‘I’m afraid my lunch hour is the only time I have free,’ she said.
I thanked her, confirmed I’d be there and felt marginally guilty for taking up her lunch break.
When Joss arrived home from school that afternoon I told her I was seeing her teacher the following day. ‘So I hope she’s going to tell me lots of good things about how well you’ve been doing,’ I said. ‘And that all your homework is up to date.’
‘I doubt it,’ Joss said with her usual shrug.
‘Well, in that case you need to do your homework before you go out this evening. That’s what the contract of behaviour says.’
‘I haven’t signed the contract yet,’ Joss said, ready with a retort as always. ‘Anyway, my homework is up to date.’
I wasn’t convinced this was true, but I would wait until I’d heard what Miss Pryce had to say before I said anything further to Joss about her school work.
The atmosphere at dinner that evening was less strained than it had been during the last few meals, after Lucy and Joss’s set-to – they made an effort to speak to each other, while Paula and Adrian kept a low profile and concentrated on eating. As soon as Joss had finished her pudding she stood to leave.
‘Joss, would you remain at the table, please, until everyone has finished,’ I said. ‘It’s polite.’
‘Do I have to?’ she grumbled. ‘You sound like my mum.’
‘Yes, please. It’s only six-twenty; you’ve still got plenty of time to go out.’
She pulled a face but did as I asked, and sat down and waited until we’d all finished.
‘Done?’ she asked as Paula, the last to finish, set her spoon in her bowl.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said. ‘You can go now.’
Joss took her dishes to the kitchen sink, then went into the hall, put on her shoes and called goodbye as she left.
I am sorry to say that I always felt more relaxed when Joss was out of the house, as I never knew when she would erupt in another angry outburst or confrontation. Although, of course, when she was out I also worried – about the mischief she could be getting up to and whether she was safe. I was expecting her to return home late – she hadn’t managed to return on time after an evening out with her friends yet – and if she did I would be stopping one pound from her pocket money (the one pound she’d earned back for coming home on time the previous afternoon). She would still have half her allowance, as Amelia had stipulated she should. However, to my surprise and delight, she returned at exactly 9.30 p.m.
‘Well done, good girl,’ I said. ‘I am pleased.’
‘Can I have a door key now, as I’m back on time?’ she asked.
‘Not yet, love. “One swallow doesn’t make a summer.”’
She looked at me slightly oddly, and slipped off her shoes.
‘You’re working towards it,’ I said. ‘A couple of weeks of coming home on time and then we’ll see.’
‘What’s a couple?’ she asked.
‘Two.’
She pulled a face. ‘I can’t do that,’ she said. ‘Two weeks is far too long. I’m not an angel.’
I had to smile. She had a dry sense of humour sometimes. ‘Joss, you’ve come home on time tonight, as you did yesterday afternoon, so there is no reason why you can’t do it again, and again.’
‘I had a lift tonight,’ she said.
‘From Chloe’s mother?’
‘Her uncle.’
‘I trust he hasn’t been drinking too?’ I could smell alcohol on Joss’s breath, although she wasn’t drunk.
‘Only one. He’s sensible,’ she said.
She said she wanted a glass of water and went into the kitchen. I wandered in too.
‘Was Chloe in the car with you as well?’ I asked casually.
‘I think so,’ she said as she took a glass from the cabinet.
‘You must know, love.’
‘Yeah, she was.’ Joss concentrated on filling her glass from the cold-water tap.
I looked at her carefully. ‘Joss, I’m only trying to protect you and keep you safe. I care about you, and while you’re with me I’m responsible for you.’
‘Yeah, I know, you said. Thanks. It’s much appreciated,’ she said dismissively.
She switched off the tap, said goodnight and went upstairs to bed. Joss’s hostility and constant rebuffs were without doubt a defence mechanism – to stop others from getting close. The logic behind this is that if you don’t form an attachment, with the possibility of losing that person, then you won’t be hurt again. Only, of course, it doesn’t work like that, and one of the scariest places to be is a teenager isolated, alone and suffering in silence.
The following day, at 12.15 p.m., I parked my car in a side road close to Joss’s school and made my way round to the main front entrance. The weather was warm and the students were allowed off the school premises during lunch break. I passed small groups of kids chatting and laughing and also smoking quite openly, although out of sight of the main building. I thought it was a great pity that so many young people still thought smoking was cool and hadn’t got the message that it was damaging their health. The school was in the older part of town and didn’t have the best reputation. From what I’d heard and read in the local newspaper, the standard of teaching was reasonable, but there were ongoing concerns about discipline and the students’ behaviour, both inside and outside the school. Shopkeepers in the area complained about pilfering, and residents said that gangs of students roamed the streets after school, graffitiing fences and walls, throwing rubbish into gardens and bad-mouthing anyone who came out to complain.
I went in through the main doors and gave my name to the receptionist, explaining that I had an appointment with Miss Pryce at 12.30. She said she’d let her know I was here and asked me to sign in the visitors’ book and take a seat in the waiting area, which was over to the left. The corridors were noisy at lunchtime with students milling around. They wandered past me in pairs and small groups on their way outside. Many of the girls wore their skirts very short, as Joss did, with knee-length socks, which were fashionable. Both girls and boys had their ties loosened, or weren’t wearing them at all, and some had multiple ear piercings, as Joss did. Presently, Miss Pryce appeared. She introduced herself – ‘Lisa Pryce’ – and then led the way down a corridor and into a room on the right.
‘We shouldn’t be disturbed in here. Do sit down,’ she said, waving to the four chairs that stood around a small table in the centre of the room. A photocopier, filing cabinets and cupboards stood against the walls.
‘Thank you for making the time to see me,’ I said.
‘Not at all. It’s important we meet. I’m very worried about Joss, and all the moves haven’t helped. She won’t be moved again, will she?’
‘I hope not. But ultimately it will be for the social services to decide what is best for her in the long term.’
Miss Pryce tutted. I guessed she was in her mid-thirties, about five feet six inches tall, and her brown hair was cut in a neat bob. She was wearing a pale-blue summer dress. She would be aware of Joss’s past.
‘I feel very sorry for Joss,’ she said. ‘But that’s not going to help her achieve or get back on course. She’s like a runaway train at present, heading for disaster. Up until a year ago she was a grade-A pupil, but now she’s barely achieving Ds. Much of her work is unfinished or completely missing,