Page 152 of Don't Tell Teacher

I have a new girlfriend now and she doesn’t take any of my rubbish. She tells me to cut it right out if I try to put her on a pedestal. Which is better. More real. Tom likes her, but we’re taking things very slowly.

Sometimes, Tom will ask about his mother.

‘She’s mentally ill,’ I tell him. ‘She’s gone somewhere to be helped.’

Lizzie is at a secure mental health hospital. Her delusions are so severe. Even in court, she insisted she’d done nothing wrong. Whether she can really be helped … I don’t know.

The only thing I know for certain is that I am now truly awake. Wide awake. I see my blessings as clear as day: Tom, Tom, Tom.

I help my little boy into the camper van and buckle him into his booster. It’s a beast, this seat. Huge. The most expensive one in the shop with safety notices plastered all over it. I’ve turned into one of those cotton-wool parents.

‘Excited to be back at school?’ I ask Tom as I start the engine.

‘Reallyexcited.’

I think:You’re the bravest little boy I’ve ever met.

‘Who did you miss most over the Christmas holidays?’ I ask, putting the car into gear and pulling out.

‘Jake.’

‘What about Pauly? Little Dennis the Menace? The one who drew felt-tip all over the carpet on our Christmas Eve playdate?’

We both laugh.

‘I still like Pauly,’ says Tom. ‘But he is a bit crazy. Jake’s my new, new best friend.’

Tom knows I like Pauly. That little boy has issues, make no mistake about it. But I like him. Tom and Pauly were like magnets once upon a time. Two little boys with messed-up mothers. Pauly helped Tom see things more clearly. That mothers aren’t always perfect. And that Tom could trust Kate Noble. So he probably saved Tom’s life, one way or another.

Mine too.

I’ll always look out for Pauly and his brothers. But perhaps it’s for the best that he and Tom are drifting apart.

‘Tell you what.’ Our camper trundles down the street. ‘Why don’t you see if Jake wants to come round after school? We can do cinema in the camper van. Popcorn. Watch stuff on the laptop.’

‘Can I, Daddy?’

‘Yeah, why not?’

Tom grins.

I smile at the windscreen, turning the camper past groups of kids in blue school uniforms.

They’ve renamed Steelfield: it’s now Kipling School after the children’s author. I think they wanted to get rid of all those negative associations. There were a lot of scandalous stories going around after the headmaster was sacked.

Actually, I like it round here. Coast just twenty minutes down the road. Climbing centre nearby. Lots of woodland walks. I work in the bedroom and have just sort of let go of London life.

Tom’s school is changing now the old headmaster has gone. Parents are allowed to come and go as they please. No more bars on the windows or chains on the gates. The kids are a lot freer. It’s a happier place.

Turns out, the headmaster was cheating like nobody’s business. Altering tests, getting rid of badly behaved kids during OFSTED inspections, blackmailing pupils not to tell. He even opened SATS test papers and briefed staff on what to teach.

According to the staff, Mr Cockrun ran a police-state. Filming everything. Having records made about the tiniest little thing, and then using the information to blackmail staff and children alike.

Terrible.

Some parents have removed their children now the school has lost its outstanding status, but I don’t care about any of that stuff. It’s just image, isn’t it? The main thing is that Tom is happy.

Tom and I go to church on Sundays. It’s for the social side, mainly, but I keep an open mind to a higher power after the police found my son on the ferry, minutes before it was due to leave.

---