quickly withdrew it when the girl snapped her head up and glared at her.
‘Where is she?’ Chantelle demanded. ‘I need to talk to her.’
‘In Spain,’ Tracey told her. ‘She reckons she tried to call you, but you must have been at school, eh?’
Chantelle yanked her mobile phone out of her pocket and checked it for missed calls. ‘She’s a liar,’ she said accusingly when she saw there were none.
‘Hey, don’t blame me, babes.’ Tracey held up her hands in a gesture of innocence. ‘I’m just the messenger.’
Teeth gritted, Chantelle clenched her fists. ‘Well, you’ve done your bit, so you can go now.’
‘She, er, asked me to check if any letters have come for her,’ Tracey said quietly. ‘She reckons this week’s money hasn’t gone into her account, and she needs to know if they’ve found out she’s not here and cut her off. If they have, she wants me to …’ She trailed off and swallowed deeply before finishing, ‘Well, she wants me to make a new claim – in her name, like.’
Chantelle’s jaw dropped and she stared at Tracey in utter disbelief. This was a joke – it had to be. Her mum was living it up in Spain, leaving Chantelle to look after Leon, and yet she thought she was entitled to keep all of the benefit money for herself.
‘I think that might be it.’ Tracey pointed at a brown envelope that was sitting on top of the pile. She stepped forward to reach for it, but jumped back when Chantelle slammed a hand down on top of it.
‘Don’t you dare! If anyone’s going to claim that money, it’s me, not you.’
‘I won’t be getting any of it,’ Tracey assured her. ‘It’ll go straight into your mam’s account.’
‘Will it now? We’ll see about that.’ Chantelle shoved the envelope into her pocket and pulled out her phone again. ‘I’m going to ring her and find out what the hell she thinks she’s playing at. Her phone must be back on if she’s waiting for you to call.’
‘She’s changed her number,’ Tracey said, shrugging as she added, ‘Something to do with international signals, or summat. I don’t really understand all that stuff myself.’
‘Give me her new number, then,’ Chantelle demanded, phone poised.
Tracey sighed. ‘I can’t, babes. She told me not to.’
‘What?’
‘She knew you’d be fuming, and she can’t face it just now,’ Tracey explained. ‘Look, try to see it from her point of view, eh? She’s happy for the first time in years – surely you can’t begrudge her that? Not after all the shit she’s been through.’
‘I’m her daughter – what about the shit I’m going through?’ Chantelle cried incredulously. ‘And what about Leon? What kind of woman walks out on her ten-year-old son?’
‘You’re doing all right,’ Trace
y argued, desperate to finish this and go home for a drink, because the girl was starting to wear her out. ‘Your mam knew you’d cope, or she’d never have left him with you.’
‘Are you crazy?’ Chantelle yelled at her. ‘What’s my mum even doing in Spain, anyway? And how did she get there without her passport?’
Cheeks reddening, Tracey took a step back in case Chantelle decided to smack her one. ‘She came round for it a few weeks back – when you and Leon were at school.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Chantelle’s eyes widened. ‘I’ve been going out of my mind worrying about her. Why didn’t she wait till I got home so I’d know she was okay?’
‘’Cos she knew you’d try to stop her from going.’
Chantelle shook her head slowly from side to side as she tried to digest what she’d heard. But she just couldn’t accept that her mother could be so callous.
‘It’s a man, isn’t it?’ she gasped when a light suddenly went on in her mind. ‘She’s met a man, and she’d rather be with him than with us. Tell me I’m wrong.’
Tracey shrugged. Chantelle was spot on, but Tracey wasn’t about to let on that she’d known all along. She hadn’t even heard from Mary until she’d rung this afternoon, begging for help to sort out her benefits. Apparently, Manuel, or Miguel, or whatever the hell his name was, couldn’t afford to keep them both on his part-time-waiter wages, and Mary was terrified that he would dump her if she didn’t get her money reinstated. And what kind of a friend would Tracey be if she didn’t at least try to help her loved-up mate?
‘God, I’m right,’ Chantelle murmured sickly, guessing from the look on Tracey’s face that she had hit the nail on the head. ‘That’s low, even for her. And you’re just as bad – standing there making excuses for her.’
‘Look, I’ve told you what your mam said, and that’s all I know,’ Tracey said, fed up with taking stick for Mary’s actions. ‘Here …’ She slapped the £20 note down on the table. ‘She said if you want more you’ll have to get it off Leon’s dad, ’cos she’s done her bit and it’s time he started doing his.’
Respect (Mandasue Heller) Page 6
