Page 130 of Don't Tell Teacher

This is Tom’s third hospital visit. It’ll go down as another unexplained injury. Which means social services will be making moves to take Tom away. Even Kate Noble with her overriding sense of fairness. She has to tick her boxes. Maybe that’s why she was here – to set things in motion.

Too many coincidences.

They will put Tom in a children’s home and give Olly visitation.

And suddenly, despite the creeping darkness outside, I’m clear as daylight.

I have to take Tom away.

We need to run.

Yet as obvious as this is, it isn’t really a solution. I have no money. My mother won’t protect me and my father is dead. I’ve lost touch with all my old friends. I have nowhere to go.

Think, Lizzie. Think. There must be somebody …

And into my head walks Stuart.

Big, tall, strong Stuart.

We still email sometimes. He’s finally moved to the Shetlands. He’s living mortgage-free, trading over the Internet and enjoying a simpler life.

I know his address – he sent it when he moved.

The Shetland Islands are isolated. No social services or police in some parts. It’s almost deserted where Stuart lives, apparently. And Stuart knows a boat yard owner. We could go even further afield if we needed to.

I didn’t email back. Stuart is caught up in the romance of our affair. With the daily grind and a little boy to take care of, I couldn’t see things working.

But maybe …

‘I need to go home again,’ I tell Clara. ‘Is that okay? I forgot some things. I’ll be back in a few hours.’

I need to pack a bag and buy Shetland Island ferry tickets.

‘Visiting hours are over, aren’t they?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking. ‘You won’t be letting anyone else in tonight?’

‘No. It’s bedtime. But you can just ring the buzzer.’

‘Thank you.’

I hurry to the exit.

Kate

8.30 p.m.

Idon’t read Tom’s note straight away – not until I’m well clear of the hospital. But it burns a hole in my bag as I stride down the hospital corridors, across the grassy grounds and towards the car park.

Sitting in my red Fiat, I take out the paper and carefully unfold it.

This note took Tom seconds, his little hand looping up, down and around. The ramifications will last a lifetime.

Who is hurting you, Tom?

There it is, written in childish handwriting.

One terrible, awful word.

Mum

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