Under Parr

by Andrea Bramhall

  Gina raised her eyes to look at Mrs Eastern. She focused on her breathing, and keeping her voice controlled. “Or they may see it as them having permission from you as well as their parents to treat my daughter like a punching bag.” The ice in her voice surprised Gina. Probably as much as it surprised them, judging by the look on their faces.

  Mrs Eastern rounded the desk and knelt beside Gina and Sammy. She clasped her hands in front of her chest like she was intending to pray. “Miss Temple, you have my word, they won’t touch Sammy again,” Mrs Eastern said. “I’ll see to it personally.”

  “How, exactly, do you plan to do that?” Gina demanded. A sneer curled her lips, and she fought back the urge to snap her teeth. Anger would let you get away with so much, but it wouldn’t let you get away with complete crazy. No matter how good it might have felt.

  “I need a new assistant to help me organise the Christmas party. I usually do this during break times and lunchtimes, so I think my assistant will have to stay with me to help me do that. Don’t you, Sammy?”

  “Do I get to pick the music?”

  Mrs Eastern smiled. “I think we can come to a compromise.”

  “So you’re going to punish Sammy, keeping her inside all the time.”

  “I know it’s not ideal. I know it may sound like a punishment, but in all honesty, during winter, the kids don’t always get out at break or lunchtimes anyway. So it really won’t be that big an issue, but it will give Sammy something interesting to help me with while we work on educating the rest of the school.”

  “And how do you plan to do that?” She pointed her finger at Mrs Partridge. “Those things don’t just happen like that.” She snapped her fingers. “You can’t just wish that the kids will suddenly have better manners and do what you bloody well want them to do.”

  “I know.” She held her hands up as though she were surrendering. “Believe me, we do know that. And we also know that this won’t be easy. But we do have a plan. We’re taking a little side step into criminology.” Mrs Partridge smiled. “With the older kids anyway. There are books about the law, and what’s right and wrong, out there that we can start to look at with them. I’m trying to get them to think about what’s right and wrong in a society, then we can scale it back down to a more local level and see if they can apply it to the things that are going on around them.”

  “We’re also going to start reading a lot of books about bullying with the kids. There are books to suit all levels of reading, and for the very youngest we’ll read them at reading time,” Mrs Eastern added.

  “It won’t be a fast process.” Mrs Partridge drummed her fingers on the desk. “And I expect that there will be setbacks, especially when the trials begin. But I do believe this is a better way forward than by approaching the parents of these children at this time. After all, the kids are getting this from their parent or parents, and I can’t see that approaching them would actually improve things for Sammy at this stage.”

  It made sense. They were trying to deal with a school crisis, not just one little girl being unpopular, and Gina had to admit, it certainly sounded like a well-thought-out strategy that they had come up with. She turned to Sammy. “Are you happy with that solution?”

  Sammy shrugged. “S’pose so.”

  “Sammy, if you’re not, then we find another one.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we find you a different school. One where they don’t know about what happened.”

  “I like my school. I’ve got friends here.”

  “Where were your friends earlier when you were getting pushed? What was Emily doing then?”

  Sammy stared at her lap again.

  “I believe Emily was the one who pushed her down and told her she was a liar just like her dad,” Mrs Eastern said.

  Gina shook her head and held Sammy close as she started to cry.

  “I believe Emily’s dad was the captain of one of the other boats in the fleet.”

  Gina nodded. He was, and he was looking at a long stretch. From what Kate had said, he could be looking at fifteen years in prison. Gina eased Sammy away from her and wiped her cheeks with her thumbs. “Are you sure, Sammy? Are you sure you want to stay here?”

  Sammy nodded. “I just want them to be my friends again. If I go away they’ll hate me forever.”

  Simple child logic. She couldn’t argue with it as Sammy was probably right. After all, running away from her own problems had never solved them for Gina, why would it work for Sammy? She stared into Sammy’s eyes. The eyes of a nine-year-old who had seen far too much. Eyes that had seen Gina’s best friend after she’d died, with her face blown off. Eyes that had looked upon that scene believing she was the cause. Eyes that had seen the scars that covered her mother’s body as a result of Ally Robbins trying to find out where Sammy’s father was hiding. And eyes that she knew still saw nightmares when they closed at night. Why did she have to go through more?

  Sammy sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. “I’m sure, Mum.” She smiled a small smile. “I want to pick the music for the Christmas party.” She turned to Mrs Eastern. “Can we put ‘I’m Sexy and I Know It’ on the list?”

  Mrs Eastern closed her eyes and bit her lip. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate for a school Christmas party.”

  Sammy frowned. “What happened to negotiation? I open with ‘Sexy and I Know It’, and you’re supposed to counter with somefink stupid like ‘Raindrops on Roses’ or ‘The Birdy Song’, and then we settle on ‘Bat out of Hell’.” She shook her head and looked at Gina. “She needs to watch The Apprentice a bit more, Mum. I could run this school.”

  Gina chuckled and looked down at Mrs Eastern. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Mrs Eastern smiled back. “Someone has to keep me on my toes, Miss Temple.” She looked at Sammy. “‘Bat out of Hell’ is on the list.”

  “Awesome.” Sammy pumped her fist, licked her finger, and scored a number one in the air.

  “Sammy?” Mrs Partridge drew their attention. “I’ll only agree to this plan on one condition.”

  Sammy frowned. “What?”

  “You have to promise me that you’ll talk to us.”

  “I am talking to you.”

  “I mean about what’s happening with the other kids, and about how you’re feeling.”

  “But I don’t want to be a snitch. That’s why they hate my dad.”

  Mrs Partridge smiled sadly. “They hate your dad because he did things wrong, just like they did, but telling means he’ll get in less trouble than they will. I’m not asking you to tell us things to get yourself out of trouble. I’m asking you tell us things to keep you safe. To keep you well and to help you feel better. Do you understand the difference, Sammy?”

  Sammy looked at her thoughtfully and bit her lip. “I fink—sorry, I think so.”

  “I need you to tell one of us if someone hurts you or tries to hurt you. I need you to tell us if the things we’re doing help make things better for you with the other kids or if they are getting worse. You have to promise not to keep things to yourself anymore.”

  “I understand,” Sammy said, even though she didn’t seem to like what she understood.

  “You’ve also got to promise that you’ll talk to us about the other things that are bothering you.”

  Sammy narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Like what?”

  Mrs Partridge leaned forward and rested her elbows on the big desk. “I know you have bad dreams, Sammy.”

  Sammy’s eyes widened and her face paled.

  Mrs Partridge nodded. “I want you to come and talk to me about them. About the things you saw, and about your dad. I want you to come and talk to me about how you feel about it all.”

  “I don’t wanna.”

  Gina swallowed, both her saliva and her anxiety. She’d tried taking Sammy to a counsellor that the Victim Support unit had put her in touch with. They’d got nowhere. Sammy had simply refused to say anythin
g, and eventually they’d given up. They couldn’t help if Sammy wouldn’t even talk about her experiences. No one could. She wished she could take the images that plagued her from her head, but she couldn’t. She wished she could make her forget it all. Who wouldn’t? Instead, she was left with waiting. Waiting for Sammy to be ready to put voice to her demons…or for them to swallow her.

  “I’m sorry, Sammy. It’s a non-negotiable part of the deal.”

  “I don’t like counselling.”

  “I’m not a counsellor.”

  “But you want me to talk, just like she did.”

  Mrs Partridge nodded. “Yes, I do. Do you know why?”

  “’Cos you’re a nosey old biddy who wants to know all my business!” Sammy bounced out of the chair and knocked the squatting Mrs Eastern over as she tried to get to the door.

  The woman sat on her bottom, stunned.

  “Sammy!” Gina called horrified.

  Mrs Partridge was faster than Sammy. She simply stood with her back to the door, crossed her arms over her chest, and blocked Sammy’s only means of escape. “It’s okay, Sammy,” she said quietly as Sammy tried to pull her away from the door. “It’s okay.”

  Gina pulled herself from her shocked stupor and went to get Sammy away from the teacher.

  Mrs Partridge shook her head. “Leave her. We’re okay. Aren’t we, Sammy?” she asked as Sammy continued to scream and cry and pull at her sleeves.

  “Get out of my way, you old bitch.”

  “It’s okay, Sammy,” she cooed. “No one here will hurt you.”

  “Move. Move. Move!” Sammy balled her hands into fists, but still Mrs Partridge didn’t move. “Get out of my way!”

  “No, Sammy. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Sammy raised her hands as if to attack and charged at her.

  Mrs Partridge still didn’t move.

  Before touching her Sammy threw herself on the floor and beat her fists into the carpet tiles that covered the concrete. She kicked and pounded on the hard floor, her tears falling, and her body wracked by each heart-breaking sob that was torn from her.

  Mrs Partridge slid down the door and sat on the floor beside Sammy. She laid one hand on her back and began to form slow, soothing circles across the back of her jumper.

  “That’s it. Let it out.”

  Sammy slowly curled herself into a ball, and whispered something too quiet for Gina to hear.

  “It’s okay, Sammy. I know you didn’t mean it. Thank you for saying sorry.” Mrs Partridge nodded at Gina and smiled.

  Gina trembled as she knelt beside Sammy and pulled her into her arms, holding her close. Tears wet her own cheeks. She felt like a failure. For six weeks she’d tried and failed to get Sammy to open up to her. To cry like she knew she needed to. To release the emotion, the fear, the anger that had to have been hiding inside her little girl. And the more time that had passed, the more she had feared that Sammy would bottle it up forever. That it would affect her for the rest of her life in ways they couldn’t even begin to fathom yet.

  “Thank you,” she whispered over to Mrs Partridge.

  “No need,” she said, clambering to her feet. “This place wouldn’t be the same without the Sammy we all know and love.” She put a hand on Gina’s shoulder. “We’ll be outside just clearing away. Take your time.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs Partridge nodded. “And Sammy?”

  “Yeah?” Sammy looked up.

  “Lunchtime tomorrow. My office.”

  Sammy was glued against Gina’s shoulder, but she nodded.

  “Good girl.” The two teachers left the room.

  Gina stroked Sammy’s hair until she was quiet and her face had dried. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sammy shrugged.

  “Please don’t do that, Sammy. I’m your mum, I want to make sure you’re okay, but I can’t do that if you don’t talk to me.”

  “But you were hurt worse than me, and they’re all being mean to you too.” Sammy wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I caused too much trouble before. I didn’t want to cause any more.”

  Gina’s stomach clenched and she fought the desire to curl into a ball. She couldn’t afford to do that. Sammy needed her mother. She needed a strong mum to look after her. Not one she felt she had to protect. How weak must she seem to have a nine-year-old think she couldn’t handle anything else? How pathetic was she that her own child needed to shield her from her problems? How wrapped up in her own shit must she have been not to even notice what Sammy was going through? Well, no more. Sammy was her priority. She might have forgotten that for a little while, but it didn’t make it any less true. Nor did it change what she needed to do now. “Oh, Sammy. You didn’t cause the problems before, and you haven’t caused the problems now. You’re just stuck in the middle of it all, and I’m so sorry for that, baby. I wish I could change it. I really do.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mum. You didn’t do anything wrong either.”

  “I did. Or you would have told me what was going on.”

  “No, you didn’t. I just didn’t want to upset you.”

  “Sammy, sweetie, that upsets me more. I’m the mum here. I protect you. Not the other way around, okay?”

  Sammy nodded and rested her head on Gina’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “No more secrets, okay?” Gina cuddled her tight again. “I want you to tell me everything from now on.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes, everything.”

  “Okay.” Sammy smiled wickedly. “You put your jumper on inside out this morning and haven’t changed it.”

  Gina glanced down, mortified to see that Sammy was right. Bloody kid.

  CHAPTER 5

  Kate pushed open the door and smiled at Stella hunched over her desk and Tom shaking a whiteboard marker trying to get it to work. Some things never changed.

  “Looks like the gang’s all here then,” she said.

  Stella looked up and smiled. “Glad to see you’re here in one piece. Did your new car make it without the snorkel?” She pushed her short, wavy, blond hair behind her ear. Her smile made the lines around her brown eyes crinkle, and she had a habit of hunching her shoulders towards her ears when she was taking the piss. Just like they were doing now. Her grey blazer wrinkled and parted across her ample chest. Stocky was probably the best way to describe Detective Sergeant Stella Goodwin. Broad shoulders, wide hips, and powerful thighs were hard to hide under an off-the-peg pant suit. Not that Stella really tried.

  “Funny.” Kate dropped herself heavily into a chair, slumped back, and lifted her feet on to the corner of the desk, noting the sand filing the tread of her knee high boots. She frowned. She hated sand. Loved the beach—but hated sand. It just gets everywhere. She tapped the sole against the edge of the desk and watched with satisfaction as the damp clumps dropped into the bin.

  “So, what do we have?” Stella asked. “Tom’s put a tenner on it being a load of refugees washed up and the beginnings of a people trafficking operation.”

  Kate laughed. “Jimmy reckoned the same thing. Do you two share a brain?”

  Collier guffawed from across the room and was rewarded with a swift slap across the back of his head by Tom. “Watch it, pretty boy, you have to earn piss-taking privileges.”

  “Really?” Collier sneered. “And how do you do that? Spend twenty years going nowhere?”

  “Ooo,” Tom cooed. “Listen to her sharpening her nails,” he said affecting a high-pitched voice and curling his fingers into claw-like talons.

  “Now, now, boys,” Kate said, “play nice or I’ll have to take your toys away.” She crossed her feet at the ankles and leaned her chair back on its legs. “What we have is diddly-bloody-squat. A skeleton that we know has been buried in a bunker for just over three years.”

  “Male,” Jimmy added.

  “With a set of ladies’ dentures in.”

  “Are we sure he’s male?” Stella asked.

  “Doc Anderson said t
he pelvis was definitely male. Why? What’re you thinking?”

  “A cross-dresser maybe. Or maybe even transgender.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that,” Kate admitted. “I’ll ask the doc when I go to the autopsy, but maybe we should run the name of those dentures in the meantime.”

  “I’m on it.” Jimmy tapped away at his keyboard as he spoke.

  “You said almost three years. I know Dr Anderson wouldn’t be so exact without her tests first, so how do you know that?” Stella asked.

  Kate quickly gave them a run through of the conversations she and Jimmy had had with Danny, Steve, and Malcolm. “So I think we also need to start running missing persons from that time.”

  “Agreed,” Stella said. “I’ll start a week before and run for two weeks after. See where that leads us to begin with. What’s Timmons’ thinking on this? Accidental?”

  Kate shook her head. “He said until we know more, we treat it as suspicious and proceed accordingly.”

  “Right. Good job I started a new bible then,” she said, referring to the murder book that was compiled for each investigation they undertook. “Collier, you can start plugging the info we have into the computer and see if it spits anything out.”

  The young DC sighed. “Fine, but from what I heard, we don’t exactly have a lot to plug into HOLMES 2,” he complained as he clicked buttons on his mouse and tapped away at his keyboard.

  Kate knew he was opening up the massive program they referred to as HOLMES 2—the Home Offices Large Major Enquiry System, the second generation. It was a huge, unwieldy national program designed to organise and sort the data from every crime entered. Investigators could then sort through the masses of information from crime scenes, witness statements, and anything else the subsequent investigation uncovered.

  It helped ensure that no scrap of evidence was overlooked, and helped them direct the course of the investigation. But it was so much more than just a database. The embedded dynamic reasoning engine in the software allowed the program to combine the skills and experiences of the investigating officers with the acquired knowledge of the system and identify new lines of enquiries as a result. It was a stroke of programming genius. At times it seemed to think for itself. Well, sort of. Kate had no idea how it worked. She just knew it was bloody brilliant. When used properly.