Page 31 of Don't Tell Teacher

‘You were very early again this morning.’ Mr Cockrun raises a questioning eyebrow. ‘I saw you from my office. And now early again for pick-up.’

‘I like to be on time.’ I lift my chin. ‘This is a new start for us. A new life. I want everything to be perfect.’

‘Best not to get here too early.’ Mr Cockrun notices a dandelion growing in a crack in the tarmac, frowns, pulls it up and pushes it under a shrub in the flowerbed. ‘The teachers like a bit of peace and quiet, and so do I.’

‘I just—’

‘Now, since you’re here, let’s have a quick word about Tom.’ Mr Cockrun turns serious eyes on me. ‘His form teacher will want a chat shortly.’

‘About what?’

‘About the standards here. The behaviour we expect.’

‘Yes, I—’

‘We were happy to make space for Tom at such short notice. But if he disrupts other children, we have a problem. A big problem. He’s already got a reputation as a bit of a troublemaker.’

Troublemaker. What?

‘MyTom? But he never gets into trouble.’

‘Look, don’t take this the wrong way but parents always think that. They never think it’s their child.’ He gives one of the railings – a rusty-looking one – an experimental tug. When he finds it a little loose, he takes a notepad from his pocket and scribbles something, shaking his head. ‘I’d have a word with him if I were you. Sooner rather than later.’ Then he strolls away.

I stare at the entrance door as it creaks closed.

Around me, other parents begin arriving. The school bell rings, long and loud. Five seconds of calm.

Then, in one great rush, children spill out into the playground.

I look for Tom and see him trudging among the other children, shadowed by an eerily calm-looking teacher, who is walking with a hand on his shoulder.

The teacher has short, salt-and-pepper hair cut in a jagged, youthful style that actually makes her look older, highlighting her wrinkles and large ears. Her hips, which carry a good twenty pounds of excess weight, strain in an unflattering black trouser suit that would be more at home on a London legal professional.

All in all, it’s the look of someone out of place. She doesn’t fit in, but she’s trying.

Her name is Mrs Dudley, I think. Yes, that’s right.

When Tom sees me, he runs and throws his arms around me.

Oh God … what happened? What happened?

I can feel Tom’s chest heave as he sobs into cotton.

‘Sweetheart,’ I whisper. ‘What’s the matter?’

Mrs Dudley gives me an empty smile. ‘Mrs Kinnock? May I talk to you?’

A hundred faces turn in my direction, and I hear someone suck in their breath.

‘I’m Miss Riley,’ I say. ‘And yes. Of course. Shall I … should I follow you inside?’

‘No.’ Mrs Dudley smiles politely, but her expression is firm. ‘We don’t let parents into the classrooms. For safeguarding reasons.’

‘So where should we—’

‘Oh, we can have a quick chat here.’

I pull Tom close to my hip. ‘Talk about my son in front of everybody? Can’t you see he’s upset?’

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