Page 59 of Don't Tell Teacher

If Tessa hears the disappointment in my voice, she doesn’t show it. ‘So, what? You think someone at school is stabbing Tom Kinnock with needles?’

‘I have to consider every possibility. If this was a school prank or a dare or something, we could consider closing the case down. There would be reasonable cause.’

Tessa’s eyes light up. ‘Yes. Yes, I see what you’re saying.’

I feel like I’ve just offered Tessa a slice of cake. But it’s cake with a slightly shitty centre, because I doubt there’ll be any conclusive proof Tom got those marks at school.

‘I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I didn’t meet Tom’s teacher,’ I say.

‘If you want to do a proper job, you’re in the wrong profession,’ Tessa snorts. ‘Oh, by the way.’ She glances at my Tupperware tub of All-Bran. ‘I used all the milk.’

Lizzie

‘Hey, Tommo.’ I wave, feeling small and invisible in the crowd of parent pick-ups at the school gates.

Tom is on the far side of the playground.Who’s he talking to?

Pauly Neilson.

Actually, talking is the wrong word. Pauly looms over Tom, a proprietary hand on his shoulder. Tom is making little frightened rabbit nods, while Pauly talks and gestures.

There was gossip about the Neilson family at the school gates this morning. Apparently, the police were called to the Neilson house again after a domestic between Leanne and her boyfriend.

‘Tom!’ I call out again. ‘Hey, Tom! I’m here, love.’

Tom looks up.

Pauly slaps him hard on the back. Tom nods, giving a meek smile. Then he walks towards me, a tired walk, feet barely lifting off the tarmac.

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Everything okay?’ I ask. ‘What were you and Pauly talking about?’

‘Huh?’ Tom makes a furtive glance over his shoulder. ‘Nothing. Just … nothing.’

‘You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?’

‘I don’t need to tell you anything.’

‘Mums fix things. If you’re having any problems …’

‘I’m not.’

I decide to lighten the mood. ‘Guess what?’

‘What?’

‘I went shopping today.’ I hold up bags. ‘Here are the shoes you wanted, and some fun stuff for dinner.’

‘Cool!’ Tom grabs one bag and pulls out the Nike shoebox. His face crumples. ‘These aren’t the ones.’ He stuffs the box back in the bag. ‘These are like … skater shoes. I want ones like Pauly wears for PE. Orange ones.’

‘What about “thank you very much”?’ I say.

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘I can always swap them,’ I say. ‘But orange is too bright for school.’

‘I want orange ones.’

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