by Cathy Glass
‘Off you go then,’ Mrs Bridges said, dismissing the class for morning break.
The usual clamour of excited voices rose as chairs scraped back and children jostled each other out of the classroom, eager to make the most of every moment in the playground. All the children except one, who having put his chair under the table remained standing behind it.
Mrs Bridges smiled at Sammy. ‘I haven’t got any jobs for you to do this morning,’ she said kindly. ‘Go and join your friends in the playground and get some fresh air. It’s a nice day.’
Jabbing his hands into his trouser pockets, Sammy came out from behind the table and took a couple of steps towards his teacher. ‘I will, Miss, but can I talk to you first please?’
Mrs Bridges paused from collecting the worksheets and looked at him. She always made time for Sammy. He was a thin lad with a shaved head, and as the eldest of five children in a one-parent family he had far more responsibility than he could cope with. His frustrations got the better of him sometimes, when he vented his anger in the classroom, but underneath he was a kind lad. The social services were involved with his family and had put in support to try and keep them together, but it wasn’t looking very hopeful.
‘Of course you can talk to me. How’s your mum doing?’ Mrs Bridges asked.
Sammy gave a small dismissive shrug. ‘All right, I guess. But it’s not me I want to talk about.’
‘No?’
He perched on the edge of the table, his face fixed and serious. ‘It’s about Lucy, Miss.’
‘Your friend Lucy, in this class?’ Mrs Bridges clarified.
‘Yes, Miss. She needs to tell you herself. I’ve told her she has to. But she can’t, she’s too shy.’
‘Tell me what?’ Mrs Bridges said, setting aside the papers to give Sammy her full attention. As an experienced teacher she’d developed a sixth sense for knowing when a child was just telling tales or about to tell her something important.
‘Lucy’s being bullied, Miss. Some of the kids call her “smelly” and “nit head”, but it ain’t her fault. At her house she has to wash her clothes in cold water. And her aunt won’t get her the stuff she needs to kill the nits ’cos it costs too much. I told her if she goes to the doctor you get it for nothing, like we do. But she won’t. Can you tell her, please?’
Mrs Bridges looked at Sammy carefully, trying to identify which part of what he’d said had set alarm bells ringing. She knew Lucy often came to school smelling and wearing badly stained clothes, and that she was sometimes picked on by the other children. She kept a lookout for this and severely reprimanded anyone she caught name-calling – bullying was never tolerated. Mrs Bridges also thought Lucy probably had head lice; her long hair was unkempt and she often saw her scratching her head in class. In line with school practice, she’d sent a printed note home with each child asking the parents to check their child’s hair and treat it if necessary. All this she knew, but what had set off alarm bells was Sammy’s reference to Lucy’s aunt and having to wash her clothes in cold water.
‘I thought Lucy was living with her mother and stepfather?’ Mrs Bridges now asked. Often the children who lived on the estate knew more about family arrangements than the school did.
Sammy shook his head. ‘Nah, Miss. Not for a long time. Her mum went off with some bloke and her dad’s got himself a new girlfriend.’
‘And the girlfriend is the aunt you’re talking about?’
‘Yes, Miss. Lucy has to call her Aunt, and do all the washing. I told Lucy her bleedin’ aunt should be doing the washing, not giving it to a six-year-old to do. Excuse me language, Miss.’
Mrs Bridges stifled a small smile. Despite Sammy’s rough-and-ready nature, he was a real character and always polite. ‘And Lucy told you this?’
‘Yes, Miss.’
‘Has she told you anything else about her home life you think I should know?’
The boy scratched his head thoughtfully, making Mrs Bridges wonder if he too had nits.
‘Not really, Miss. Only that she hasn’t seen her mum for ages and her aunt doesn’t like her. You know Lucy, Miss, she don’t say much. She keeps things bottled up. Not like me. I tell ya when things are bad at home. So I was thinking that as Lucy told me this it must be very bad, ’cos kids like her don’t tell unless they really have to, do they, Miss?’
‘No, you’re right, Sammy. Thank you. I’ll speak to Lucy later.’
In the hour and a half of lesson time between the end of morning break and lunchtime, as well as continuing with the class’s project, Mrs Bridges gave the whole class a lecture on the unkindness of bullying. She said that everyone deserved to be treated with dignity and respect, and that anyone caught bullying would lose privileges for a whole week and their parents would be informed. As she spoke, she purposely kept her gaze away from Sammy and Lucy so the other children in the class wouldn’t be alerted to the identity of those who’d sparked the lecture, as this could have led to more bullying and accusations of ‘telling’.
At 12.30 p.m. Mrs Bridges dismissed the class for lunch, but asked Lucy to wait behind for a moment. ‘It’s all right, love, you haven’t done anything wrong,’ she added, for Lucy always looked as though she expected to be told off. ‘I just want to have a chat with you, that’s all.’
She waited until the last child had left the classroom and then closed the classroom door so they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘Let’s sit down,’ she said, pulling out two children’s chairs from under the table. She found that if she was sitting it helped the child relax and invited confidences.
Still looking very serious, Lucy sat on one of the chairs, while Mrs Bridges took the other. ‘Sammy is a good friend of yours, isn’t he?’ she began.
Lucy gave a small nod, her large dark eyes growing rounder. She was an attractive child, though small for her age and, like Sammy, always looked as though she could do with a good wash and generally more nurturing.
‘Did Sammy tell you he came to me this morning because he was worried about you?’ Mrs Bridges asked.
Lucy nodded again.
‘He says you’re living with your stepfather and a lady you call Aunt? Is that right?’
She gave another small nod.
‘Is everything all right at home?’ Mrs Bridges now asked.
Lucy gave a little shrug and then said quietly, ‘I guess so.’
‘You don’t sound very sure, love,’ Mrs Bridges said.
Another shrug, and then Lucy shook her head, which was enough for Mrs Bridges to continue. ‘Tell me what makes you happy and what makes you unhappy,’ Mrs Bridges prompted. ‘What do you like to do in the evenings and weekends?’
‘I like to play, Miss,’ Lucy said softly.
‘What do you like to play?’
‘I watch television, Miss, and sometimes I play outside with Sammy and his sisters, if I’ve been good.’
‘That sounds fun. What do you have to do to be good?’ Mrs Bridges now asked, for she couldn’t imagine Lucy being anything but good, she was so quiet and conforming.
She gave another shrug and then said: ‘I have to wash the dishes and clean the flat, then I can play out.’
‘And how often do you do that?’ Mrs Bridges asked, with a reassuring smile. Many children had chores to do, which was fine, as long as they weren’t excessive.
‘I don’t know how often, Miss,’ Lucy said, with a worried expression. ‘Every day, I think.’
‘All right, love. It’s nothing to worry about. I’m just trying to get a picture of your life at home. Who makes the meals in your house?’
A pause, then: ‘My aunt and Dad, I guess.’
‘And who washes the clothes?’
There was a long pause as Lucy’s gaze fell from Mrs Bridges and she concentrated on the floor. ‘The same, I think. I don’t know.’
Clearly the child was being very guarded in what she said, possibly fearing recrimination if she told and was found out.
‘All right, don’t worry. Have you seen your mum recently?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘She sent me a card for my birthday, but I didn’t see her.’ Lucy had had a birthday the week before and as usual when a child in the class celebrated a birthday all the children had sung ‘Happy Birthday’; what other celebrations had taken place that evening for Lucy at home Mrs Bridges didn’t know. Most children told her, but Lucy hadn’t.
‘Did you have a nice birthday?’
Lucy shrugged.
‘Did you get some presents?’
‘I think so.’
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘No.’
Mrs Bridges continued to look at Lucy as she stared at the floor. All her senses screamed that there was a big problem at home and the child was too frightened to say. But she needed something concrete to take to the headmaster, which he could then act on. Lucy’s evasiveness was making this difficult. Sammy was right when he’d said that Lucy didn’t say much; she’d hardly spoken a word to Mrs Bridges all term, and it seemed she couldn’t talk to her now.
‘If you could change anything at home, what would it be?’ Mrs Bridges asked, making one last attempt before Lucy had to go for her lunch. ‘I know it’s a difficult question, but can you think of anything you’d change? If I was asked, I’d say I’d like to see more of my sister.’
Lucy looked thoughtful for a moment and then, raising her eyes to meet Mrs Bridges’s, she said: ‘I’d like to live in Sammy’s family, Miss.’
‘Would you?’ Mrs Bridges asked, surprised. Sammy’s family was about as far removed from the ideal family as you could get. ‘Why’s that?’
Lucy took a moment before replying and then said: ‘They’ve got a social worker. She helps Sammy. I would like a social worker to help me.’
‘Can I have a word with you, please?’ Mrs Bridges said, giving a perfunctory knock on the door to the headmaster’s office as she entered. The head operated an ‘open-door policy’ – to staff and pupils – so that, to his credit, he was accessible most of the time, and also knew the names of all the children in his school.
‘Have a seat,’ he said, waving to the easy chair at the side of his desk. ‘What can I do for you on this beautiful autumn day?’
Mrs Bridges smiled as she sat in the chair. Some of the staff found his effusive manner irritating, but she found it quite refreshing after the dourness of their previous head. And he had the children’s best interests at heart.
‘Lucy, in my class,’ Mrs Bridges began. ‘Her friend Sammy came to me this morning at break very worried about Lucy.’
‘Oh, yes?’ The head frowned and drew his fingertips together under his chin in a characteristic gesture.
‘He said Lucy was being bullied, which I’ve dealt with, but he’s also worried that the woman Lucy is living with – her stepfather’s girlfriend – isn’t treating her well. I’ve spoken to Lucy. She’s not saying much, but she did say that if she could change anything in her life she’d like to live with Sammy and have a social worker, which concerns me. I was wondering what we knew about Lucy’s home life. Mum seems to have left a while back.’
‘That’s news to me,’ the head said with another frown, lowering his hands. ‘There were some concerns last year when Lucy first started at this school, but as far as I know the problems were sorted. Although I’m sure her mother was living there then. Who brings Lucy into school and collects her?’
‘She comes with a neighbour and her child. She usually brings Sammy and his younger brother as well.’
‘I see. So we haven’t met the aunt?’
‘No.’
The head looked thoughtful. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll check the records and get back to you. I take it Lucy’s not in any immediate danger?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve never seen any marks on her, although she’s far too quiet for my liking.’
The head nodded. ‘That was one of the comments raised by her teacher last year. Pity she’s left – you could have had a chat with her. Anyway, give me a couple of hours and I’ll look into it.’
Thanking the headmaster, Mrs Bridges left to eat a very quick sandwich before the class returned after lunch for the afternoon session.
All schools in England have a set procedure for reporting concerns about a child, and members of staff have to follow them. Mrs Bridges couldn’t simply pick up the telephone and call the social services; she had to pass her concerns to her line manager, who in her school was the headmaster, and he would take the necessary action. Despite all his other responsibilities, the headmaster always prioritized any matter relating to a child’s welfare, so by the end of that day he had checked their records, contacted the social services and updated Mrs Bridges. It seems that although there had been some concerns about Lucy’s welfare the previous year they were around inadequate parenting rather than child abuse or neglect. A social worker had visited Lucy’s mother and stepfather, Dave, and no further action had been taken, other than advising Lucy’s mother and stepfather to enrol in some parenting classes to improve their parenting skills. Whether they had done this the school didn’t know, nor if any follow-up visit had been made by the social services, but the file was closed at the time. Following the new concerns and the headmaster’s phone call to the social services, the file was reopened and the head told Mrs Bridges that a social worker would be visiting Lucy’s home within the next few days. In the interim, he asked Mrs Bridges to prepare a short report covering Lucy’s educational and social development, as well as the concerns that had been raised.
On the Monday morning of the following week, when Lucy came into school, Mrs Bridges noticed that she looked very downcast, more so than usual, so at morning break she asked Lucy if there was anything worrying her. Lucy shook her head and went out into the playground. Mrs Bridges tried again at lunch break, but Lucy said: ‘No, Miss. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,’ and ran off to lunch.
Lucy looked anything but fine, and during the afternoon Mrs Bridges thought she was close to tears. At the end of the day, when she dismissed the class at home time, she asked Sammy if she could have a word with him. She asked him if Lucy was all right. Sammy, always willing to share his thoughts and worries, shook his head adamantly and said: ‘No, Miss. Lucy certainly ain’t all right. She’s very upset. A social worker went to see her, Friday I think it was, Miss. After she’d gone, that wicked aunt and Dad yelled at Lucy for causing trouble. She’s right scared. She won’t be talking to you again, Miss.’
Chapter Nine
‘I Hate You All!’
‘It appears it was handled very insensitively,’ the headmaster said, when Mrs Bridges told him what had happened. ‘Do you think it would help if I talked to Lucy?’
‘To be honest, I think it might make matters worse,’ Mrs Bridges said. ‘Lucy told Sammy that I mustn’t say anything more about her to anyone, and to forget what she’d already said, or she’ll run away.’
The head nodded. ‘I’ll be guided by you. I’ll phone the social services and find out exactly what happened when the social worker visited, and also what steps they’re taking to safeguard Lucy. Did she say anything else to Sammy about the visit?’
‘If she did, he’s not telling me.’
It was two days before the head managed to have a conversation with the social worker who’d visited Lucy, and afterwards he told Mrs Bridges what he’d learnt.
‘The social worker said that Lucy’s home was reasonably clean and her aunt and stepfather were cooperative and polite. In fact, she said that the aunt had been more cooperative and open to suggestions than Lucy’s mother had been the year before. When the social worker explained what Lucy had told Sammy and yourself,’ the head continued, ‘the aunt was shocked and said she had no idea Lucy felt that way or that she had head lice, and blamed herself for not noticing her scratching. She said she’d buy the lotion immediately. She showed the social worker around their house. Lucy has her own bedroom, where there were some toys and clothes in the wardrobe. There was also food in the fridge and a washing machine
in the kitchen.’
‘Just because there’s a washing machine doesn’t mean it’s being used,’ Mrs Bridges put in, unable to hide her frustration any longer.
‘I know,’ the head said. ‘But I can only tell you what the social worker has reported. I can’t tell her how to do her job.’
Mrs Bridges gave an apologetic nod and the head continued: ‘The aunt said she does most of the cooking, although she admitted that Lucy doesn’t have a very good appetite and sometimes prefers a sandwich to a cooked meal. The social worker said the aunt came over as genuine and caring of Lucy.’
‘So why would Lucy make up these allegations and say she would rather live with Sammy if they’re not true?’
‘The aunt said it was very likely because Lucy resents her role as mother. Lucy obviously wants her own mother back, but that’s not possible. She’s cleared off and no one knows where she’s gone. The stepfather said he was very grateful to his girlfriend for taking on the responsibility of looking after Lucy, because he couldn’t have coped alone, so if she hadn’t Lucy would have had to go into care.’
She might have been better off in care, Mrs Bridges thought but didn’t say, and she didn’t share the social worker’s confidence that the aunt was acting in Lucy’s best interest. A gut feeling said that Lucy wasn’t being looked after and that the aunt was manipulative and possibly also a liar. ‘So, what action are the social services taking to safeguard Lucy?’ Mrs Bridges now asked the head.
‘They’re going to make a follow-up visit in a week or so, although there are no real concerns. The aunt said she thought it would take time for Lucy to accept her as a stepmother, which of course sounds reasonable.’
Mrs Bridges held the headmaster’s gaze thoughtfully. ‘I suppose it’s possible that Lucy resents this new woman …’ she began. ‘But … Did the social worker speak to Lucy alone – separate from the aunt and stepfather?’
‘I don’t know,’ the head said. ‘But I think we have to accept the social services’ findings, although I agree it could have been handled more sensitively. You’ll keep an eye on Lucy, and if you have any more concerns we’ll act on them straight away.’