Sian was nervous.

She didn’t bring friends home often, and she hadn’t brought many different people home. Jasmine and Nicola had both been over a few times, of course, but with them still not talking to her, it looked unlikely that they would be coming over again any time soon.

She had certainly never brought a boy home. And while she knew that there was nothing going on between her and Edward beyond simple friendship, she also knew how her mother liked to take things out of context and blow them out of proportion. But Sian was putting her own distaste at being interrogated by her mother aside for now, because her friend needed her.

The day after Parents Evening at school had been a peculiar one. Sian knew that Kristina wouldn’t be there, because she had received a text to that effect, though Kristina hadn’t gone into detail as to what had happened. When she met up with Edward at breaktime, however, things started to become a little more clear.

Edward explained the awkward situation that had occurred, but managed to remain calm while he was doing so. He sounded frustrated, but for once he didn’t seem to be outright angry. Sian wondered if she had had anything to do with that, but doubted it; she wasn’t so confident in herself as to believe she could “fix” emotional scars as deep as those Edward had in such a short space of time.

She wanted to help, though, so that’s where the invitation had come from. It had come out of her mouth before she could stop herself; she’d invited Edward over at the weekend. As soon as she said it, she realised she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do with him once he was there, but she felt it was important for him to get out of his house for a while. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what his situation at home must have been like after the confrontation at Parents Evening; she didn’t even know if he was staying at home, given the revelations that had come out.

“What time’s he coming?” asked her mother with a wry grin. Sian could tell she had already misunderstood the situation.

“Mum, listen,” she said. “I need to explain some things.” She could feel her hands shaking as she spoke up. She normally tried to avoid difficult conversations like this, but she felt it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring Edward into her house without warning her mother about what the stakes were.

She took a deep breath and explained everything: who Edward was, what his background was, why he needed to be treated with a certain degree of care, particularly after last night. By the time she had finished, her mother’s face didn’t look anywhere near as cheerful as it was before.

“Oh,” she said. “Um, is he going to be… all right?”

“I think so,” said Sian. “Just… don’t provoke him, okay?”

“I wasn’t planning on it!” said her mother. Then she smiled. “But I’ll be careful.”

 

*  *  *  *

A couple of hours later, the doorbell went. Sian, who had been sitting in the living room, raced to the door to be the first to answer it, though she could hear her mother heading to the hallway.

“I got it,” called Sian.

She opened the door. There was Edward, standing on her doorstep. He’d brushed his hair, making him look a little tidier than usual, though he appeared to be wearing his white school shirt and trousers beneath his usual coat. He’d left the tie off, at least. Sian looked him up and down.

“Hello,” said Sian, who now felt rather underdressed in her jeans and t-shirt. “You look very smart.”

“I, uh, don’t have that many smart clothes,” said Edward. “This is the best I could do.”

“You didn’t have to dress up!” said Sian with a gentle laugh. Edward looked a little embarrassed. “It’s okay though. I’m happy you made an effort.”

He looked up at her, and smiled. It was still such a rare sight, it made Sian’s heart flutter to see it. She was glad that she was someone who could make him smile, but it made her a little sad to think that she was probably one of the few people in the world who was able to do so.

They paused like that for a moment, neither moving. Then Sian caught herself, stood aside and motioned for him to come through the door.

“Come in,” she said. “Please. Oh, would you mind taking your shoes off?”

“Sure,” he said, stepping into the house. He removed his shoes, and Sian noticed that his socks were threadbare, with a couple of prominent holes.

“Sorry,” he said, looking sheepish. “Like I said, I don’t have many smart clothes.”

“It’s fine,” said Sian. “Here, let me take your coat.” He removed it and Sian took it from him, hanging it up in the cupboard beneath the stairs. “Come on through.”

She led him to the living room, where the television was still on. Her mother was nowhere to be seen, and her father was sitting upstairs browsing the Internet, as usual. She was grateful to them both for knowing to stay out of the way; perhaps they had a bit more sensitivity and consideration than she gave them credit for, she thought.

Edward sat down on the couch; Sian sat in one of the armchairs. They both stared at the television for a few minutes.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” said Sian, indicating the TV.

“Not really,” said Edward. Then he sat forward. “We could watch a movie or something?”

“Okay,” said Sian. “What do you want to watch?”

“What have you got?” he asked.

Sian smiled, and switched the channel on the TV, then pulled up her favourite video-on-demand service. “Pretty much anything you want,” she said. Her smile widened at Edward’s open-mouthed expression of wonderment. Apparently he had never encountered this sort of service before.

“That one,” he said, indicating a movie starring a popular action her. It looked like a distinctly testosterone-fuelled movie to Sian, which wasn’t normally her sort of thing, but she was willing to give it a shot. Today was about Edward, after all, so if sitting through some blood-splattered action movie would make him happy, that’s what they’d do.

She set the movie playing and moved onto the couch next to him so she could see the screen better. Edward looked like he didn’t quite know where to put his hands, or whether he could relax. Sian just sank back into the soft cushions of the couch with a sigh.

Five minutes into the movie, there was a tap at the living room door, and Sian’s mother poked her head around.

“Would you two like a drink?” she asked quietly.

“Please,” said Sian. “Edward, do you want anything?”

“Yes,” he said. “Please,” he added, correcting himself. “Whatever you have.”

Sian’s mother disappeared, then returned a moment later with two large glasses of Coke. She passed one to Sian and one to Edward, then quietly left the room, closing the door behind her. Sian was grateful for her keeping out of the way, but felt slightly embarrassed at the assumptions her mother was probably making about her right now. She was probably going to go upstairs and have a good laugh about this with Sian’s father right now.

Sian shook her head and took a sip of the Coke. It was cold and still super-fizzy, so it tasted good. It had obviously come from a new bottle. Edward followed suit and took a big gulp, then belched thunderously.

“Sorry,” he said, looking faintly embarrassed. Sian just laughed.

“It’s fine,” she said. Impulsively, she took a big gulp, felt the bubbles rise up inside her, then burped and giggled.

“Heh,” said Edward, not quite laughing, but that smile coming to his face again. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard a girl burp.”

“We’re full of surprises,” said Sian. “Hey, do you want anything to eat? I can make some popcorn if you want.”

“Sure,” said Edward. He turned his attention back to the movie. Sian wasn’t really following it, but Edward seemed to be enjoying himself, and she was glad about that.

She went into the kitchen, reached into the cupboard and drew out one of the bags of microwave popcorn. She placed it into the microwave, set the timer and waited. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then pop… pop… pop pop pop. She listened carefully until the popping slowed down again, then took the bag out and emptied its hot, popped contents into a bowl and took it back into the living room.

Edward was right where she’d left him. She sat down next to him and laid the bowl of popcorn between them, then reached in and grabbed a handful. Then she turned back to the movie.

This isn’t so bad, she thought. This almost feels like a normal life. I wonder what Edward’s thinking right now?

Kristina didn’t quite remember how she got here; it had all been a bit of a blur ever since Mark had walked in. Stormed in might have been more accurate; regardless, she felt dazed, confused, and not really up to whatever was about to happen in this small room.

She was sitting in a small chair next to the Head’s large, comfortable-looking swivel chair. Across the room from her was Edward, Mark and Edward’s mother, whose name Kristina didn’t know. The Head had stepped out for a moment, leaving the four in uncomfortable silence. Mark still looked as if he might snap at any moment, though he was leaning more towards “emotional breakdown” than “jealous rage” right now, and Edward’s mother’s face was unreadable. Edward, meanwhile, stared at the floor, his cheeks flushed.

Eventually, the Head walked back in, relieving some of Kristina’s tension. She was just starting to think she ought to say something to break the silence, but had come to the conclusion that she really had nothing to say right now.

“Hello,” said the Head. “I’m Mr Thompson, the headteacher here.”

Thompson was only a year older than Rhodes, but he looked about twenty years older. While Rhodes looked like a kindly uncle coming gracefully into middle age, Thompson’s worn face and greying hair made him look more like a world-weary grandfather. Right now, he looked particularly tired. Kristina found herself wondering what he spent his days doing, since his door was usually closed and it was pretty rare the staff would see him at all; most matters of school business, be they discipline or dealing with parents, went through Rhodes rather than Thompson.

This must be serious to involve the Head, thought Kristina. She shook her head. Of course it’s serious. A man burst in to Parents Evening yelling and screaming, and collapsed on the floor in tears. What a silly thing to think, Kristina.

She felt oddly detached from this whole situation now she wasn’t the centre of attention. She almost felt like she could float right out of her body and watch the meeting unfold from outside; she wasn’t even sure what she was doing here. Although the incident in the main hall had involved her, she didn’t quite know how she could contribute to this meeting, whatever it was.

“We have a problem,” said Thompson. “There is obviously some sort of… history here.” He gesticulated in the general direction of Mark and Kristina, then continued. “I take care not to involve myself in the private lives of my staff, but when something spills over into the professional space, I cannot help but pay attention. Would anyone care to explain the situation, please?”

Silence. Kristina felt like she was a naughty child being admonished for a major misdemeanour, even though she knew she hadn’t really done anything wrong. She glanced over at Mark, who didn’t look in any fit state to talk right now.

Eventually Edward’s mother spoke up.

“There’s a bit of background we need to talk about,” she said. She looked from Edward, to Mark, to Kristina. “And then we need to figure out how we’re going to resolve this.”

Thompson nodded. No-one else said anything.

“As I’m sure you know, Mark and I are no longer together,” she began. “We tried to stay together for the sake of Edward, but it simply wasn’t working.” She sighed. “I knew that Mark wouldn’t be capable of taking care of Edward by himself, but he insisted. He insisted so much he spent more money and time than he had fighting me for legal custody of Edward. There was nothing I could do; even though I knew the situation wouldn’t be good for anyone, Mark was too stubborn to give up.”

Kristina looked over at Mark as Edward’s mother said these things. He was tapping his feet and wringing his hands, but still he said nothing.

“Edward occasionally contacted me in secret,” she continued. “He told me how Mark was neglecting him; how he was angry and frustrated; how Mark would hit him in anger; how Mark would lock him in his room when he didn’t want to deal with him. I wanted to help him, but the first legal battle against Mark had cost me almost all the money I had; I couldn’t afford to fight him again.

“But Edward kept contacting me. He wouldn’t give up. He wanted to escape so badly, and I felt so bad for not being able to help him. But I was living in a one-bedroom flat and struggling to get by, so my situation would have barely been better than what Mark could offer, though I would have at least treated him better.”

“I’m confused,” said Thompson. “If the situation at home was so bad, why didn’t this get reported to Child Protection?”

“It was an irrational fear on my part,” continued Edward’s mother. “I worried that if they took Edward away from Mark, they’d look at my living situation and deem me unfit to take care of him, either. I didn’t want him to end up with some foster family he didn’t know; that would just make his emotional problems even worse than they already are. At least in my mind. I know now that I should have done something sooner, and I regret that I didn’t.” She turned to her son. “I’m sorry, Edward.”

Thompson turned to Kristina, who was shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

“And I’m not clear how you’re involved, Miss Charles. Would you care to explain?”

“I—” Kristina began, but before she could start mumbling her way through an explanation, she was interrupted.

“It’s my fault,” said Mark with a cracked voice, sounding utterly defeated. “I… used to work with her friend. We had been flirting at work for a long time, and eventually we agreed to go out. But I had been such a mess ever since she left…” – here he gestured to his ex-partner – “…that I was having trouble dealing with… being normal.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I thought things were going well. I craved intimacy, both emotional and physical, and I thought I had found it in Maxine. But I went too far, and when she resisted, I became angry and… did some things I regret.”

Kristina was surprised he was being so open about what had happened. She had expected him to lie, cheat and become aggressive, but seemingly the simple presence of the woman he had once loved had reduced him to little more than a shell of a man. His voice was cold and emotionless; there was no sadness, no anger, no bitterness; nothing.

“Very well,” said Thompson. “Can I please ask you to wait outside for a moment? I need to speak with Miss Charles privately for a moment.”

Edward’s mother nodded, and was first to stand. She ushered Mark out of the room ahead of her. Edward trailed along, still staring at his shoes, his feet kicking the floor as he walked.

Thompson closed the door after them.

“Anything else you can tell me?” he said, standing in front of the door with his arms folded.

Kristina felt a little uncomfortable.

“Not about this situation,” she said. “I can tell you that Edward seems to have been responding well to music lessons, and has actually been doing quite well.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “He has also been getting on well with Sian Beaumont in the music class. She’s been helping him out a lot, and they seem to have made quite a friendship out of it. Unfortunately that seems to have had a negative impact on Sian’s own friendships, as we’ve seen recently.”

“Hm,” said Thompson, stroking his chin. “Anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. She paused. “Err,” she began. She considered whether or not now would be the right time to reveal her plan.

“Yes?” he said.

“N-no, nothing,” she said. “Would you mind if I… if I just went home now, please? It’s been a difficult day.”

“Of course,” he said. He stepped aside from the door and opened it. She passed through, not stopping to speak to Edward and his parents on the way past. She just wanted out, right now.

 

*  *  *  *

The following morning, Kristina woke up late. She could have probably made it in to school if she threw on her clothes and ran, but all motivation had left her.

She fumbled around on her bedside table for her phone, but when she pressed the button to wake it from sleep, it became apparent its battery had gone flat. Groaning, she reached down beside the bed to grab the charger cable — why did they make them so damn short? — and plug it into the phone. Then she lay back and closed her eyes for a moment, hoping she wouldn’t fall asleep.

A few minutes later, after successfully remaining awake, she grabbed her phone, which now had enough charge in it to wake up. She dialled the school’s number; she knew that, given how late it was, she’d have to actually speak to someone rather than leave an answerphone message, but it was better than leaving them high and dry.

“Hello,” she said with a cracked voice. She didn’t clear her throat to fix it; the more ill she sounded, the better. “It’s Kristina, I’m afraid I’m not very well today so I won’t be coming in.”

It was technically a lie, but she really didn’t feel like she had the energy to face school today. She tried to avoid pulling a sickie if she could possibly avoid it, but today she felt like she had earned it.

The inevitable question came. Did she have any cover work for her classes?

“I’ll email some through to Martin,” she said. She had no intention of doing so, but it was easier to say that she was going to send something. Then she hung up before there could be any more questions.

She lay back, closed her eyes and this time allowed sleep to claim her once again.

*  *  *  *

She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept when she awoke again; her mind had been bounced around by some truly peculiar dreams. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for a while, not wanting to move. All her joints ached, and she just wanted to lie still for hours.

She stared at the ceiling for a while, closed her eyes and felt herself falling asleep again. But she forced herself awake again, rolled over and pulled one leg out of bed, then the other, sitting up groggily as her feet hit the floor.

She grabbed her phone. There was a missed call from school on it, and another from a mobile number she didn’t recognise. Probably Martin asking where the cover work she promised was.

She dismissed the notifications and opened up her contact list. She scrolled through until she found the number for her local doctor’s surgery.

“Hello,” she said as the receptionist answered on the other end. “I was wondering if you had any appointments today.”

There was a pause as the receptionist checked.

“There is?” Kristina said. “Okay, I’d like to make an appointment, please. Thank you.”

This was it. There was no turning back from here, but she no longer felt any regrets or hesitation; this was the right thing to do.

The week rolled around, day by day. Sian felt demotivated and indifferent towards her studies for the first time in years, and her teachers had noticed, with several of them pulling her aside after class to ask whether everything was all right. Most of them were aware of the altercation between her, Jasmine and Nicola the previous week, but they also tended to assume that spats between teenage girls were usually patched up almost as quickly as they happened.

This one hadn’t, though. Jasmine and Nicola had barely said a word to Sian since the incident, and had pointedly moved away from her in the classes they had together, leaving her to sit by herself. It made her feel bad.

The only person she felt gave her any meaningful interaction any more was Edward, and despite her good intentions to be positive towards him, she was wary of being seen with him for fear of either or both of them being harassed — and worse, it causing Edward to fly into one of his rages. She didn’t want that, and she knew Edward didn’t either; it just happened. It was part of who he was, and Sian felt like she was one of the only people in the school — staff of the Unit aside, whom she’d got to know quite well over the last few days — who could look past the angry exterior to the person within.

Sian had discovered through her conversations with him that Edward was actually quite an intelligent person, with a particularly natural flair for the creative. The fact that his difficulties had caused him to miss a lot of lessons meant that he was lacking in certain basic skills, particularly when it came to literacy and numeracy, but when he could communicate his feelings and articulate his thoughts coherently, it was clear to her that there was quite a clever young man struggling to get out from beneath all the resentment, bitterness and anger.

Sian had paid Kristina a few visits over the course of the week, but had found her friend increasingly distant, distracted and unwilling to talk. She often had a far-off look in her eyes, like she was seeing something Sian couldn’t, and she rarely had time to spend more than five minutes talking.

Sian knew the reason, of course; it was abundantly clear. Kristina had given up. She had had good intentions to try her best for one last shot when they had met in the coffee shop, but her attempts had obviously been unsuccessful, because now she looked utterly defeated. Sian recognised the feelings, and felt for her teacher, but didn’t know what else she could do.

She thought back to the story Sian had told her about her friend at university, the one who had suffered from depression and had regularly shut herself away from anyone who wanted to help or comfort her. She couldn’t help but draw comparisons to Kristina; she was starting to show much the same symptoms, and Sian recognised her own feelings of helplessness as what Kristina must have gone through several years previously.

Thursday morning came around; the day of Year 11’s Parents Evening. Sian tried her best to maintain her focus over the course of the day, but knew that most of her teachers had already noticed how distracted she had been for the rest of the week and would almost certainly tell her parents about it. She really wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable conversation in the car on the way home; her mother in particular would ask probing questions that she wouldn’t want to answer, and her father would get increasingly frustrated as she refused to answer them. She predicted the evening would more than likely end in a huge argument between her and them.

When lunchtime came, Sian decided to go and see Kristina again. When she arrived at the classroom, Edward was already there waiting outside the door, peering through the small window.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hey,” he said quietly, not turning to look at her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I wanted to see Miss,” he said. “But she looks… well, take a look.”

He moved away from the door and gestured for Sian to take a look through the small window. She did so.

Inside, she could see Kristina sitting at the piano, but she wasn’t playing. No, she was crying. Her head was in her hands, and she was crying; judging by the heaving of her shoulders, it was a particularly intense bout.

“Should we go talk to her?” Edward asked. “I, uh, don’t really know how to deal with this.”

Sian didn’t either.

“I…” she began, turning to him, then turned back to look through the window again. Kristina was right where they had left her. “Yeah. Yeah, we should.”

She pushed the door open assertively without knocking. Kristina looked up, startled, tears sparkling on her cheeks and makeup running down her face.

“Oh God,” she said. “I’m sorry, was I supposed to…”

“No,” said Sian as calmly as she could manage. “No, there’s nothing to worry about. We just wanted to…”

She wanted to say “see if you were all right,” but that seemed like a silly thing to say right now. Of course she wasn’t all right.

“We just wanted to come and see you,” said Edward. “We’re worried about you.”

Sian looked at Edward in surprise. It wasn’t like him to show such open empathy.

“Yeah,” said Sian. She fumbled around in her pocket to find the packet of tissues her mother pushed onto her every few days. She drew one out and handed it to Kristina, who took it with a weak smile.

“Yeah, you should be,” said Kristina. “I know I’m being completely unprofessional by being like this, but, you know, fuck it. I can’t take this any more.”

Both Sian and Edward bristled as they heard Kristina hiss the profanity bitterly, but they didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I’m sorry to you both. But…” she hesitated and took a deep breath, which was interrupted by the remnants of a sob. “I don’t think I’m going to be your teacher for much longer.”

Sian nodded.

“I understand,” she said. Edward said nothing; he just looked at the floor.

The room was silent for a moment.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” said Edward quietly, still looking at his shoes.

“No,” said Kristina. “No, Edward, why would you say that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I feel like everything’s my fault. I fuck everything up.”

Sian placed a hand on his shoulder, and heard him take a sharp intake of breath as she made contact with him.

“You don’t,” she said quietly. “You can’t blame yourself for everything. There are things you could do better, sure, but that’s true for all of us. But this; this isn’t your fault.”

“No,” said Kristina. “It’s not. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not cut out for this job. I thought I was, but I’m not. It’s taken me quite some time to admit that to myself, but this really isn’t me. This isn’t the person I used to be. I don’t like the person that this job is turning me into, and if I carry on I’m not only going to be letting myself down, I’m going to be letting the rest of you down, too.”

Sian took her hand off Edward’s shoulder and walked towards Kristina. She put her arms around her teacher’s shoulders and hugged her.

Kristina started crying again, but the tears didn’t have quite so much sadness in them this time.

 

*  *  *  *

Finally, the end of the day came around. Kristina somehow managed to survive her afternoon lessons without having an emotional breakdown, and knew that she only had to make it through Parents Evening, and then she would be free.

Between the end of school and her first appointment, she took a moment to wash her face, reapply her makeup and make sure she looked presentable and professional.

Might as well go out on a high note, she thought.

She walked back to her classroom, picked up her mark book and headed to the table assigned to her in the hall; tucked away in the back corner, much like the music department as a whole.

She only had a few appointments; a number of her students’ parents had apparently decided that music wasn’t important enough to check their progress in, and so she spent much of the evening drinking the staffroom’s horrible instant coffee and eating cheap biscuits.

As the light faded outside, she couldn’t help but look at the last entry on her list: Edward’s parents. She wasn’t sure how she was going to deal with Edward’s father, and Edward hadn’t said whether or not his estranged mother would be coming along, either. But time was ticking down, and she knew that there was no escape.

She went and sat back at her desk, feeling her heart rate gradually increasing as she watched the clock gradually work its way ever-closer to seven o’ clock.

As she saw Edward’s father approaching, she felt like her heart had stopped and time was standing still.

“Holy shit,” she said to herself. “Mark.”

There was no mistake; it wasn’t the clean-cut, well-dressed Mark she’d seen before, however; he had shaggy, unkempt hair and he obviously hadn’t shaved for a while. But it was still him.

She made eye contact, and she knew it was too late to get away; he was storming towards her, striding with furious purpose down the aisles between the tables.

The rest of the world became a blur, darkening at the edges; all she could see right now was him, with Edward following closely behind him, looking more scared than she had ever seen him.

“Bitch!” hissed Mark as she reached Kristina’s table. He slammed his fist down on her desk and said it again, louder. “Bitch!”

The noise of the other meetings going on in the room subsided, and Kristina could feel all eyes turning to her. She wanted out, now.

“Uh-uh-uh-uh,” she stammered, unable to get any words out. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

“You and your little friend ruined my life!” he yelled, pushing her table aside as if it were nothing more than a light curtain. Kristina stood up and moved behind her chair, though she knew it would offer little protection if he did decide to become violent.

“You ruined my life!” he said again, but this time he wasn’t screaming with anger; it was said with agonising frustration and sadness. He sank to his knees and clutched at his temples; tears formed in his eyes and he started to sob.

He let out a bloodcurdling howl and sank to the ground. Kristina looked at him in astonishment, and could tell the rest of the room was doing the same.

The room fell silent for a moment, then the noiselessness was broken by the sound of high-heeled footsteps on the wooden floor, echoing through the high-ceilinged hall.

They came closer and closer; Kristina didn’t recognise the woman, but as soon as Edward turned around, looked at her and smiled, she understood.

“Have I come at a bad time?” said Edward’s mother.

The weekend came and went, and with it, time to think.

Kristina had reached an agreement with herself; she would return to school on Monday, stick it out until Parents Evening, and only then decide what to do next. She was trying very hard not to decide beforehand what she was going to do; she was determined that it would be a considered decision, but not one she had made her mind up about days beforehand.

Parents Evening was Thursday; today was Monday. That gave her three full days and most of a fourth to prepare herself and figure out what was going on — whether she could continue surviving the way she had been, or whether it was time to bow out gracefully and try to do something else.

Kristina couldn’t help but see the second option as a failure somehow, but in a long conversation with Maxine, she had learned to at least entertain the possibility that it might, in fact, be the right thing to do. Regardless of whatever sense of “duty” she had; regardless of whether or not it meant that all that time she’d spent training had somehow been wasted; if it was the right thing to do, it was the right thing to do.

But no. She wasn’t going to decide one way or another until after she had made it through Parents Evening, at which point she would make her mind up once and for all, and then try her best at whatever she decided to do next.

It felt like an attainable goal. It was just three and a bit days, after all — perfectly doable.

She stepped into the school grounds on Monday morning feeling oddly positive and detached. She dimly heard a few children jeering at her as they saw her, but she successfully ignored it and walked into the building, through the corridors and down to her classroom.

The room was just as she’d left it. The papers were still on the desk, though in her absence at least the piles hadn’t grown any more. The book of music was still on the piano, so she took a moment and indulged herself in flamboyantly performing a couple of favourite pieces to no-one in particular. She looked at the clock; it was time for the staff briefing, but she didn’t feel like going today. Instead, she just waited for the inevitable.

There was the bell for registration; the gradual calming of the noise outside. There was the second bell for the end of registration; the gradual crescendo of talking, laughing and shouting as the children returned to the hallways of the school, then the diminuendo of them entering the classrooms and beginning their lessons.

She noticed that the noise she expected outside her own door was nowhere to be seen. Where was 7C?

She stood up from the piano and walked outside; no-one was in the open area outside her room. How odd. Had she missed something important?

She returned to her room and rummaged through the papers on her desk. Eventually she found her answer: year 7 was on a field trip today, and as such their normal lessons would not be taking place. All teachers who would normally teach year 7 were expected to be available for cover lessons.

Kristina looked at the date on the memo; it had gone out last week, and had seemingly just got buried amid all the other piles of paper on her desk. Fortunately, it didn’t appear to matter too much; no-one had come to fetch her for cover today, and so she smiled at the prospect of a free period, and resolved to get up to date on marking some of the books she’d neglected for so long.

She’d had good intentions for marking, but had somehow never managed to stick to them. The school had rather exacting standards as to how books should be marked, with particular attention paid to things like spelling and punctuation, and an overly complicated system of marks to denote various things about the things students had written. In her first few weeks, Kristina had stuck to the marking scheme rigorously, but over time had determined that whatever she wrote, whatever she pointed out with her pens — red or green, she’d tried both — it was, more often than not, summarily ignored by students, so much so that there were children in year 9 who were still writing answers to questions in textspeak and completing homework with printouts from Wikipedia.

She opened the first of a stack and sighed at the sight of the owner’s clumsy handwriting and poor spelling. She flicked through the pages, admiring her seeming dedication to the job in the early days of the term, spotting the cut-off point where she’d simply stopped marking books and begun the path she was on now — the path of never being able to get caught up, ever.

She closed the book and returned it to the stack, then returned the stack to its customary spot on the windowsill. Marking had waited this long; it could wait for another day, and besides, the attainment levels for music were so poorly defined that she had proven on several occasions already that she could pretty much make up the results for her students based on what she knew of their personalities and work ethics and still be complimented on her rigorous marking and solid tracking of their attainment — just so long as they didn’t take a random sample of her exercise books, of course.

Oh God, she thought, sitting down at her desk. I really am an unsatisfactory teacher. I can’t be bothered with any of this shit.

But did it matter? That’s what she wasn’t sure of. She still held the somewhat idealistic view that teachers should be people who inspired and imparted knowledge, not people who filled out forms. It shouldn’t matter that she hadn’t used the school’s secret code for showing when someone had misspelled something or failed to put a comma in the right place, because she had it where it counted — she had heart and soul, and she wanted these kids to learn about music.

It wasn’t that simple, of course. Her mind drifted back through numerous lessons, and it naturally fixated on all the times where she’d spent more time shouting at the class than actually imparting knowledge or helping them out. She saw the faces of the few industrious, committed children in even the most unpleasant classes, and worried that they felt disappointed in her.

Then she saw Sian’s face, looking at her supportively. If Sian understood what she was going through, didn’t it follow that other students would too? Not necessarily, she thought, since Sian was a special case; she was far more mature than many of her peers, and she was rare in that she clearly saw her teachers as real people rather than automatons purely designed to make the life of teenagers difficult.

Kristina sighed and laid her head down on the piles of paper on her desk. The positivity with which she had arrived at school this morning was draining out of her by the second, and she was becoming more and more convinced of what her decision would be come the end of Thursday.

Her door opened, and a child she didn’t recognise walked in.

“Miss?” she said. “Um, I think you’re supposed to be covering our class?”

Shit, Kristina said to herself. They must have doled out cover assignments during briefing. Bollocks. Fuck. Shit.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll, uh, be right there. What class is it?”

“8A,” said the girl. “We’re doing Maths.”

“Okay,” said Kristina. “I’m sorry, no-one told me, I…” She stopped herself, realising that the child probably didn’t care, and that the class probably welcomed the fact they had been without a teacher for twenty minutes.

She gathered her things and turned to the girl.

“All right,” she said. “Ready to go.”

“Uh, miss?” said the girl. “Your nose…”

Kristina put her hand to her nose, which she now noticed was feeling a bit strange. When she looked down at her hand, it was covered in blood.

Oh shit, she thought. Great timing. Just perfect.

“Let me get you a tissue,” said the girl, running out of the door.

Kristina tipped her head back and pinched the bridge of her nose, unsure of what else to do; it had been a long time since she’d had a nosebleed, and she couldn’t for the life of her remember how to fix it. When the girl came back, Kristina took the sheet of paper towel from her and held it under her nose. Before long, it was stained a deep crimson with her blood; the girl passed her another as Kristina tossed it aside.

“Can you go to Reception, please,” said Kristina from behind the tissue. “I… don’t think I’m very well. I’m going to need someone else to cover your class.”

“Okay,” said the girl. “Get better soon, Miss.”

Then she was gone.

Eventually the bleeding stopped, and Kristina looked down at the bloody tissue in her hand.

“Nothing is worth this,” she said out loud. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

I gave up.

Sian looked at the message again, feeling a great sense of sorrow.

She had heard about the incident where Kristina had run out of the science lesson — how could she not? The school was abuzz with it.

The way people were talking about it disgusted Sian. A number of people whom she knew for a fact had never had a lesson with Kristina seemed to be seeing the fall of a teacher as a “victory” — for whom, she couldn’t really determine. She certainly didn’t feel it was something to be celebrated when the teacher of one of the subjects she was going to be examined in come the summer had been driven out of her job, perhaps never to return. She knew that music was hardly the most popular subject in school, but that was no reason to celebrate.

The injustice of it all frustrated her. She knew that Kristina was trying her best, struggling against difficult odds made even harder by the school’s own woes. And Sian thought she was doing a good job, too; she always came away from her music lessons feeling like she’d learned something and that her life was somehow richer — even in those sessions where she’d done little more than play the piano or sing. Kristina just helped her feel like she was doing something good and worthwhile.

Now she had lost Jasmine and Nicola to the mob, too, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She got on well enough with her peers in her music class, but not well enough to feel confident hanging out with them. And she felt sure that by now, if Jasmine and Nicola had judged her for her supposed “sins,” the rest of her peers were likely thinking much the same thing.

She felt very alone.

I can understand how you feel, replied Sian. I’m feeling that way too.

She rolled over and faced the wall. She felt comfortable inside her duvet; safe and peaceful. At least until her mother came in on one of her regular visits to see if she was “all right”.

Sian had successfully managed to convince her parents that she wasn’t feeling well enough to go into school today. It was a lie, of course, but she felt like she needed some time to recuperate and gather her thoughts.

She hadn’t told her parents anything of what had transpired, nor had she told them of her worries about Kristina. She’d made an appointment for them to see Kristina at Parents Evening earlier in the week, and as far as they were concerned, that was going to go ahead as normal next week. Sian found herself doubting that was an appointment that would be kept, however.

There was a tap on her door, and she heard it open.

“Hello,” said her mother in an overly cheerful voice. “I brought you a cup of coffee. How are you feeling now?”

“Not great,” said Sian, faking a croaky voice and continuing to face the wall. “I’m really tired. I think I’d like to try and sleep for a bit.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said her mother. She leaned over and stroked her daughter’s hair. “You should put that phone away if you’re trying to get some sleep.”

Sian realised she was still clutching her phone in her hands, and hoped that her mother hadn’t seen the message exchange on the screen. She looked down at the device and saw that it had automatically gone to sleep. Suddenly, it buzzed in her hand and lit up.

“Oh, you’ve got a message,” said her mother. “Is it your friends checking up on you?”

“Something like that,” said Sian, silently urging her mother to please just leave her alone.

Eventually, she did, and Sian was left to review the message. It was, of course, from Kristina.

How do we pick ourselves up after this? she’d written. How do we get back to normal?

I don’t know, Sian typed back immediately. I wish I knew. I wish life was easy.

Moments later, Kristina replied again. You sound like me. You’re a bit young to start talking like that, aren’t you?

Apparently you’re never too young, responded Sian. We’ll work it out. We have to. There’s no other option, is there?

There are other options, replied Kristina. But none of them are particularly desirable or helpful. So I guess you’re right.

Sian paused, unsure of what to say next.

Do you want to meet for a coffee later? came another message from Kristina, moments later.

Yes, said Sian. Only my Mum thinks I’m sick, so I doubt she’ll let me out.

Are you skiving off? came the reply. I didn’t think you had it in you.

Sian smiled weakly. I could say the same to you.

 

*  *  *  *

Later in the day, well after the school day had ended, Sian successfully convinced her mother that she was feeling better, and that a walk in the fresh air would do her more good than sitting around the house.

Her “walk” was actually to the bus stop, and onward into town, where she would meet Kristina and the pair of them would commiserate with one another.

The bus ride seemed to pass very quickly, since Sian was lost in her thoughts. She got off and walked down the street to the coffee shop, which wasn’t far away. Kristina was already in there waiting for her. She looked very tired, with bags under her eyes, unkempt hair and no makeup.

“Hello,” she said as brightly as she could manage.

“Hey,” said Kristina with a dry, cracked voice.

Sian sat down opposite her defeated teacher, and the pair just looked at the table in silence for a moment, then Sian got up, fumbled around in her pocket for her purse and went to the counter.

“What are you doing?” Kristina called.

“I owe you one,” said Sian. “Let’s indulge.”

Sian returned a moment later with two large lattes and two big slices of chocolate cake, much like the ones they’d had at the supermarket a few days earlier. The pair of them dug in, and Sian found herself immediately feeling a little better.

“This is so weird,” said Sian. “These feelings, I mean. It’s like… I feel really sad, but there doesn’t feel like there’s anything causing it. I mean, I know shitty things have happened recently, but it’s not those things I’m sad about; it’s just a general feeling of, you know, meh.“

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Kristina. “That’s depression, Sian. And it happens to the best people.”

The pair of them took another mouthful of cake. Kristina continued.

“I had a friend at university while I was training,” she said. “A really close friend. We got on really well. But she had depression. So much so that there were times when she just couldn’t deal with being around people. I felt terrible when that happened, because there was just nothing I could do; I couldn’t comfort her, I couldn’t tell her everything was going to be all right — she’d just push me away and want to hide. As difficult as it is to admit now, I think I finally understand where she was coming from. There isn’t always a cause. There isn’t always a cure. It just… is. And you sort of have to learn to deal with it.”

“Well, you’re handling it better than she did,” said Sian.

“Really?” said Kristina with a weak laugh. “Have you seen me? I’ve seen me. I look like a tramp. And I just don’t care right now.”

“No,” said Sian. “You haven’t locked yourself away though. You’re not hiding. You’re here now, aren’t you? You’re talking to me about it.”

“Hm,” said Kristina, pondering. “I guess you’re right.” She smiled. “Kindred spirits or something, perhaps.”

Sian took a gulp of coffee, and Kristina put another piece of cake in her mouth. She chewed it a few times, swallowed and then sighed.

“Oh, Sian,” she said. “What are we going to do?”

“Well, I don’t have much of an option,” said Sian. “You, on the other hand, I think…”

“Miss?”

The third voice interrupted Sian. The pair of them hadn’t noticed him approach, but now Edward was standing by their table, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Edward,” said Kristina weakly. “Hello.”

“You all right, Miss?” said Edward. “You look like shit.”

Sian smirked. Kristina looked at her, then back to Edward with a slight smile.

“Yes, well, I feel like shit,” said Kristina. Sian couldn’t help but feel a ripple of excitement at hearing a teacher swear. “But Sian here is helping. And perhaps you’d like to join us, too?” She looked to Sian for approval; Sian gave her a nod.

“Okay,” said Edward. “Will someone buy me a drink?”

Sian reached into her pocket but Kristina stopped her.

“I got this,” she said. “What do you want, Edward?”

“Hot chocolate,” he said. “Extra cream. And marshmallows.”

Kristina walked off to the counter to order Edward’s drink. He turned to Sian.

“You weren’t at school today,” he said.

“No,” she said.

“I, umm,” he said, his cheeks flushing somewhat. “I, err, missed you.”

Sian was surprised at what he was saying, but that surprise soon gave way to a pleasant feeling of warmth inside.

“Thanks,” she said. “Since the other day I was… wondering if anyone would care if I wasn’t there.”

“I, err, I do,” he said awkwardly, his face now bright red. “You’ve been really nice to me, so I… I don’t know, I…”

At this point, Kristina returned with Edward’s hot chocolate and rescued him from his stammering. Sian was intrigued; was he simply expressing friendship or preparing to confess deeper feelings? She was surprised to find herself not entirely repulsed by the idea, but knew anything more than friendship with Edward would almost certainly be more trouble than it was worth.

Kristina put the big glass of hot chocolate in front of Edward, who received it gratefully and immediately dug in, a moustache of whipped cream forming on his top lip. He turned to Kristina.

“Miss,” he said. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for being a dick in the past. And I wanted to say thanks, too.” He turned to Sian. “You two are the only people outside the Unit who take me seriously.”

“That’s my job, Edward,” said Kristina, passing him a napkin and indicating his top lip. “It’s a teacher’s job to take her students seriously and try and do what she can for them.”

Sian smiled. She knew that Kristina’s words were for her own benefit as much as Edward’s, but Edward seemed to appreciate them.

“Well,” he said. “I’m going to try. I’m going to try harder, and make my Mum proud. Then I can tell my Dad to stick it.”

Sian raised her eyebrows. She knew that Edward didn’t talk a lot about his family or his troubles with his father, so was both surprised and pleased to hear him being so open with Kristina.

“That’s good, Edward,” said Kristina. “I’ve seen how hard you’ve been trying, and I think it would make your Mum proud.” She hesitated a moment. “Edward, your Mum and Dad aren’t together any more, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” he said, looking at the floor. “I live with my Dad.”

Sian unconsciously grit her teeth, but said nothing.

“Why don’t you ask your Mum to come along to Parents Evening?” she asked. “It’d be good for her to find out how you’re doing, and I don’t know how well you’re getting on in other classes, but I’ll be more than happy to give you a good report, given how hard you’ve been trying.”

Edward smiled.

“I don’t know if she’ll say yes,” he said. “But I’ll try.”

Ring, ring.

Kristina had been trying all evening to get through to Maxine, but had still had no luck. Her phone was on, because it was ringing — she just wasn’t answering for whatever reason.

The ringing cut out and went to Maxine’s voicemail. Kristina hadn’t left a message yet — she hated voicemail because she never quite knew what to say. But calling her obviously wasn’t helping — perhaps she should leave a message?

She hung up before the announcement finished. If she was going to leave a message for Maxine, she wanted to make sure she knew what she was going to say before she said it. Then she realised how ridiculous that sounded, and tapped on the screen to once again dial Maxine’s number, telling herself that she’d leave some sort of casual, breezy message even though she was feeling anything but casual and breezy right now.

Ring, ring.

Okay, she thought. Here we go.

Ring, ring.

I can do this.

Ring, ring.

I hope she gets this.

Ring, ri—

“Hello?”

To Kristina’s surprise, Maxine finally answered the phone. Her voice was soft and sounded extremely tired.

“Maxine?” Kristina said.

“Yeah,” she said.

“What… where the hell have you been?”

“I told you,” she said. “I went up to my mother’s for a bit. I needed to get away.” She yawned.

“I’ve been worried about you,” Kristina said. “You weren’t replying.”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Maxine. “Signal’s shit out here in the country.”

Kristina paused for a moment. She didn’t know if her friend was telling the truth or not, but they’d always trusted one another, and she didn’t want to start wondering if she was lying now.

“Oh,” she said eventually. “Okay. When are you coming back?”

“Tomorrow,” said Maxine. “Listen,” she hissed, her voice suddenly a whisper. “Has Mark given you any grief since the other night?”

“No,” said Kristina. “I haven’t heard a peep from him. Has he given you any trouble?”

There was a pause.

“A couple of abusive messages,” said Maxine. “I binned ’em. If I can just stay away from him, he’ll get over it. I’m going to talk to work about him when I go back. They need to know what kind of person he is.”

“Yeah,” said Kristina. “Yeah, they do.”

 

*  *  *  *

The next morning, the inspectors were present for the school’s staff briefing once again. Apparently they were setting aside some time to give feedback to those teachers they’d observed over the past few days. Kristina felt the familiar knot of nervousness in her stomach, and didn’t relish the prospect of hearing what the team thought of her lesson on Monday. But it couldn’t be helped; as much as she wanted to just run out and never come back right now, she knew that ultimately that wouldn’t solve anything — she’d just have to suck it up, deal with it and perhaps have a good cry later.

Yes, that sounded about right.

Jesus, she thought to herself. When did that become my life?

She didn’t listen to a word of the briefing, until some familiar names came up.

“It seems that there was something of an altercation between Edward Jennings, Sian Beaumont, Jasmine Naper and Nicola Janes in Year 11 yesterday,” said Mr Rhodes. “Edward has been placed in internal exclusion over in the Unit for the next few days to try and calm down. We’re trying to get to the bottom of what caused the incident, but in the meantime please keep an eye on all four students if you happen to see them around.”

Kristina, of course, knew Sian’s side of the story and, even though she knew there was probably at least one other side to it, she felt inclined to side with her friend. Sian had always been a trustworthy student in her experience, and the things she’d heard her peers say about her in the staffroom and at the pub after school certainly seemed to back that up. She found it hard to believe that Sian would have instigated any problems; her only experience of Jasmine and Nicola was a cover English lesson she’d taken a few weeks ago in which she’d found them to be chatty, but otherwise pleasant enough.

Lost in thought, she stretched and grunted noisily before realising she was surrounded by her peers. Thankfully, the briefing had finished, but she got one or two funny looks from her peers. She blushed and stood up, taking care not to meet anyone’s eyes, then walked out of the classroom quickly.

“Miss Charles,” came a familiar voice she couldn’t quite place, just as she was passing through the door. She turned around to see the middle-aged woman who had inspected her lesson with 7C on Monday, and she knew what was coming next. “I understand you don’t have a tutor group, so would you be free to talk about your lesson?”

Kristina momentarily contemplated giving an excuse about having something urgent to do with the music department’s stock cupboard, but since Martin was passing by just as this exchange was taking place she thought better of lying.

“Sure,” she said meekly. She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

“Lead the way, please,” said the inspector. Kristina felt like the woman had never expressed joy in her life, then immediately felt bad for thinking that.

She’s just doing her job, she thought. I’m sure she’s a nice person really.

Right now, though, she was the enemy, and Kristina could feel her defences going up. She didn’t want to talk to this woman, but she could see no way of avoiding the inevitable.

Feeling like a prisoner on Death Row, she led the way to her classroom.

*  *  *  *

As the woman left, Kristina looked after her in astonishment. One word had stuck out in her mind; the rest were all a blur.

“Good.”

The lesson she’d been observed on — the one where Edward had come in and interrupted, bellowing expletives and ready to break things, was “good”, apparently. Not “unsatisfactory” like last time, not even “satisfactory”; “good”. She knew, of course, that she could also have been “outstanding”, but she didn’t consider herself to be an outstanding teacher even on her very best, most confident days, which didn’t come around very often.

But “Good”… she didn’t know what to make of that. It was certainly the last thing she’d expected to hear, especially given what happened, but she wasn’t sure if she should be satisfied with it or concerned that it was so different to what had come before.

She started second-guessing herself. Was it only “Good” because it was 7C, by far her most pleasant, well-behaved class? Or had she actually done something that was particularly noteworthy?

Her mind started going in circles, but before she could get too engrossed in her own anxiety, the bell went and she knew it was time to start the day’s work.

*  *  *  *

The temporary buzz-cum-anxiety from her “Good” rating didn’t last long, because not only did she start the day with a particularly poorly-behaved Year 8 class, she was then called upon to cover a Year 9 science lesson.

She hated covering science lessons. She didn’t feel at all confident in the subject, and she hated working in the laboratories — there was too much dangerous equipment around, and she knew that the Year 9 class she was lumbered with would be the sort to play with the gas taps, have water fights with the sinks and generally cause trouble.

She was already dreading the lesson, but then things got worse: as she finally quietened the class down and led them into the room, she saw an inspector sitting in the corner.

It wasn’t the same inspector she’d had before; this time it was a wiry older man with grey hair and a toothbrush moustache. He looked just as joyless as his comrades, and he did not look impressed that it had taken Kristina nearly ten minutes of the lesson to get the class settled down and sat in their places.

Kristina took the register with a shaking voice. Several of the students asked if she was all right, but she ignored them.

A pair of boys sat at the back of the class started fiddling with the taps on the sink. She had no idea what their names were.

“You,” she said, clicking her fingers as she’d seen some of her peers do to great effect. “Stop that.”

“Fuck you,” said one of the boys and laughed. “You can’t tell us what to do. You’re, like, the worst teacher in this school.”

Kristina knew that the boy probably didn’t mean what he said — how could he know how well she taught, given that she had never seen this class before? — but it still stung. She felt her brain pulling in two separate directions, neither of them desirable. She needed to—

“Get out! NOW!” she screeched, pointing at the boy and then at the door. “And don’t come back!”

The boy gave her a sneer as he walked out of the door and stood in the corridor. The rest of the class was staring at her, and she felt more vulnerable than she had ever felt in her life. She wanted to run away, to hide, to cry.

Normally, she kept these feelings in check, but this time she couldn’t. Tears starting to fall from her eyes, she ran out of the room, past the cocky-looking boy, who was leaning nonchalantly against the wall outside the classroom, and through the corridors of the school back to her classroom. She shut herself in and locked the door, then looked around in a panic.

She felt unsafe. The rational part of her brain — which, at this moment, was being somewhat muffled by the adrenaline — told her that she was not only overreacting and being ridiculous, but that she had probably just done some serious damage to her career. But right now, she didn’t care; she just wanted to calm down, to get rid of these feelings of panic.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply; her breaths were ragged and uneven, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She became aware that she was clenching her fists, and that within them her palms were sweaty. Her legs were shaking and she felt unsteady; she opened her eyes and leaned on one of the desks that adorned the perimeter of her classroom.

“Fuck,” she said to herself. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

She heard someone try to open her door, but of course she had locked it. She didn’t want to know who it was; it could be no-one good, but she was trapped here right now and the only way out was either through that door or out of the window. She didn’t fancy her chances with the latter option; not only were her sills cluttered with various music scores and other books, the window only opened onto the school’s sad-looking “garden”, which was supposed to be maintained by an extracurricular group, but which hadn’t been touched for several years by the look of things. There was no obvious way out of the garden, so the door it was.

Still breathing heavily, she unlocked the door with shaking hands, and saw it was Mr Rhodes — Tom.

As she opened the door and let him in, she stepped back from him every time he approached.

“Kristina,” he said. “I won’t insult you by asking if you’re all right. What can we do to help?”

“Let me out of here,” she said weakly. “I need to get out of here.”

“Okay,” he said gently. “We’ll arrange for someone else to cover your classes. Do you have any work we can give them?”

“No,” she said.

“That’s okay,” said Rhodes. “You get yourself home and try and calm down, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Inwardly, Kristina thought herself unlikely to be in tomorrow, but she decided to cross that bridge when she came to it. Without saying goodbye, she ducked past Rhodes and ran out of the classroom, out through the hallways and out through the front door of the school.

She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be back.

“Don’t forget that Parents Evening for Year 11 is at the start of next week,” said Rhodes, who was delivering the staff briefing today. Kristina knew that his name was Tom, but given the age difference between them she couldn’t help but think of him as “Mr Rhodes”. “You’ll need your students to make appointments with you. Please try and see as many parents as you can, it’s important that they’re kept abreast of their children’s progress.”

A stack of appointment sheets was passed from one teacher to another in the staffroom. Kristina took her copy and passed the stack on, then looked down at it glumly.

She hated Parents Evening. She always felt afraid that the parents were going to accuse her of not doing her job properly, or that her students had been telling them what a bad job she’d been doing. She knew from past experience that this was an irrational fear, and that, for the most part, parents seemed to like her, but she still couldn’t help thinking those things.

At least in the case of her GCSE group, there weren’t that many sets of parents to see given the relatively small size of the class. And she felt pretty confident about what she was going to say to most of them — all except one, in fact.

 

*  *  *  *

“Miss,” said Edward. Kristina looked up from her desk with a start. She hadn’t heard him come in.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, quickly composing herself. “Sorry, Edward, I didn’t hear you come in. What can I do for you?”

“I need an appointment,” he said, sullenly thrusting a sheet similar to Kristina’s own in front of her. “My Dad wants to talk to you.”

Kristina felt the familiar, anxious knot in her stomach. After what Sian had told her the previous night, she was curious to meet Edward’s father, too, but she was also wary of what sort of person he might be. She didn’t know whether or not what Edward had said to Sian should be taken seriously — or even if she should know it at all. She decided not to broach the topic right now, and instead to seek advice from the team down at the special educational needs unit. After all, it was their job to know what to do in situations like this.

“Okay,” she said. “What time would you like?”

“Seven,” he said.

“All right,” said Kristina, writing his name in the appropriate slot. It was just her luck — Parents Evening ran from immediately after school until 8 in the evening, and all the other appointments she’d made so far had been much earlier in the day. Still, she thought, a big gap in the middle would give her the opportunity to drink some coffee and mentally prepare herself for whatever might happen with Edward and his father — assuming they showed up at all, of course.

“Edward, is everything all right?” she said.

“Yes,” he said bluntly, then turned and walked out without another word. She was growing accustomed to his peculiar behaviour, and was glad that he, for the most part, seemed to be responding to her in a much more positive way than he had done in the past. There had been no angry outbursts, no threats of violence, nothing that had made her feel scared.

Of course, a lot of this was because — she freely admitted this — she had been pandering to his whims somewhat by allowing him to come and work in the classroom when he had been kicked out of other lessons, but she figured it was better that way for a quiet life than running the risk of further confrontation. He was, at least, getting the work done for her class, after all.

After Edward left, Kristina looked at the clock. There was still a good 30 minutes of the lunch break left, so she decided to walk down to the special educational needs unit to get some advice.

A few students milling around the hallways greeted her as she walked past them, and she nodded politely in response. She found herself wondering where Sian was and what she was up to; she’d seen her earlier to make a Parents Evening appointment, but aside from that, she’d seen no sign of her.

As she pondered, she ended up at the unassuming door to “the Unit” as most people on staff called it. She knocked on the door and waited for someone to come and answer; as it happened, it was the kindly teaching assistant who had helped her out with Edward on those couple of previous occasions.

“Oh,” said Kristina. “Hello.”

“Hello, Miss Charles,” said the teaching assistant.

“Kristina, please,” said Kristina. “I’m so sorry, you’ve been in my classroom several times and I’m completely unsure of your name.”

The teaching assistant laughed.

“Millie,” she said. “Millie Miller. And yes, I know.”

Kristina smirked, then remembered that she was here on serious business.

“May I come in?” she asked politely. “I need to talk to someone about a few things, if that’s all right.”

“Of course,” said Millie. “Please, come on in. I’ll put the kettle on.”

Kristina had never been inside the Unit before. Behind the door was a corridor with two doors on either side. On the right, large windows looked into rooms that each had a few chairs and tables, plus a selection of cushions, soft toys and boxes of games and activities. On the left, the wall was decorated with what Kristina assumed was the work of the children who came to work in the Unit on a regular basis.

Longmore was unusually well-equipped to deal with children who had special educational needs thanks to the Unit, so the proportion of children who came there with such needs was significantly higher than the national average. A lot of these children were significantly behind in terms of attainment and would more than likely struggle to attain the same qualifications as their peers, but the Unit provided them with a supportive environment in which they could feel safe and supported.

The Unit didn’t just cater to children with disabilities; it also dealt with children who were struggling with difficult personal circumstances or emotional and behavioural difficulties such as Edward. Kristina greatly respected the work that the staff of the Unit did, even if she didn’t quite understand how they put up with what they had to put up with every day.

Millie led Kristina through one of the doors on the left wall, which led into a spacious office-cum-staffroom. Several other teaching assistants were sitting back in chairs drinking coffee, and one staff member was typing something up on the computer.

Millie sat down and gestured for Kristina to do the same.

“I wanted to talk about Edward Jennings,” said Kristina. “I have a few concerns.”

“Oh, don’t we all,” said one of the other assistants with a jocular tone. “That poor boy.”

“Um,” said Kristina, looking around. “Is it all right to talk here like this?”

“We all know the deal here,” said Millie. “We wouldn’t be able to do our jobs if we didn’t know what was going on with the kids we have to work with.”

Kristina nodded. “Okay, um, so. Can I ask what you know about Edward already?”

“Specifics are on a need-to-know basis,” said Millie, “But what was said in the staff meeting was accurate; he’s having some trouble at home, which might be reflected in his behaviour. When he wasn’t showing up to school, that was less of an issue — truancy is a different matter to deal with — but now he’s seemingly coming along a bit more regularly, we have to be careful.”

“Okay,” said Kristina. “Well, I’m not entirely sure how to bring this up, so I’ll just say what I’ve heard.”

Kristina explained what Sian had told her, taking care to leave out the fact that she had done so via text message and instead making up a little white lie that Sian had just come to tell her after school one day. She explained how Sian was worried about Edward, and that she had promised not to tell anyone his “secret” but had felt like she had to inform someone. She explained the fears that they both had that Edward’s father might be hurting Edward, and Kristina admitted that she was feeling somewhat nervous about the prospect of meeting Edward’s father at the upcoming Parents Evening.

After Kristina finished talking, Millie chewed thoughtfully on the lid of a pen she had pulled out of her pocket.

“Hmm,” she said. “Well, this is a concern, and something we’ll have to take very seriously. As for Parents Evening, you’ll be in the hall with all the other teachers, so you should be safe. I doubt that he’ll do anything — assuming he wants to try anything, that is — while that many other people are around.”

“What should I do in the meantime?” asked Kristina.

“Keep doing what you’ve been doing,” said Millie. Edward’s told me in private that he feels like he’s safe in your classroom, and that he likes to come there when he feels like he can’t cope. If you don’t mind him coming in and doing what he’s been doing on the computer, then keep doing that.”

“What about the inspectors?” said Kristina. “Edward barged into my Year 7 lesson yesterday, and I was being observed.”

“You should be fine,” said Millie. “In my experience, they’re mostly interested in you delivering a good lesson without interruptions, so if you can get him straight in with minimal disruption, that should be fine.”

“Okay,” said Kristina. She started to feel a little better — more confident, even.

Then the bell went for the start of afternoon classes, and that confidence instantly dissipated as she remembered she had her worst year 9 class to cap off the day with.