During break, Gary Clark had called in to let me know that Thomas’s new timetable had been completed, and this meant that he would spend Mondays, Tuesdays and the first half of Wednesdays with me, and the rest of the week would go to normal lessons.
‘We’ve looked at the schedules and his mum is keen to see him do English, Maths and French – he’s apparently very good at languages,’ Gary explained. Then he laughed. ‘I wonder if she knows much of the language I’ve heard him using in the corridors since he’s been here …’
‘He’s not the only one,’ I said, ‘and I bet he’s certainly not the worst offender. I’ll let him know after break, then.’
‘Did you make any headway with him and Kiara?’ Gary asked.
‘Kiara doesn’t seem in the least bit fazed by any of it,’ I told him. ‘But I did notice Tommy was keeping his distance. I guess he never expected to be sharing the same class with her, poor kid.’
Gary snorted as he got up to leave. ‘Poor kid? I’m not so sure about that. I think young Tommy can hold his own at our school, no worries.’
I was pleased to see that after break the four students returning to me seemed to have spent their break time together. I always liked that. The children that came to me were so often the outsiders – quite literally, sometimes, as well. The ones who hovered at the edges of groups and playgrounds, never quite managing to break in, much less fit in. Not all of them, obviously. Some commanded huge retinues out in the world of ‘real’ school, but they tended to be the bullies and they did so for all the wrong reasons. This little lot didn’t fall into that category, however, and I had high hopes that they’d gain much from each other’s company. Had done already, it seemed. There was definitely a jovial atmosphere and they all seemed to be a lot more relaxed.
‘Back to your seats then,’ I called out above the chatter. ‘I took a look at your books while you were out and I see that you’ve been working well. It’s time for you to start working on your self-portraits now though, and remember, these will be going on the wall, so best efforts, please.’
I then pointed to the two long sets of drawers along the side wall. ‘All the art materials you’ll need are in there so take out what you need and try to keep the drawers tidy.’
I noticed that Chloe was trying, unsuccessfully, to hold Kiara’s hand as they walked across to the art materials, so I decided I’d do her life-space interview first, and give Kiara a break. ‘Chloe, love,’ I called, ‘time for our getting-to-know-each-other chat, sweetheart, okay? Let’s go sit in the quiet corner, shall we?’
Chloe let go of Kiara’s cardigan sleeve, but not before giving it a gentle stroke with her other hand, and then followed me over to the book shelves.
‘I love Kiara, miss, she’s so pretty,’ was the first thing she said to me, as she sat cross-legged on one of the large floor cushions. ‘Tommy and Jonathan are nice too. Jonathan said I’m not allowed to call him Johnny, miss. Did you know that? I have another friend called Johnny, miss. I like that name.’
‘Well, that works out fine, then, doesn’t it, Chloe, because now you won’t get them mixed up, will you?’ I said, smiling at her as I took the small chair opposite her. ‘But anyway, we don’t need to worry about that – I want to hear a bit more about you now. Is that okay?’
She nodded, simultaneously trying to pat her unruly hair down. It seemed to be something of a thing with her.
She obviously became aware of it and smiled ruefully at me. ‘It’s a bit windy out there, miss, isn’t it? And Mum forgot to give me a hairbrush. Do you have a hairbrush?’ She looked at me hopefully. ‘Tommy said I look like I’ve got a bird’s nest on my head.’
‘Is there just you and your mum at home, Chloe?’ I asked her, once I’d assured her that I did.
Chloe nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I don’t have sisters or brothers. So there’s just me to look after Mum.’ She paused. ‘She’s poorly, see, and if I had a sister she’d be able to help, wouldn’t she? But I don’t. I’d like a sister. I don’t think I’m going to get one though.’
I glanced down at my file. It didn’t say anything about Chloe’s mum having any sort of illness. But then, perhaps it wouldn’t. Perhaps her illness was the one I’d already been told about. The one that, sadly, came out of a bottle.
‘She’s poorly?’ I asked Chloe anyway, so I could try to see things through her eyes. ‘Oh, I didn’t know that, love. What’s wrong with your mum?’
She leaned in towards me. ‘I’m not s’posed to say, but it’s if she doesn’t have her Vodka. That’s when she gets really sick and she needs my help the most.’ Chloe scratched at her scalp before continuing. ‘My nan sometimes comes round to help out but I don’t like her. She shouts at my mum, miss. Really loud sometimes, and all. She’s mean, my nan. It’s not my mum’s fault she’s poorly, is it, miss?’
‘No, love,’ I soothed. And, in a sense, she had a point. Who chose to be an alcoholic, after all? What was also clear was that talking about her mum was upsetting for the poor child, who seemed to be drawing herself inwards on the cushion. I felt so sorry for this poor, affectionate, probably often bewildered girl. I didn’t want to judge her mother because I knew nothing about her, or why she drank, but as I began to take in Chloe’s dirty finger nails, wild hair and general air of dishevelment, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of frustration that she should be so neglected. ‘Does your nan live close to you?’ I asked.
‘Just a few minutes away,’ she said. ‘And my granddad did too, but he died when I was little. I don’t remember him much, but my nan used to be much nicer when I was little. She used to give me cuddles, but she just goes off on one now – mainly at my mum, like I said – but at me as well. She says I’m a big girl and I don’t need cuddles any more. That’s not right, is it, miss? You’re never too old for cuddles.’
I wondered where she’d heard that said and my heart really went out to her. I wondered what she went home to every night after school. ‘You’re right,’ I said firmly. ‘No one is ever too old for a cuddle.’
‘Yeah, but now I only have my mum and my teddies.’ She looked brighter then. ‘And my new friends. I can cuddle my new friends though now, can’t I? And maybe you as well, miss?’
‘Maybe me as well,’ I agreed, leaning forwards to squeeze her shoulder before standing up. ‘And you’ll get looked after here. And I tell you what. I think I have a spare bobble in my handbag. How about I pop that hair of yours into a ponytail before the lunch break? Right now, though, it’s time for you to get on with your picture, while I have a chat with Kiara, okay? Will you send her over to me?’
‘Ooh thanks, miss,’ she gushed as she too stood up. ‘I love having my hair brushed.’ She fairly skipped away.
I watched Kiara gently untangle herself from the hug Chloe was determined to greet her with, and as she did so I wondered at her patience. For an only child, she had a sweet, older-sisterly air about her; another way in which she seemed that much older than her years.
‘You okay, love?’ I asked her as she folded herself down onto the floor cushion. ‘Not feeling too overwhelmed by affection?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine, miss. I don’t mind. Well, not most of the time. It’s a bit – you know – weird – but I know she doesn’t mean any harm. I’ve seen her round school. I know what she’s like.’
‘And how are you, Kiara? You know, after yesterday. I was a bit worried, but you and Tommy seem to be okay about it all. Are you?’
Kiara glanced across at the boys and then shrugged. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, I guess. Isn’t much choice, is there? And he knows if he tries anything on again I’ll batter him.’ She sighed. ‘It’s just boys, isn’t it? They’re all like that, aren’t they?’
I was interested in her world-weary tone. It seemed a strange thing for a girl of her age to say. She was only 12 after all. I racked my brains to try and remember if 12-year-old girls had boyfriends these days.
‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, ‘but some certainly are. They’ll do anything to get the other boys to laugh at them, and I guess Tommy was just trying to earn himself some points – with him being new to the school, and everything. He probably doesn’t have many friends just yet.’ I paused for a moment before adding, ‘Do you have a boyfriend, Kiara?’
She shook her head. ‘No way. Why would I want a boyfriend? Boys are idiots.’
‘Oh you say that now,’ I said. ‘My Riley used to say the same thing when she was younger, but now she can’t wait to get married. You might change your mind yet. Just you wait and see.’
But I could see our conversation had headed up a blind alley, as Kiara seemed to have turned her attention elsewhere. Typical, I thought, watching her looking intently at something on the bookshelves – try to get some of my kids to read a book (or even choose one, in some cases) and you’d get nothing but moans and groans, but sit them down in the middle of them and try to get them to open up and suddenly books were the best things since sliced bread.
‘Tell me about what you get up to at home,’ I suggested instead. ‘Your mum told me that she has to work a lot of hours. So. What do you do with yourself while she’s out at work?’
Kiara shrugged again and, as if on auto-pilot, her hand went to her head and she started to pull out single strands of hair. ‘I dunno, miss,’ she said. ‘Watch TV, do my homework, listen to music. Anything really. I sometimes go round to my dad’s if I get bored.’
‘Ah yes, your mum said you’ve started seeing your dad again. And after quite a while, I hear. How is that going?’
‘Good,’ she said firmly. ‘He’s much more chilled than my mum. Not all stressy all the time, moaning at me if I leave a cup in the sink or something.’
I laughed. It was a familiar refrain from kids when it came to absent parents. The grass almost always seemed greener on the other side, the parent also so much more accommodating. ‘Well,’ I said, just so she was open to the idea, ‘I think all working mums are a bit like that, Kiara. I know I am. When you get home after a hard day, you like your home to be nice and tidy so you can have a rest. Dads never seem quite as fussy about that sort of thing, do they? And if you only see your dad a couple of times a week, he’s probably just pleased to see you. So you get along well with him then?’
‘I want to live with him,’ she said, with sudden firmness. ‘And I will, too. Soon as I’m old enough, I’m off. My dad said she can’t keep me locked up for ever, and she can’t!’
I was shocked by the unexpected edge in her voice. I wondered if she’d had this conversation with her mum. ‘Locked up? Come on, love, I’m sure your mum doesn’t lock you up.’
‘No! Not really locked up,’ Kiara said, looking at me as though I were getting on her nerves. ‘But making me stay with her instead of letting me live with Dad. It’s not fair. Why does she get to choose?’
I hesitated before answering because the truth was that I didn’t know, and I certainly wasn’t about to make a guess. ‘I suppose it’s just because she’s your mum, love, and when they split up it was in your best interests to stay put rather than go off with your dad.’
‘Yeah right,’ Kiara replied, her voice full of scorn. ‘Anyway, like I said, it doesn’t matter anyway. As soon as I’m old enough, I’m off. It’s no biggie.’
‘Well,’ I began, ‘that’s obviously something for the future, but –’
But Kiara had clearly moved on. ‘D’you want me to do Chloe’s hair for her, miss?’ she said, speaking across me. ‘I heard you saying about having a bobble. I could do it for her if you like. I’m good at hair. I do my mum’s all the time. She’d probably like it if I do it.’
I was tempted to push it – try to make sense of the seeming contradictions I was hearing; how she wanted to run off to her dad’s but how she did her mum’s hair for her all the time. But I decided to leave it, at least for the moment – 12-year-old girls were often walking contradictions in themselves.
‘I’ll bet she’d love that,’ I said instead.
Kiara stood up. ‘An’ then she can come to dinner with me as well.’
I wondered what her situation at home was really like. There was just something – something I couldn’t even hazard a guess at. ‘That would be nice, love,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and find my bobble, and soon as you’re done with your pictures you can sort it out for her.’ I smiled. ‘Bless her – “sort” being the operative word!’
Kiara grinned. ‘Leave it with me, miss,’ she said. ‘I like a challenge.’
And she rose to it, too. Chloe was soon the proud owner of what I was informed was a ‘messy bun’. And, yes, it was messy, but it was also the ‘in’ thing, apparently. And at least a darn sight less messy than it had been before.
So far, I thought, not bad progress at all. Just not quite enough of it, that was all.