‘Well, yes, that would be helpful,’ I said, sitting down on the chair to the left of her desk, ‘but no rush. Actually I’m here about a year eight girl. Kiara Bentley? I just picked her up from the assembly hall after that fracas earlier. You know about that?’
Julia nodded. ‘I do. Don stopped by before he left and filled me in.’
‘He took the boy himself then?’
Julia nodded. ‘And fingers crossed all is well. Though the consensus seemed to be that he was a great deal more fixated on – ahem – another part of his anatomy.’
I smiled. ‘I’m not surprised.’ I told her the version of events Kiara had outlined to me – a version I didn’t doubt was pretty accurate, too.
She rolled her eyes. ‘So he’s had something of an education today, by the sound of it. And how’s Kiara? She okay now? Don said she was in a right state.’
‘She’s okay now. I’ve just left her. She’s taken herself off to lunch. But I’m going to track down her form teacher and see if she can come back to me this afternoon. There’s something about her … I don’t know, Julia. It might be something or nothing, but she’s clearly over-tired, and she’s got this hair-pulling thing going on. You know what I’m like,’ I added, seeing the grin spreading on my colleague’s face. ‘Just a bit of an itch I’ve got.’
‘We-ell,’ she said, ‘funnily enough, there is something on Kiara Bentley’s record, so that itch of yours certainly isn’t way off-beam. It’s historic, though, so don’t get too excited. An incident from back at the start of year seven. Hang on,’ she said, rising from her chair, ‘I’ll pull her file out.’
It didn’t take Julia long to find the file, and to explain that not long after Kiara had joined the school, another year seven pupil had reported that she’d had cuts up her arm – cuts that, when questioned by the child, Kiara had freely admitted she’d done herself. When confronted by her teacher, Kiara had been equally upfront, brushing it off as silliness; saying that she’d read a magazine article about self-harming and, stupidly – her admission – had decided to try it herself, just to find out ‘if it hurt’.
Which naturally got my itch going all the more. ‘She was apparently quite matter-of-fact,’ Julia said. ‘I remember talking to the teacher myself. Said she had absolutely no intention of doing anything so silly ever again. Though, naturally, not entirely convinced, we brought the mum in for a chat. And she was extremely upset about it all, as you can imagine, but could offer nothing in the way of an explanation for it. Had no idea what had possessed her, apparently. Her inclination was to put it down to attention seeking, and we were inclined to agree with her. She did say she’d been working long hours – perhaps too long – and, well, we all know what it’s like for some of our working single parents, don’t we? And I don’t think there’s much in the way of extended family to provide support. Anyway, Kiara was offered counselling, obviously, but she point-blank refused, after which there was little we could do about it other than try and keep an eye on her.’
‘So it was left at that point?’ I asked. ‘No one continued to monitor her?’
Almost as soon as the words were out I felt myself redden, realising how incredulous my tone had been. I saw something flash across Julia’s face too, perhaps unsurprisingly, as if she couldn’t quite believe I might be daring to insinuate that she’d not done her job probably.
But it soon disappeared; I think she realised I really wasn’t pointing fingers. She had had a big, busy department to run, and she ran it brilliantly. And she couldn’t possibly be expected to have eyes and ears everywhere, any more than the rest of us could.
Even so, stated so baldly, it did seem surprising that something so potentially serious could have been dropped so quickly. No, I wasn’t backing down in that regard. And the itch was itching fiercely.
‘Well, of course we did what we could for a while,’ Julia assured me. ‘Kept our eyes open; informed the obvious teachers in the PE and Drama departments to be on the look-out for cuts and scratches on her arms and legs and so on. But other than that, our hands were – and are – a bit tied.’ Julia spread her palms then. ‘And, well, since then, there’s been nothing to ring alarm bells. Yes, she’s a bit of a loner. Not a garrulous child. Keeps herself to herself. But this was back at the start of year seven and we’re now more than halfway through year eight, and, as I say, no one’s flagged up any cause for concern more recently.’
Yet, I thought. Yet. And I begged to differ. ‘I think there might be now,’ I said, hoping I didn’t sound as if I knew better, but at the same time aware that it needed to be said. ‘I think she’s still self-harming, just a lot more discreetly.’
‘Really?’ asked Julia, leaning forward in her seat, if not exactly pricking up her ears. It was always a delicate balancing act, trying to observe the protocols of position and seniority; it wasn’t up to me to try and tell her her job. ‘And what makes you think that, Casey?’
‘Not cutting,’ I quickly clarified. ‘Nothing like that. But she has got a bald patch on her head – quite a big one – and I watched her myself as she was pulling her own hair out; she’s not even really aware that she’s doing it. I know that in itself doesn’t scream self-harm – it’s more like a tic – but given what you’ve just told me about her history of self-harming, I’m even more inclined to think than I was when I got in here that there’s some underlying problem still present. And she’s clearly come into school exhausted this morning.’
Julia picked up a pen and clicked the end a couple of times as she thought; a little tic of her own. Then she nodded. ‘I take your point. We certainly shouldn’t ignore it. And you never know, if you have a couple of hours with her, you might get her to open up – sniff out whatever’s to be sniffed out in your usual Sherlocky style. But what about the other kids you’ve got coming tomorrow? Shall we run through them quickly now together?’
I shook my head. ‘Don’t worry now,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you can spare me ten minutes at the end of the day instead? Or first thing tomorrow?’
Like me, Julia was invariably in early. In a job that often meant being reactive once the children were put into the equation, there was a lot to be said for having 30 or so precious minutes at either end of the day in which you could be proactive instead, not to mention time to organise your thoughts. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Just come and find me – I’ll be here. And right now, you need to get that sandwich down you, don’t you? Mind you, a hot toddy would be preferable today, wouldn’t it? Honestly, Casey. It’s not on, this, is it? I mean, it’s not as if it’s –’
‘Rocket science?’ I supplied for her, grinning.
I checked my watch as I hurried back to the staff-room. We had a bank of computers there, in the quiet room that was just off the main communal area, and if there was one free, I probably had just enough time to log in before the bell went, and do a bit of speed-research as I ate.
And I was in luck. I was able to get onto one right away.
I never failed to be awed by the usefulness of the internet. Luddite that I was (most new technology tended to baffle me initially) I had come to really embrace the amazing free resource that was the plethora of information on the web. What would probably be taken for granted in no time at all was, at that time (for me, at any rate), an incredibly helpful tool. You had to be savvy about it, of course – there was probably plenty of mis-information on there too – but much to my own children’s consternation and horror, I’d enrolled in a course at our local library during the last holidays; a kind of idiot’s guide or, as my son called it, ‘idiot old person’s guide’ to the magic of the internet. He might have laughed – and he did, like all smart-alec computer-savvy kids – but I’d actually found it very useful. I’d learned a lot; in fact I now considered myself able enough to even keep tabs on what the young people who came to me got up to when I allowed them to work on my computer