by Kate Bradley
Destiny had put on her coat. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘I have to go, Miss. I’m sorry . . .’ she cast around, as if to express her anguish.
‘I’m going to take you to the medical room. Mrs Hodges might have a spare skirt you can wear.’
Destiny fiddled with her coat zip, then looked out of the window. I could see her wondering if she should follow me or make a break for it.
I turned and walked down the corridor, holding my head up with a surety that there could be no debate and her only option was to follow me. I remembered when I was a corporal and my command carried authority: it seemed like a distant memory now. In my chest I felt a pressure: I pushed it away. It needed to stay distant, the more distant the better.
*
We found Terri Hodges in reception dealing with what seemed like an anxious parent, on the phone. We waited but in the end I was forced to mouth about Destiny’s ‘accident’, even twitching inverted commas into the air to make my point and speed her up. Terri finished her call and primed up like an engine, large bosom puffing up in response. ‘Come now, dear, you’re safe with me. We’ll let Miss get to class.’
Class. As reluctant as I felt to leave Destiny, I had to go. That was something teaching had in common with the army: you could never be late. ‘Just one thing,’ I added to Terri with a whisper, ‘I’ll write a safeguarding report, but I want you to know that I don’t think Destiny is safe out of school. Could you keep her in sight? I’m worried that she’s really . . .’ I thought about the padlock on the back of the van. ‘Really vulnerable. Do you think you could do that? It’s important that she doesn’t make a bolt for it. If we lose her today, we might not get her back.’
‘That bad?’
‘Look at her eye.’
Terri did before she nodded at me and touched my arm.
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I could see her take an interest in Destiny so I decided it meant that she believed me.
Friday
09:54
Jenni
I took the east stairs two at a time; I could hear my class before I’d even reached the top. As I walked past a neighbouring classroom, my colleague Steve Fullers, the head of the maths department and the second assistant head, was at his door. Seeing me, Steve gave me a look that was long enough to mean something before he shut his door, closing the view of his already seated and silently working class. It felt like yet another punching reminder that I wasn’t getting teaching – or perhaps at least he thought I wasn’t.
I wondered if more than one whole class detention would be fair before I checked myself: it wasn’t the year nines’ fault if I was late.
‘If I can’t rely on you to behave . . .’ I muttered five metres from the classroom door, already mentally in there.
It is this moment I remember, this one above the many that happened in the hours after, this one that changed my life and the life of those around me, because this one was a moment of chance. Everything else in this account was a choice; I accept that. Although, for me, it was a Hobson’s choice: Destiny had wet herself in front of me, laid her fear out in front of me as clear as if she’d gripped my hands and begged me for help. Seeing something then deciding not to act might be a choice for the lazy, the dispassionate, the cowardly, but I am none of those things. But as much as I am the sum of my parts, I accept my choices are still choices.
But it wasn’t a conscious choice to glance out of the window from the first floor, only ten feet from my classroom. If I hadn’t turned my head to glance out of the window, the trajectory of my entire life would have remained unchanged. I would’ve kept my job, not have had my actions with Destiny been made public by the press and would never have been arrested. And poor Destiny would have continued on her sad journey, like thousands of kids who slip through the system destined for bad things.
I might not have looked out of the top-floor corridor window.
But I did.
Friday
09:58
Jenni
I ran.
Back down the corridor, back down the stairs, three at a time. Down the lower corridor. Past Terri as I sprinted out onto the front drive.
‘Destiny!’ I shouted. ‘Come back.’
Destiny walked towards the front gate. She didn’t walk in a straight line, but weaved as if caught in a buffeting wind.
The van was stationary but I saw the exhaust, heard the engine running. They were ready to leave.
Destiny stopped at the sound of my voice and turned. As I got nearer, I thought she seemed upset. I wasn’t sure, but her face was screwed up and her hands were balled into fists. She was still wearing the same skirt. And I saw in my mind’s eye: Terri leaving to get the replacement and Destiny walking out of the door.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked her as I grabbed her by the shoulders. I looked up to see the passenger door open. A large tattooed hand gripped the door, then a grey tracksuited leg wearing a black trainer emerged. I didn’t wait. I grabbed Destiny – harder than I would like to admit – and ran her, pulling and pushing, back towards the school. I remember she didn’t exactly resist, but she whimpered and protested like I was hurting her by not letting her go.
I heard footsteps behind us, running faster. I learnt in the army to never look back. When I compete in Ironman, I only keep going. So I pulled Destiny harder, my grip clawed her shoulder and propelled her forward with my body weight.
As we got to the front steps, Destiny looked behind again and cried out.
I still didn’t risk a glance.
With a heave, I pushed Destiny back into the school.
And then I dragged the big bolts into place, locking the front door.
A man was running towards us and came right up to the half-glazed door. He stood so close that his breath steamed the glass. He was pale-skinned, a big man, broad with the huge shoulders of a weight-trained bouncer. But he wasn’t as tall as me, maybe only five ten. He had a large shaved head with small terrier eyes that stared unblinkingly at me. His neck was like an oak tree and there was a flattened bridge to his nose, like it had taken too many blows.
I stood against the door and lifted my chin in defiance. ‘Get out of here,’ I told him through the glass, staring down at him.
Behind me, Terri called out a question, but I ignored her. Instead I focused on him: our faces were only inches from each other, his face forced to lift up to meet mine. He glared at me and as if I disgusted him his grey eyes burnt into mine, it was as if I could read his thoughts because I knew that if the security glass hadn’t been threaded with wire mesh, he would head butt his way to me. I banged the glass in front of his face – aggression for aggression. Don’t you threaten me, sunshine: I’m no Barbie. ‘Go on, clear off, this is school grounds. I’m going to call the police right now.’
His blue eyes continued to stare at me unblinkingly through the glass. Then he pulled up his hoodie and tucked in the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms was a handgun.
As I stared at it, he gently leant in, closing the small gap between us and slowly licked the glass with a thick slug-like tongue, leaving a spittle trail right in front of my face.
*
Later, after my arrest, as I explained my actions, I insisted I had been scared. This was important. This was my defence.
It was also a lie.
Yes, I had been disconcerted by the man. Revolted by the wink he gave me before walking away.
But scared?
No.
I think, for the first time in a long time, I felt alive.
Friday
10:10
Jenni
After I shouted at Terri, bawling her out in the corridor for letting Destiny go outside after I had been so very specific that she wasn’t to let Destiny out of her sight, George Danvers, the head, came rushing out of his office. ‘Ms Wales, please step into my office for a moment.’
‘I can’t. I’ve got a class waiting for me.’
George looked at Destiny who stood against the wall, head and body bent over; then he looked at Terri, red-faced and near tears, and inhaled deeply before speaking to her. ‘Please send up whoever is on call and ask them to supervise Ms Wales’s class.’ He then turned to me. ‘Ms Wales.’ He stood to one side, his hand open to show me his office door. ‘If you would be so kind?’
Where was I going to leave Destiny? I couldn’t let her out of my sight – I could hardly trust Terri – but what I needed to say couldn’t be said in front of Destiny.
Then George solved it for me. ‘Destiny Mills, what lesson are you supposed to be in?’
‘Geography.’
He addressed Terri. ‘Mrs Hodges, would you mind . . . ?’
Terri put her hand on her hip, and with an arched eyebrow and a tone of voice I couldn’t place, said, ‘Ms Wales suggests I should change her skirt first. If I take her, I’ll have to close reception and I’m not allowed to close reception.’
George’s gaze lowered to Destiny’s skirt, but he didn’t react, instead he simply thanked Terri for her help.
As I stepped into George’s office and started to explain, he held up his hands. ‘No, not yet Jenni. I know you’re new to teaching and I understand it’s not been easy for you, but this really is unacceptable. You cannot – ever – leave your class unattended. Do I make myself clear?’
‘I’ve just been threatened with a gun.’
George was well known for his calm handling of all situations. I’d seen a student hold a knife to another pupil, and even then George didn’t fluster or panic, he merely talked the student down. Yes, George could take anything in his stride, but even his eyes widened a fraction.
He made a phone call to his secretary. He glanced at me as he said, ‘Sylvia, contact Steve Wichard and tell him I’ve had an emergency come up.’ There was silence for a moment, before he said, ‘I can’t. In fact . . . tell him I’ll need to delay until later today. Check his availability for me, will you, and reschedule against my diary.’
Then George turned his soft brown eyes to me and said: ‘Tell me what happened, then we’ll call the police.’
So I told him, then he pushed the desk phone at me and I rang 999, and the police came within the time it had taken for George to have his secretary to arrange cover for my lessons until lunch and make us both a sweet tea. I didn’t need the sugar in my tea, but because of my height and my six pack, which outclassed any man I knew, it was rare for me to be treated delicately, so I accepted the sentiment as it was meant.
I’d always liked and respected George. Despite the fallout that happened only three days after I sat across the desk from him drinking the milky sweet tea, the fallout that put him in hospital, cost him his job and ended his career, I like to think that he didn’t regret taking a chance on me and employing me.
But I don’t know. I’ve learnt that there is often a big difference in what I like to think and what people really think.
As we waited for the police, he sipped his tea. ‘Exactly what is it that you think is going on, Jenni?’
‘I don’t know. Something weird. Destiny is really scared. And she’s vulnerable.’
‘We haven’t rung social services yet, we should do that now.’
And he did.
Friday
10:52
Jenni
Two police officers turned up, a PC Hollinge, a red-haired copper who looked as if he should still be wearing braces on his teeth, accompanied by a woman about my age, PC Glad, with eyes that stared without blinking.
George introduced me and let me tell them my story. At the end, he told them that he was waiting to hear back from social services after ringing Destiny’s social worker. We’d also made a safeguarding alert through the MASH call centre hub and properly followed it up with the relevant online form.
Glad had a look at the safeguarding form on George’s computer, while Hollinge took my statement. At the end of each laboriously handwritten page, I had to sign to say it was accurate. When I got to the gun, I was already three pages into my statement. ‘It was a Glock, probably a nine.’
Hollinge and Glad exchanged a look.
‘How do you know that?’ asked Glad.
‘Well, I can’t be sure. It could’ve been a seventeen, obviously.’
‘No, how do you know about guns?’
I explained about my firearms history. ‘I was a serving corporal in the British Army for many years; I’ve completed tours as both a frontline medic and in combat, including Northern Ireland and Iraq. Although I carried a SA80, guns in general have always been an interest of mine.’
George started to say something, then he stopped. I thought he looked as if there was something he wanted to ask. The same question everyone asks.
‘You’re going to ask me if I have ever killed someone? Yes, I have, but only in the service of my country.’
George blinked and drew air in audibly through his liver-oloured nostrils. ‘I was actually going to ask if you wanted another cup of tea. I . . . was worried that you were shocked by seeing the gun, although . . . I realise . . . now . . .’
‘No, George, I was not shocked. I’ve been shot at many, many times. What I did think was that his choice of where to store his weapon wasn’t very sensible. The Glock is a heavy piece of machinery; it could’ve easily fallen down his tracksuit bottoms. I rather thought it showed he wasn’t very experienced. Even if,’ I thought again of the slug-like tongue, ‘he was an enthusiastic adversary.’
They looked at each other and I continued my statement without further question. When I got to the end, I asked them what would happen now.
‘We will need to speak to social services ourselves,’ said Glad. ‘If you get hold of them first, ask them to contact us.’ She passed a card to me and George, writing down the incident number for us. ‘Obviously, we are concerned. We’ll put out an alert on the van now, but without the number plate, it could be difficult to trace a white transit. We’d like you to pop down to the station today or tomorrow and we’ll get you to do a photofit of the person you saw. We can put it through our computer and see if it pulls anything up.’
‘But what else? Surely Destiny needs some protection right now?’
‘We’ll contact social services, as I said.’
‘She doesn’t need you to contact someone, she needs your protection.’
‘If you’re thinking we can offer her around-the-clock guard,’ she said, ‘you’d be wrong. Obviously, we need to interview the girl herself, but her social worker can come down to the station with her or arrange for an appropriate adult. We need to hear her side of it. Right now, that’s all we can do.’
Glad stood to leave and Hollinge followed her lead, thanking George for the tea.
‘There must be something else?’ I pushed. ‘Something to help her after school?’
‘Destiny probably knows their identity. When we hear from her, we can get an ID, we can pull them in for an interview, maybe even get a search warrant for that gun.’
‘But what happens today?’
Glad sounded firm. ‘Let’s wait to hear from social services.’
Friday
11:50
Jenni
I dismissed my class a few minutes early so I was at George’s door as soon as the lesson bell sounded. Before I knocked, I checked that the police car was gone from the driveway. Although I knew they wouldn’t linger, I still didn’t want risk seeing them again. I didn’t like the way Glad looked at me. Maybe being a copper made them suspicious of everyone; maybe it was habit to scowl at people as if they were about to lift your wallet.
He opened his door and sighed. ‘Jenni, love.’
‘Is the social worker here yet?’
‘Not yet. They won’t give me an appointment; they’ll turn up when they can.’
‘When they arrive, can I see them?’
‘You’ll be teaching.’ He checked his watch. ‘I thought you had a lesson now.’
>
‘Can’t someone cover my lesson?’
‘Jenni, you are here to teach, not run round like you’re in charge of crisis management.’
‘But if you got cover for fifteen minutes I could—’
‘More cover from where? You’ve had a free this morning and you’ve got a free period six and that’s your lot. Besides, Sal is already broken by arranging cover today – did you know she ended up covering your period two and three lessons herself? We’ve got three staff off on long-term leave; two more called in sick today – there is no one else. I’ve already got two agency teachers in murdering my budget. You will teach your lesson and I will oversee the social worker. I’ll make sure they know everything that has happened.’
He held up a hand. ‘In the nicest possible way, I’m going to shut my office door now. I don’t know why you’re not getting it, love, but I need you to go. I’ve got to make a grovelling phone call to my boss, who I cancelled on today, because of this debacle. Now, if you would please let me do that, because some of us value the relationships of our managers and will do what we can to keep them sweet.’
He gave me a warm smile and then very slowly, but very firmly, shut the door.
Friday
12:41
Jenni
I was back at George’s office, but this time I’d made it inside.
‘No. Now Destiny’s social worker has been in and seen her and met with me, you have to accept that there’s no more to be said on this,’ George said, calmly. ‘Enough, Jenni. Enough.’
‘Not enough,’ I insisted. ‘That man had a fucking gun!’
‘So you’ve said. I’m not going to go through all this again. I’ve done everything I can. I need to have something to eat before I catch up on a billion other things that need my attention.
‘But—’
‘No buts. What with you, then the police, then meeting with Destiny’s social worker, I’ve already put most of my day to this. And this school, despite what you might think, still has to run for the 1,108 other children that we’ve got here.’