Lizzie

It’s ten at night and I’ve just put the washing on. I’ll have to wait up for the cycle to finish, then hang the washing out so it’s dry for tomorrow.

I keep going over my meeting with Mrs Dudley yesterday. Replaying it over and over.

Tom is fast asleep, following a miserable evening. We ate dinner in silence, then he went to bed early without being asked.

I should go to bed too. But instead, I’m on the Internet, posting questions on Mumsnet. I did this a lot when I was with Olly – going onto medical websites and posting question after question about his broken leg.

But this time I want to know about children’s friendships. My question is:

My son started a new school this term and is angrier than usual, keeping secrets, not talking. I’m worried. He seems to be getting in with the wrong crowd. Normal??

I’ve had a few kind replies telling me I have nothing to worry about. But one mother had a similar experience and moved her son to another school: ‘He’s much happier now. We all are.’

‘Don’t worry,’ writes another mum. ‘All perfectly normal … My daughter made all the wrong friends at first, but has some lovely ones now.’

Most of the answers say it’s probably just a phase, don’t worry, kids change friendship groups all the time, they go through moody times, maybe he’s just tired, and so on.

But … I am worried.

Tom is changing.

My eyes wander to the kitchen, where the new heavy-duty security box sits in a kitchen cupboard. It holds our medical supplies now and I keep the key close to my body at all times.

There is a spare key sticky-taped to the bottom of the bin. But I know every wrinkle and crease of the sticky tape, and check every day to make sure it hasn’t been tampered with.

Leaning back in my chair, I cup my eyes with my palms.

Okay. Okay. Maybe we can move schools … Maybe that’s the solution to all this. Run away and hope all our problems disappear.

Deep down, I know that’s not really an option. Kate Noble said social services take a dim view of children being moved around. The last thing I need is another black mark against us.

But maybe if we moved to a school within the area … I do a quick search for schools within fifty miles.

The word ‘oversubscribed’ comes up over and over. I knew that already – social services pulled a lot of strings to get us into Steelfield School.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I decide to stop my obsessive Google searching and check my emails before bed.

There are three ‘parent update’ messages from the school, and I feel guilty that I haven’t opened them yet. I might have missed something important.

I click open the first email, scanning the news:

Jess Parker in Year 1 has lost her school cardigan. The label is marked JP. If anyone finds it, would they please hand it in to the school office.

I continue to scan, rubbing tired eyes. Nothing important, nothing important … No – nothing about Tom’s class. No special days coming up.

And then … oh my God …

A man in a van has been seen around the school gates. If you use a van to drop off children, please let the school know.

And suddenly I’m shaking, a hysteric cry rising in my throat.

Olly.

For a moment, my mind races around the house, throwing our belongings into boxes, getting ready to run again.

I close my eyes. Don’t get paranoid. There are all sorts of vans in the world. Just calm down. We were always getting messages like this in London. They’re very common. It’s okay. Calm. Calm. He can’t have found us. You were too careful.

I pace around, waiting for my heart rate to slow down.

Then I make myself some raspberry tea, stirring a dark red swirling storm into boiling water.

You were too careful, I tell myself again. There’s no way he could have found us.

But I know I’ll find it hard to sleep tonight. So I will do what I usually do when insomnia strikes – obsessively Google.

I think of the ten packing boxes, still stacked on the landing upstairs.

I should make a start on those. Get the last of the house in order. Or have a quick nap before the washing finishes. All good solutions for anxiety.

But instead, rubbing bloodshot eyes, I begin yet another Google search – this time looking up drugs that cause behavioural changes in children.