‘Exactly,’ Julia said. ‘He struggles with eye contact too. And he’s also developed several compulsions in the past couple of years apparently, which is going to make him a magnet for bullies here, from the outset. He has this thing about hair. Likes to touch it – needs to touch it – and not his own, either. Any hair in reach, according to what his former SENCOs passed on. It’s a self-soothing thing he needs to do when he’s anxious. You’ll have come across that sort of thing before, Casey, yes?’ I nodded. ‘Which, again, is going to mark him out and make life even more stressful for him. Which is why I thought – assuming you all agree, of course –’ she looked around the table – ‘he should start off splitting his time between learning support and the Unit, at least till he’s found his feet and his anxiety levels lessen. I was hoping you’d be able to work on his social skills, Casey.’
The kettle had boiled by this time so, having agreed, I went off to make a couple of teas and coffees; if an army marches on its stomach, a school definitely seems to run on its bladder – at least via the frequent application of hot drinks. Didn’t matter if it was blowing a gale or, like it was today, still positively summery; the soundtrack of any room in school that the children weren’t actually in was the click of switches, the ting of teaspoons and the shouts of ‘Who’s for a brew?’ Oh, and the accompanying rustle of various biscuit packets being opened.
By the time I’d returned to the table, Julia had opened the second of her folders of notes, this one markedly fatter. ‘Cody Allen,’ she said. ‘Thirteen. So she’s going into year 9, and I think she’s going to need a good bit of support.’ She then glanced at Donald, who nodded. ‘Julia’s right,’ he said. ‘I’ve already met her. And had a meeting with her new foster carers yesterday.’
This made me prick my ears up. ‘She’s just gone into foster care?’ I asked, thinking immediately of Kiara, and just how painful a business it had been, however necessary, for her to be dragged away from everything she knew.
But Donald shook his head. ‘Not “just”,’ he said. ‘She’s been in care since she was four, by all accounts. Her current carers are the latest in a long line who’ve looked after her, sad to say.’
‘She’s apparently the strangest child,’ Julia said. ‘Very complicated psychologically. Her mum has learning difficulties and the reason Cody ended up in care was because she used to shut her up in a cupboard for long periods when she was little.’ She gestured to her notes again. ‘According to what’s here, almost as one would put away a doll.’
There was a silence while we all tried to digest this. Didn’t matter how much you read about, or heard about or saw, some images were still difficult to process.
‘Exactly,’ Julia said, articulating what we were all thinking. ‘So, as you can imagine, she’s not the most straightforward child. We don’t have all the reports from her last school yet but social services have been very helpful and what we do know is that she’s … well, the notes I have here say she’s convinced she’s inhabited – well, I suppose the more correct word’s “possessed” – by the devil, and that when she’s not being a poppet, which she apparently can be, she tends to frighten other children.’
‘You don’t say,’ Gary observed wryly.
Julia acknowledged his comment with a trace of a smile. Then removed it. ‘But the most important thing is that she’s unpredictable, volatile and can apparently be very violent. She might have a kind of Tourette’s thing going on too – though that’s not been diagnosed – and we’re fairly sure she’ll end up having to go somewhere more specialised, but Mike’s agreed to take her temporarily – again, I hope you’re all happy with this, at least in principle, as long as she is manageable – so that she can be observed and formally assessed. Again, we’re thinking she should split her time between the learni– er,’ she stopped then, and listened. ‘Er … is that what I think it is?’ She then burst out laughing.
As well she might. As well might everyone else. Which everyone else did. Yes, it was definitely going to be that sort of day. Because what they could hear was some kind of rap-like singing … a ringtone my phone didn’t have last time it rang but which I knew, I just knew, it had now. With the volume set to maximum.
Flipping Kieron.
‘I’ll kill him,’ I growled, albeit to no one in particular, as I plucked my handbag from the floor beside my chair. ‘I’m sorry. Hang on. I’ll have my hand on it in just a minute … just got to … hang on. Nope … ah, maybe it’s here …’ I burbled on, realising I couldn’t actually remember where I’d put it, and cursing the day when I’d set the number of rings before it went to the answerphone, on the basis of the length of time it always seemed to take for me to find it in my bag. Oh, the bitter irony.
And that’s when the day got even worse. ‘Hang on,’ I said, snatching my satchel up and then, realising it was pinned under my chair leg by the strap, giving it a tug that was a little too much on the forceful side of tugging, meaning that when it suddenly came free, my arm shot in the air at precisely the moment when Gary, beside me, had lifted his hot tea to his lips.
His roar of pain as our forearms connected and the mug left his hand probably lifted the ceiling panels. ‘Jesus H!’ he yelped, leaping from his seat as the tea cascaded over him, and the chair he’d vacated toppled backwards onto the floor.
Jim was up on his feet too, and being closest to the tea things in the corner, grabbed a bottle of mineral water that had fortunately been left there by someone, popped the lid off and sprayed a jet of that over Gary, it being one of those sports types you can squeeze.
‘You okay, mate?’ Jim asked him, once all the water was gone.
Gary looked down, his whole front now a mass of sodden, dripping clothing. And then at me. ‘You know those days?’ he said, as I struggled with a packet of tissues that had – oh, second cruel irony – come immediately to hand. ‘Those days when you get out of bed,’ he went on, ‘and think – hmm, you know what? I suspect it’s going to be one of those days? Hmm,’ he finished, wiggling his sopping tie towards me. ‘That. Or, there’s a thought. Do you think it might have been a poltergeist?’
Autumn for both me and Mother Nature, I decided gloomily, as, back down in my classroom, I checked both the radiators. With its position at the periphery of the main school building, it was always chilly after a school holiday, and the six weeks of the summer break meant that, whatever the weather, it had the chance to really cool down good and proper. So although outside it was still bright and sunny – almost Indian summerish – inside it was positively Arctic.
Well, perhaps not Arctic – we weren’t quite in fur coat and boots territory just yet – but I was happy to remember that I’d left a chunky cardigan in one of the store cupboards at the end of the previous term. I went to fetch it, reflecting that perhaps it wasn’t that cold – perhaps it was more to do with the hot flush I’d both created and suffered up in the meeting room. I grimaced, remembering poor Gary’s astonished face and his obvious discomfort; had it not been for the thickness of his trousers I could have badly burned him. What on earth was wrong with me? What with ructions at home, and now school as well, I had a powerful wish to rewind the day and start again. No, scrub that – rewind most of the last three weeks.
Conscious of the ticking clock, I sat down at my desk and opened up my phone, intending to ring Kieron and give him a ticking off about altering the ringtone; he was getting way too old for such infantile stunts. But there, on the screen, sat a second text from Riley. Sorry, Mum! Love you! it said, followed by a row of kisses, which for some reason, rather than having the desired effect of making me smile, as it would normally, made me want to cry.
I hated rowing with my kids over anything. I was no