Page 52 of Don't Tell Teacher

Tom blinks blue eyes. ‘Thank you so much, Granny. You always get me the best things. You always know.’

Margaret’s face crumples. ‘Have you missed your old Granny then?’

‘Yes,’ says Tom. ‘You’re like a big rainbow. All different colours.’

‘Oi, less of the big!’ Margaret chuckles. ‘How long do I get to see you today? Is there time for a play in the park?’

Tom looks at me, and I give the tiniest shake of my head. ‘We have to see the doctor.’

‘Sorry, Granny,’ says Tom.

‘Oh, come on,’ Margaret colludes. ‘Just a little play.’

‘I’m sorry, Margaret,’ I say. ‘We’ll arrange a longer visit soon. We’ve just been so busy.’

‘All right, love. I know it’s tough, fitting everything in.’ Margaret arranges her presents on the table. ‘How’s your new school, Tom? Making lots of friends? Have you got yourself a best mate yet?’

‘Sort of,’ says Tom. ‘There’s this boy in my class – Pauly Neilson. He’s looking out for me.’

‘He’s a little thug,’ I say.

‘He’s okay,’ Tom insists. ‘I just have to keep on the right side of him. The kids that don’t … his big brother comes after them.’

‘They’re trouble, Tom,’ I say.

Tom’s pale forehead creases. ‘They’re not really. Well, not much. They’re too scared of the headmaster.’

‘You should stay away from those boys, Tom. Meet some other kids.’

‘Is he a bit cheeky then? This Pauly?’ Margaret probes, grinning and showing black spaces around her molars.

Tom takes a big sip of juice. ‘Yeah.’

‘Like your mum says, just stay out of trouble,’ says Margaret, wagging a finger. ‘Your dad was a bit naughty at school, you know.’

Tom’s juice carton slips from his fingers. It falls onto the table, watery orange squirting from the straw.

‘Sorry.’ Margaret clutches Tom tight. ‘I shouldn’t have … Sorry. So, this new school of yours, Tom, it’s an academy or something, isn’t it? How does that all work? Do you learn the same things?’

Tom slides off Margaret’s lap and comes to sit with me, his hand taking mine. I hold it tight to stop it shaking.

‘It’s hard to remember,’ says Tom, voice quiet. ‘I think … we have to say things over and over again sometimes. Like about honour and promising to follow the rules. And … I don’t remember.’

‘And you’re well, are you, Tom?’ Margaret asks.

‘Yes,’ says Tom.

‘He hasn’t been totally well,’ I say. ‘Not since the seizure.’

There’s an awkward silence, and I know Margaret wants to tell me something.

‘Sweetheart, do you want to find more Duplo bricks?’ I ask Tom. ‘While Granny and I chat?’ Obediently, Tom hops down and begins quietly sweeping Duplo bricks together. ‘Come on, Margaret,’ I say, trying for a smile. ‘Out with it. I always know when you want to talk about Olly.’

‘I saw him last week,’ says Margaret, eyes apologetic. ‘I know he’s done wrong, but he misses Tom terribly.’

‘That’s his problem. He should have thought of that before he did what he did.’

‘I know,’ says Margaret, kind eyes meeting mine. ‘I know that. I’m on your side. But he’s getting help.’

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