by Frances Vick
‘Well. Can I ask what happened? Yesterday? I’m sure it was just an oversight, that we, as a school, completely understand. We get it.’ He smiled again, all teeth, waiting.
‘Forgot. We went out to the shops,’ the woman muttered.
‘Christmas shopping? I know how that can take over, believe me!’ James chuckled but cut his eyes at Claire to say something.
Claire kept her voice low. ‘We were concerned though. Lorna was quite frightened, obviously. And, well, I was a little surprised that there was nobody at home except Carl.’ She felt rather than saw James’ warning frown. ‘He really isn’t old enough to take care of a wee one.’
Rabbit Girl opened her eyes fully for the first time. ‘We’ve had no trouble with Carl, not since he got his statement.’
‘Do you need any help?’ Claire asked quietly.
‘What kind of help?’
‘We don’t think for a minute that you’re having trouble coping, Ms Bell. That’s not what Miss Penny means at all. Just to reassure you.’
Damn this man, thought Claire, willing him to shut up and listen. If you just listen to people, you can get to the bottom of things so easily. Just ask the right questions, and listen.
Ms Bell blinked her lashless, rabbity eyes. ‘He’s a good boy, Carl.’
‘He always was,’ lied James.
Ms Bell blinked slowly, sighed, and fixed her eyes on Claire. ‘She’s hard to handle, Lorna. I put my hands up.’
Now we’re getting somewhere, thought Claire. ‘How can we help?’ She leaned forward.
But Ms Bell seemed exhausted by her sudden confidence. ‘She’ll grow out of it.’
‘She certainly will.’ James beamed, and Claire knew that the tiny crack she could have chiselled open was closed.
Once out of the office, the woman lingered in the dim foyer, waiting for Claire.
‘You have kids, Miss?’
‘No.’
They were pushed together as Miss Peel swung by and Ms Bell leaned in. ‘I’ll talk to you, Miss. If you’ve got time.’ Claire, surprised, indicated James’ office, but Ms Bell shook her head.
‘Not him. You.’
‘My classroom’s just down the hall?’
Ms Bell, paused, frowned. ‘Is it quiet?’
‘There shouldn’t be anyone in it right now.’
‘Lorna won’t be there?’
‘I’m not her teacher. Mrs Hurst is her teacher.’
‘Yeah. Yeah. The other . . .’
. . . Old one thought Claire. She smiled. ‘Follow me, it’s just round here.’
‘All right.’
They walked through the tiny library – more of a corridor really. Tinsel was strung around the shelves and Claire had made sure that some of the Christmas Crackers’ artworks were given pride of place.
Ms Bell looked about. ‘This wasn’t here when I was at school. This was a toilet I think.’
‘Oh, did you come here?’
‘Yeah. I had Miss Pickin in Year Two.’
‘She’s still here.’
‘What?’ the woman’s face split into a grin. ‘No! What? She’s OLD—’ And immediately her face closed in on itself again and she muttered ‘Sorry’ to the floor. She almost ran past Claire into the classroom and wedged herself into a child’s chair.
There was a long pause. The woman leaned forward, rubbing one red hand over the other, a tiny rasp of sound. Claire perched on the table. Their knees almost touched. Then Claire noticed that her shoulders were quivering – she was crying, silently.
‘Ms Bell?’ she touched her knee. ‘Mrs Bell?’
‘Nikki. Call me Nikki.’
‘Nikki, how can I help?’
The crying continued. Claire reached awkwardly for her Handy Hankies in her pocket but now the woman was stuttering, trying to talk. Claire laid one hand on her shoulder while the other handed her a tissue.
‘Sorry!’ She sniffed. ‘Sorry!’
‘Oh don’t be, really. How can I help?’
‘It’s hard.’ She gave a long, teary shudder, and took some deep breaths. ‘It’s hard at home.’ Claire nodded sympathetically at the bowed head. ‘She’s . . . She’s a good girl at school? Lorna?’
‘Yes. She’s a little shy, but so many children are at that age.’
‘She’s no trouble though? Doesn’t cause trouble with the others? Isn’t bad?’
‘No. No, there hasn’t been anything I’ve been aware of, since the eraser incident last year. Can she be a bit of a handful at home?’
‘She – she says things. I know I’m not the best mother in the world. I know that. Can I have another tissue? I know I’m not. But I do try. And it’s hard as well, with Carl. Carl being the way he is too.’
‘I can imagine. That’s why I was wondering if you have enough support . . .’
‘But he’s no trouble, Carl. Not now. He’s a good boy. But they don’t get on, him and Lorna. And Lorna and my partner, Pete. They don’t get on. And I’m caught in the middle of it. And I do try my best! But she can be so cruel. Cruel. The things she says.’ Her eyes, sunk in with tears, gazed at Claire.
‘What things does she say?’
‘Oh, it’s not . . . it’s how she says things. She’ll take something you’ve said and twist it. I can’t explain it. She’ll tell you things, bad things, about yourself and say you said it. Once she let the dogs out into the street, told Carl she’d given them all away, that he’d told her to do it, and he was beside himself. You know how he gets. And she was saying that they’d probably love their new family more than him, and how Carl was bad to them and he didn’t deserve them and they were happy to go. He lives for those dogs, and she was saying he’d never see them again.
‘And then she said the neighbour had been spying on her in the bath. And I don’t want any trouble with the neighbours, and he’s a nice man, Mervyn, and suddenly she’s giving it all, “He told me to take my knickers off in the garden. He told me to do a dance,” all this. And he’s a good neighbour, he’s a good man, and he does loads of charity work, and he always gives them a present at Christmas. And she says things about Pete. Says he’s at her. All this. And there’s never a mark on her and she sleeps in the room next to ours, so I’d know if anything was going on, wouldn’t I? If he was doing what she said? But she says I do know. I don’t know why she does these things. I don’t know what’s up with her. What is she like here? Does she lie?’
Claire’s mouth was dry. ‘Well, no. And she’s never said anything like that, made these allegations to anyone at school.’
‘It’s not true, any of it. It can’t be.’
Claire’s heart was beating quickly. This could be an explanation for the fear of returning home, for the isolation, for the sudden clinginess. Her mind raced to remember the child protection protocols: say that you have to speak with your line manager . . . safeguarding young people a priority . . . this conversation is no longer in confidence . . . any information that a young person is in a position of harm or danger . . . She pulled back slightly, and stilled her shaking hands on her knees.
‘Ms Bell, Nikki, I can understand how awful it must be to hear those things, but really, a child doesn’t make up things like that—’
‘It’s none of it true! She just says things! At the end of the day, she’s a liar! The stuff about Pete—’
‘I’ll have to tell Mr Clarke about this conversation.’
‘I thought you were nice!’ the woman wailed suddenly.
‘I am nice! I am.’ It slipped out. I really am nice, she thought desperately, looking at the distraught woman. ‘But I have to think about Lorna’s safety. You have to understand that.’
‘I thought you were nice and I could trust you!’
Claire stood up shakily. Ms Bell was looking at her with the kind of animal fear that was terrible to see; and it was awful to know that she’d caused it. ‘We’ll speak to the Head, both of us. I’m sure we can work out what . . . I mean—’
‘You don’t und
erstand,’ Ms Bell muttered. ‘You don’t.’ She began to gather herself up, pulling down the T-shirt from the tight band of her bomber jacket. Her phone fell on the floor. The screen showed a picture of Carl hugging a red-eyed dog. ‘She was bad from the beginning. Even before I had her. I was sick as a dog for the whole nine months! Even the doctors said it wasn’t natural. And then she didn’t walk for fucking years. I had to carry her about and it messed my back up. Wouldn’t eat. Woke up in the night. Like she wanted to make my life a misery!’
‘She was just a baby—’
‘She knew what she was doing!’
‘Look, I’m sure if we talk to Mr Clarke – you have to understand that I have to share this information—’
‘I’ve not given you any information.’ The woman sounded venomous now, and her face was sheened with sweat, despite the cold. ‘I just told you she fucking lies. There’s no information.’
‘And that kind of language isn’t appropriate either.’
‘She just wants to split us up, that’s what it is. Me and Pete!’
‘Please come with me to see Mr Clarke again, I’m sure he’s still in his office.’
‘I’m going home, that’s where I’m going,’ she said, but didn’t move. ‘I thought it was like talking to a doctor, or a priest. Confidential.’
‘Ms Bell—’
‘I’ll tell you what’ll happen. Nothing. She doesn’t want anything to happen. She just wants to fuck things up for other people. And don’t I deserve a life? At the end of the day?’
‘She’s a very little girl. Not even eight yet. She’s just a child, she’s not capable of—’
But the woman was already leaving. She pushed past Claire and banged one hip painfully on the door frame as she left the classroom. Claire saw her marching through the playground going to the wrong gate, watched by hundreds of round eyes.
‘Lorna, that’s your mum. Lorna!’ someone cried, and Lorna edged out of the playhouse doorway to see. Nikki, finding the back gate locked, doubled back to the main entrance. Claire could see she was cursing under her breath as the swathe of children opened and closed around her wake.
‘Lorna, your mum’s here!’ hissed the same child, just as the bell rang. The stampede threw Ms Bell off her stride. A Year Six boy ran into her full pelt on the way back to class and she staggered in her cheap shoes. Claire saw Lorna approach her mother stealthily, keeping out of her vision. Ms Bell had dropped her phone again. Tears of frustration showed on her chapped cheeks. Lorna reached her, and helped pick up the pieces of the phone. Claire opened the window and crouched down to hear.
‘—here?’
‘Where’s the battery? Give me the battery.’
‘Why’re you here?’
‘Like you don’t fucking know.’
‘What?’
‘Give me the battery. Been telling your tall fucking tales to the teacher, haven’t you?’
‘What?’
‘Telling them fuck knows what.’
‘I haven’t told them nothing.’
‘Not much. That’s why they brought me in, to talk about your lies.’
‘I don’t lie.’ The child was calm, but Claire could tell her control was cracking.
‘First chance I get to be happy – first fucking time in years, and you have to – give me that battery! You’ve got to start up with your lies.’
Now she was crying. ‘I haven’t lied! I’ve not told anything.’
Ms Bell pulled down the bomber jacket over the little roll of stomach that protruded above her jeans. ‘You better set them straight. I’ve had it, Lorna. I mean it.’
The tears remained on Lorna’s cheeks, but she wasn’t crying any more. Now her face was blank. ‘You’d better go home.’
‘I will if I can find my way out of this place.’
Lorna leaned in close then, and spoke rapidly, but her voice was low and Claire’s class had come back in to take their seats, so she had to stand up quickly. From the corner of her eye she saw that they stayed in the playground together – Lorna speaking, her mother quiet, but angrily shaking her head – for the next few minutes, before the girl suddenly skipped away. Ms Bell wandered about for a while before finally finding her way out.
9
Claire had been distracted all afternoon. During Golden Time she managed to corner James in his office and ask for a minute.
‘Potentially a child protection issue, James.’
James sagged back into his chair and rolled his eyes. ‘Laura whatever?’
‘Lorna Bell. Yes.’
‘What? Claire, haven’t I got enough to deal with? We’ve still got to clean up the nativity scene, and then I’ve got to meet Gary. Can it wait?”
‘Well, no, James, I don’t think it can. I was talking to her Mum, over the lunchtime, and, well, she said quite a few things that concerned me.’
James was very still. ‘What kind of things?’
‘She said, rather, she said that Lorna had said, that her – step-father, I suppose he’d be – has “got at her”.’
‘Well what does that mean?’
‘Well, I took it to mean – you know.’
‘Was that it?’
‘No, she said that Lorna had accused the neighbour of’ – Claire blushed – ‘asking her to take off her knickers and do a dance.’
‘What does the mum say about it?’
‘She said – well, she said that it was lies. But Lorna really didn’t want to go home last night. She actually cried.’
‘Did she tell you anything concrete on the way home?’
‘. . . No . . . She talked about Christmas, and how they have a big family party and how lovely it is. But you could tell it wasn’t true, poor love.’
‘A lie, then.’
‘James—’
‘Claire, you’re coming to me saying that a girl who we both know has an. . . uneasy relationship with the truth, shall we say? This girl’s mother, as a courtesy, takes time out of her day to warn us that she’s dishonest and to check to see if she’s getting into trouble at school? Frankly if more parents were this honest with us, as willing to confide in us . . . Claire, what do you want to happen here?’
Oh why couldn’t he see past appearances! The girl needed help, there was something going on, something very bad . . . Hadn’t he learned anything from Jade Wood? That was before his time, but still . . . She took a deep breath.
‘I think we need to call it in. Call social services.’
‘Christ, Claire – this isn’t going to reach their threshold.’ James’ face had aged in irritation. ‘You know that.’
Claire thought quickly, and changed tack. ‘We have to cover ourselves, James. Imagine if it’s true – as bad as it could be. Remember that little boy killed by his step-father – in Southampton, was it? The school was raked over the coals. And Jade Wood, I’m sorry, but—’
James winced. ‘I think you’re overstating it, Claire, I really do. It’s a very different school now, we’ve put in so much safeguarding work . . .’ He really believes that, Claire thought wonderingly. He chuckled nervously. ‘If we go to them with he said/she said tattle-tale, it’s a huge waste of their time. They have serious cases.’
‘But what if this is a serious case? We didn’t pay enough attention to Jade, and look what happened. James? There are guidelines for a reason.’
James drummed his fingers. ‘Look, how about this. We meet with the girl and her mum sometime next week. If there’s anything to go on, we’ll call it in to social services. OK?”
Claire took a deep breath. ‘Tomorrow would be best I think. Without her mum.’ Now that Claire asserted herself, she was surprisingly calm and implacable. ‘All the Year Twos have tomorrow morning is singing assembly, and Lorna could miss that. And yes, alright, we’ll see it as a preliminary to calling it in properly. And, James? I’d like to be there too,’ Claire said as firmly as she could. The poor little girl should have a friendly face there.
‘All right. That’s a l
ot of work you’ve put my way, Claire, potentially. Just so you know. And all based on a “feeling” of yours.’
‘It’s based on observation and information, James,’ Claire said quietly.
‘Well. All right. Tomorrow, then. Tuesday.’ He shoved his arms into his coat and stood up without looking at her. ‘Now I’ve got to have what I expect to be a particularly lively meeting with Reverend Gary, and then I’ve got my own kids to get back to’
She let herself out of his office, feeling proud of herself for the first time in months.
* * *
‘You agree with James, then?’ Claire asked.
‘I didn’t say that. Sit down. Tea.’ Norma sat down herself, heavily, on the broad brown chesterfield sofa. Her back was bothering her.
‘I can’t, I mean we have to take this seriously—’
‘Naturally.’
‘I’d be – it would just be wrong not to report it.’
‘And I agree with you. Claire, sit down, please, and pour the tea.’
‘But you said—’
‘I said, are you sure you know what you’re talking about? Sit down, you look ready to drop! What exactly have you been told?’
Claire perched on the stern oak chair by the fire. ‘Lorna says things have been happening at home – abuse . . .’
‘No. All you know is that her mother tells you that she makes things up.’
‘And what I’ve seen.’
‘Which is what exactly?’
‘That she’s scared to go home—’
‘But she went home, didn’t she? And went in willingly?’
‘Ye-es. And I saw her mother hit her that time in the playground.’
‘Two years ago! And a smack, not a hit. Again, not good, but not evidence of anything sinister, either. Claire, it wasn’t too long ago that smacking children was normal behaviour.’
