Page 123 of Don't Tell Teacher

‘Us three and maybe twenty others,’ says Lloyd.

‘Why have none of these children told?’

‘You’re not getting it.’ Lloyd let’s out another very adult sigh. ‘Cockface finds out stuff about us. He gets us in his office. All friendly at first. Pretending to listen. But he’s finding out our secrets. Working out how he can scare us. Then he sets it up so we have to behave. And keep quiet. Like with me and the medicine cabinet. But he does different things with different kids.’

‘Good God.’ I put a hand to my mouth.

‘God is bollocks, Miss,’ says Joey.

‘You’ve got to give Cockface credit,’ says Lloyd, with surprising maturity. ‘It does work. Everyone says the school is good.’

‘A good school cares about the children, not results. Lloyd, thank you for telling me this. I promise, the headmaster will be the one in trouble, not you. My word, this is absolutely shocking.’

I sound like Tessa.

‘So what will happen to Cockface?’ asks Lloyd.

‘I imagine your headmaster will be suspended from school, pending a full investigation.’ I’m mentally reeling at the days of paperwork ahead. ‘Iknewsomething wasn’t right at that place.’ ‘Cockface in prison!’ says Pauly, rubbing his hands together. ‘What about the other kids?’ I hesitate, knowing I’m crossing a professional line. ‘What about Tom Kinnock? Does the headmaster see him in his office too?’

‘He does,’ says Pauly. ‘Tom gets called there sometimes.’

‘If Tom is being blackmailed by the headmaster, it would explain a lot,’ I say. ‘Alot.’

But not everything.

Lizzie

The doctors’ surgery smells of fresh paint and has newly laid grey floorboards and beech-wood chairs.

I type Tom’s date of birth into the computer screen and we take a seat beside the fish tank. Tom kneels by a beads-frame toy and starts clacking beads around. They seem to be a fixture in hospitals and doctors’ surgeries, those things. Tom never gets bored of them.

There’s a beep and my eyes flick to the LED board.

Tom slides counters along,click, click, click.

No. Not our name yet.

Click, click…click.

Another beep. Another name. Still not us.

I turn to Tom. He’s stopped moving beads, eyes dreamy.

‘Tom?’

He doesn’t reply.

I stand.

‘Tom.Tom.’ I shake his arm.

But Tom doesn’t react.

He’s staring into space.

Then he falls to the floor, rigid and jerking his legs crazily, eyes rolled back in his head.

It’s such a shock that at first I just stare, heart pounding.

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