A Stolen Childhood: A Dark Past, a Terrible Secret, a Girl Without a Future. Casey Watson

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      Before I made the call, however, I would need to clear it with Gary Clark. After grabbing my second caffeine fix of the day, and armed with the usual wodge of mail and memos from my pigeonhole, I set off down the unusually quiet staff corridor to his office, only passing Barry, the caretaker, and a heating engineer. I smiled as I saw the new sign on Gary’s door. It was a smart black placard, embossed in gold with the words Child Protection Officer, and he was as proud of it as he might have been to have a star on Hollywood Boulevard. In a school, the little things were sometimes the big things.

      ‘Very official,’ I said, grinning as I opened the door and nodded to it. ‘Do I need to start calling you sir or something now?’

      ‘Lord Clark will do just fine, Casey,’ Gary said, laughing as he pulled out a chair for me. ‘And I see you’ve already got a coffee. At the very least, we should celebrate with a choccy biscuit, don’t you think?’

      I shook my head. ‘You know what it’s like with addictions, Gary. I try not to start too early in the day. I only need five minutes of your time this morning anyway. Just to let you know what I’m doing with Kiara Bentley.’

      I quickly ran through my thoughts, and let him know I wanted to spend a little time working with her. ‘So I was thinking I’d try to get hold of her mum this morning. Fill her in – assuming Kiara hasn’t already told her, that is – and see if she can enlighten me at all.’

      ‘That would be helpful, certainly,’ Gary said. ‘Though if memory serves, she wasn’t particularly forthcoming last time. And she doesn’t strike me as a terribly maternal mum. Still, it’s obviously important to touch base with her. Let me know how it goes. Now, are you sure you won’t be tempted by a chocolate biscuit?’

      I fled the room before I caved in and changed my mind.

      I went to my own room to make the call to Kiara’s mother. The quiet area of the staff-room would do ordinarily, but at this time of day it was like Piccadilly Circus, filling up with teachers with their own busy agendas; last-minute calls to make, coffees to be gulped down, things to be photocopied, gossip to be shared. I was also keen to be ‘in situ’ when my new kids arrived, as it felt important to be there to welcome them and set them at their ease.

      It’s impossible to get much of a sense of a person via a phone call, but one thing was clear. She was prickly. ‘She’s on her way,’ she snapped immediately when I told her who I was and where I was calling from, and didn’t sound that convinced even when I explained that I wasn’t calling to chastise her for sending Kiara in late, because I didn’t even know she was going to be.

      Though a glance at my watch confirmed that she would be. ‘I run the behaviour unit,’ I clarified. Which seemed to inflame Kiara’s mother further.

      ‘The what?’ she wanted to know. ‘Why does she have to go in there? There’s nothing wrong with her behaviour. And if you’re calling about that lad she gave what-for to, serve him bloody well right, as well. Little sh …’ She stopped and regrouped. ‘Little sod. And what about her exams and stuff? Won’t it affect her school work if she’s taken out of lessons?’

      I assured Mrs Bentley that any important work would be sent through to me and that I would personally make sure it got done. I also explained that for a few days I’d be working closely with Kiara, getting to know her better and, in doing so, perhaps getting to the root of why she was so apparently tired and stressed in school.

      ‘How is she at home?’ I asked. ‘I’m told there were similar concerns about her last year. How has she been at home? Does she seem stressed to you?’

      ‘Not particularly,’ she said. ‘I mean, she’s not the most relaxed of kids at the best of times, is she?’ She sighed heavily. ‘Look, the school already know the sort of hours I work. I do my best, alright? We’re not all living in fairy land, you know. Life can be hard at times. That’s how it works in the real world. I do my best, like I said.’

      ‘I know, Mrs Bentley. I completely understand that. It must be hard, trying to make ends meet, have to be both mum and dad …’

      A humourless laugh crackled down the line. ‘Oh, pur-lease don’t get me started on him,’ she said. ‘That bloody waster. Turns up out of the blue like a bad penny, and it’s all “daddy” this and “daddy” that. I don’t know why she bothers with him, I really don’t.’

      ‘Her dad?’ I asked, surprised. ‘I hadn’t realised he was still on the scene. So she still sees him then?’

      ‘Is back on the scene. After being AWOL for eight years. She’s seeing him most weekends. He’s flavour of the month, he is, currently.’ She sniffed. ‘Look, it’s not ideal, but it’s not for me to stop her seeing him if she wants to, is it? And with me working nights at the care home twice a week, well, at least I know where she is, don’t I? Idiot that he is. Stupid pillock treats her like a bloody five-year-old.’

      I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that but didn’t know how to frame a question that would provide an answer. I left it.

      ‘So this is through the courts, is it?’ I said instead, remembering what Julia had said about their divorce having been acrimonious.

      ‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘we didn’t bother with any of that. He buggered off soon as, and good bloody riddance.’

      ‘So there was no contact?’

      ‘Not for a long time. Not since she was about five. He was just so bloody unreliable that in the end I stopped taking her; it was too upsetting for her. Not till he moved back to the area a couple of months back and wanted to know if he could start seeing her again. And, like I say, it’s not for me to deprive her of her father, is it? Not now she’s the age she is. Typical daughter. Dotes on him. Easy that, though, isn’t it? He’s not the one having to scrape together a living, is he? Or discipline her, or buy her uniform or make her tidy her room or any of that. So it’s all “daddy” this and “daddy” that. Like he can do no bloody wrong …’

      I stepped in while she paused to gather breath.

      ‘Well, that’s all really useful information,’ I said quickly. ‘Perhaps it’s the changes that have led to her feeling a little strung out.’ Not to mention the obvious bad feeling between her parents, I thought, but didn’t say. It was so obvious, too – kids were always badly affected by warring parents – but to say so to this woman I’d not yet even met would be to cross a line I didn’t feel I should cross at this stage. I didn’t have all the facts, after all.

      But I was quite keen to add to the ones I already had. ‘Which was why I thought it might be helpful,’ I added, ‘if I could chat to you together at some point as well.’