The Girl Without a Voice

by Casey Watson

  ‘Honestly!’ I began, stomping over to see what was happening behind the bookcase, ‘I give you one simple thing to do, Gavin, and you can’t even do that without – what on earth!’ I finished, ‘Stop this right now!’

  I probably wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes, but Gavin and Imogen were engaged in a physical fight on the book-corner beanbags. I had no idea what had started it, only that I would very quickly need to finish it, as they were laying into each other hell for leather. And, as I went to welly in, Gavin managed to wrestle a book from Imogen’s hands – presumably the trophy he’d had his eye on all along.

  Good, I thought, making a grab for Gavin – at least I wouldn’t have to haul him off her bodily. In terms of size, he was way bigger and stronger than she was, and only half an inch shorter than me. But in terms of sheer temper, she had the edge over him. And it seemed she didn’t care for having her battles fought for her, because even as I got a grip on Gavin’s other wrist she had lunged at him, reaching for the book, which he now waggled tantalisingly out of reach.

  ‘Give it back, you fucking bastard,’ she roared, ‘or I’ll fucking punch your face in!’

  You could almost hear the astonished gasp from the small crowd of onlookers, while, unbalanced by her cannoning into a now startled Gavin, I stumbled on the corner of a beanbag and lost my grip on his wrist.

  ‘Yeah, just try it, ginge!’ he retaliated, waving the open book in the air above her, before darting past me and across to the other side of the boys’ desk, where Henry and Ben were already exchanging smirks, full of glee at the unexpected floor-show.

  ‘Gavin!’ I snapped, following him. ‘Give me that at once!’

  ‘That book’s mine!’ Imogen screamed at him, bowling past me to get to him. ‘I’m going to fucking kill you, you hear me, dickhead? It’s mine!’

  Gavin was light on his feet though and dodged her again, and, seemingly not satisfied with the commotion he’d caused that far, then – for reasons that escaped me, and probably him, too – ripped a handful of pages out and flung them at her for good measure.

  It was cartoonish in its stupidity, but at the same time deadly serious; he clearly couldn’t have chosen a better action to enrage her. I could see the expression on her face change as she watched the pages flutter floorwards; then she spun around, grabbed the classroom door handle and, with a howl, fled the room.

  I looked across at Gavin with a kind of stunned incredulity. Yup. I have definitely lost control here, I thought.

  Thank heavens, then, for a man with impeccable timing. ‘Everything okay, Mrs Watson?’ came a voice. It was Gary. ‘Only I just saw Imogen –’

  ‘Ah, Mr Clark,’ I puffed, panting and extremely grateful. I had no idea which deity had arranged for him to be at the right place at the right time, but I sent up a blanket prayer of thanks. ‘Yes,’ I said, nodding towards the corridor, ‘do you think you could go after her?’

  ‘Right away,’ he said, giving me a thumbs up. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll grab her. Take her to my office. Oh, and I’ll send along Miss Vickers.’

  Then he was gone.

  ‘Wow, that’s a voice!’ observed Henry.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Right, guys, time to settle down,’ I announced, raising my voice above the growing din. Scuffles were ten a penny but Imogen’s colourful vocal contribution was a first, and with the tension now dissipated everyone seemed to have something to say – not least, as Henry seemed keen to point out, that mild-mannered Imogen knew three whole swear words.

  Everyone, that was, bar Gavin. He had slumped down in his seat with the demeanour of a condemned man – or at least one who, the adrenalin rush finally over and done with, is thinking, ‘Oops, might have gone a bit far, there.’ Still, I thought, feeling an unexpected rush of sympathy for him, at least he’d been stunned into temporary silence.

  I clapped my hands together twice to underline what I’d said. ‘Settle down, back to seats, quieten down now, okay?’

  ‘What about Imogen, Miss?’ Molly asked, looking concerned.

  ‘I’ll go and check on Imogen as soon as Miss Vickers gets here,’ I reassured her. ‘In the meantime, I want you all to choose a book from the book corner – one at a time, please. Go on, Henry, you first. And then read them quietly, okay?’

  Kelly was there in less time than it took them all to do so, by which time I’d picked up the pages Gavin had ripped from Imogen’s book, as well as the book itself, which lay tented in the middle of the classroom floor, where he’d dropped it, like the proverbial hot brick. As I’d half-realised from the cover illustration, it was the book Imogen had been reading at home – the Jacqueline Wilson one about the twins who’d lost their mother. A book that presumably meant a great deal to her, judging by her reaction to Gavin taking it. I glanced across at him. Why? I thought. Why do that? Just to tease her? Just to provoke precisely that kind of reaction? Well, if so, he certainly succeeded.

  ‘Did Gary manage to find her?’ I asked Kelly as I stuffed the book and pages into my satchel.

  She nodded. ‘She was only by the water fountain, apparently. She’s up there with him now.’

  ‘Right, then, I’ll get over there,’ I said, ‘and leave you to it. I’ll deal with Gavin later, but right now I’m hoping that as her dander’s well and truly up, she’ll have something more to say for herself. I’ve never seen her quite like that. She was livid. And very, how shall I put it? Expressive.’

  I grinned. ‘But I dare say this lot will fill you in.’

  Kelly winked at Henry. ‘I don’t doubt that. Do you?’

  I made it up to Gary’s office just before the bell went for afternoon break, to find the door to his room wide open, and Imogen seated at the large desk that ran along the far wall. It had two computer terminals along it and she was seated at one of them, typing something steadily and rhythmically.

  Gary himself was standing behind and slightly to the side of her, and as soon as he became aware that I’d come into the office he put a finger to his lip before beckoning me across. I slipped my bag from my shoulder and put it down quietly. Whatever she was doing she was clearly very focused, because she’d made no move to suggest she was even aware of Gary, let alone that I’d entered the room. She still looked angry – her skin flushed, her plaits sprouting hair from her tussle – but oblivious to everything around her.

  Gary said nothing but pointed to the keyboard, which he seemed to be scrutinising with great concentration. He was presumably trying to work out what she was typing, I realised, because what belatedly struck me was most surprising of all – the monitor wasn’t even switched on. What’s she typing? he mouthed at me, once I’d taken in what was happening, as she continued to bang away at the keys. I watched her too, more analytically, till I could see what Gary obviously could – that she seemed to be repeating the same sequence over and over again.

  Gary stepped back, then, just enough that he’d be sufficiently out of earshot so that when he whispered ‘I think I’ve got it’, she wouldn’t hear. He reached for paper, then, while I continued to watch her fingers move across the keyboard. She was only using two and she wasn’t typing too fast for me to follow, so when Gary handed me a bit of paper on which he’d written what he thought it was I already knew what it was going to say.

  I thought she was going to set fire to me.

  The words seemed to leap from the page. Finally, the answer to the riddle of what she’d tried to say to me all those days ago. And, if we were right – and we both continued to watch, just to be sure we were – then my suggestions had all been way off-beam. Set fire to her? When? And why, for that matter? And, most pressingly of all, I thought, who?

  I became aware of Gary’s arm touching my own. ‘I need to get to a meeting,’ he said quietly, though not so quietly Imogen wouldn’t hear him now – after all, we’d divined what we needed to know. ‘Can I leave you to it?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, pulling a chair up beside Imogen. ‘Yo
u get off. We’ll see you later. Imogen,’ I said then, placing the piece of paper beside the keyboard. ‘Imogen, look, sweetheart. Mr Clark’s written it down – see? What you’ve been typing. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? See? We’ve worked it out.’

  She glanced fleetingly at the piece of paper and then carried on typing. Then she looked again, and this time her fingers came to rest. She slid them down into her lap and clasped them together.

  I could tell from the slight movements in her shoulders that she was crying, so I put my arm around her and pulled her close. She didn’t stiffen, which I took to be a positive. But neither did she react in any other way. ‘Sweetheart,’ I said again, ‘please tell me how I can help you. Who did you think was going to set fire to you?’

  I almost added ‘Was it your mum?’ but stopped myself in time. Instinct was by now telling me that wasn’t going to be the answer anyway. Instinct was telling me it was going to be someone else. ‘Imogen,’ I said next, ‘was it Gerri?’

  She seemed to deflate then, like a balloon that had been pricked at a party, shrinking down into herself before pulling her back straight, and wiping tears from her eyes with the backs of her index fingers. Then she nodded. ‘It was Gerri,’ she confirmed.

  ‘Did she hurt you? Did she burn you? What happened, love? Can you tell me?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, Miss,’ she said, ‘she didn’t actually burn me, but she said she would. I thought she would …’ She shuddered then, and the tears started up again. I pulled her closer again and soothed her and stroked her hair.

  ‘When was this, love?’ I asked her. ‘What did she say to you to make you think that? ‘If you can just tell me a little about –’

  But she was shaking her head again. ‘You can’t do anything, Miss. No one can. I just wanted to tell. I’m not a liar, Miss, I’m not!’ she finished, once again animated.

  ‘I know that,’ I soothed. ‘We all know that, Imogen.’

  ‘Gavin doesn’t!’ she retorted, with shades of the strong voice I’d heard only twice.

  ‘Gavin?’

  ‘He’s the liar, Miss!’

  ‘Shhh,’ I soothed. ‘Shhh … What’s Gavin said to you, Imogen? Did he call you a liar? Was that why you got so upset?’

  She nodded, rubbing furiously at her eyes again. ‘He said I just pretended. But I don’t, Miss!’

  ‘Pretended what, Imogen?’

  ‘That I couldn’t speak. Just so’s you and Miss Vickers would like me the best. So I get more attention. But it’s not true! He’s just an idiot. I don’t want any attention! I just want to be left alone!’ she said, sighing again, heavily. ‘They just don’t know … They just don’t, Miss. How can they?’ She looked up and at me. ‘Sometimes, it’s just, like, like when you can’t swallow something. It’s like I can’t even work out how to make it work myself.’

  I studied her, thinking furiously about how best to play it. Should I go back to Gerri? Ask her more? Try and coax more out of her? Get to the bottom of whatever it was that had happened between them? Something told me no. Something told me I must wait.

  ‘You know the thing with Gavin,’ I said instead. ‘You know how over-excited he gets sometimes? You know how sometimes he starts getting on everyone’s nerves, with his shouting, and his endless chattering, and him running around so much? Well, it’s a bit like that for him – sort of like you’ve just described to me, but in reverse. There’s no excuse for anyone calling anyone a liar – of course there isn’t – but, like you, sometimes Gavin can’t stop himself being, well’ – I grinned at her – ‘a little bit too Gavin-y, just like you struggle to make yourself talk. Do you get that?’ Imogen nodded, and I could see she’d absorbed it. ‘And today, in particular, well, he was having a bit of a hyper-Gavin day. And then he gets frustrated – just like you do, sometimes – and then he lashes out. And, because you two can’t communicate, he doesn’t know how hard things are for you. So perhaps that’s why he said what he did, and –’

  ‘And he took my book off me as well, Miss.’

  ‘And why he took your book off you as well. Perhaps just to goad you into saying something to him. Do you think it might be that?’

  She nodded again. ‘But then he tore it, Miss!’ And remembering this made her eyes begin swimming with yet more tears. How much had this child cried? How much did this child still cry? Way too much, was my guess. ‘Hang on, there,’ I said.

  I went and grabbed my satchel, opening it as I returned to the computer desk. ‘Look,’ I said, pulling the loose sheets of her book out. ‘Rescued! And here’s the book, as well,’ I added, handing it to her also. ‘And you know what we can do, right this very minute? We can borrow some of Mr Clark’s sticky tape and fix it. How about that? And once we’ve done that, how about we get back to our classroom before the bell goes, and you, me and Gavin can sit down and have a chat about the importance of getting to know each other better?’

  Imogen nodded and began putting the torn pages back into order, while I went to Gary’s desk and located a roll of Sellotape.

  ‘And I tell you what, Imogen,’ I said, ‘I have even better news than that. Keep this to yourself – this will just be between you, me and Gavin, okay? – but I have a packet of posh chocolate biscuits as well.’

  And an awful lot to start chewing over.

  Gavin, predictably, was waiting for the order from the king that he was to be executed by firing squad, at dawn, without trial. Well, that was my guess, based on the expression on his face when Imogen and I returned to the Unit. Kelly was just overseeing an orderly exit for break when we got there, and, seeing us, pulled him back from scooting out.

  ‘Not so fast, mister,’ I said, re-routing him back into the classroom. ‘I think you and Imogen and I need to have a little chat first. You’ll still get your break’ – heaven knew, Gavin needed his break time, just to burn off a bit of energy – ‘but first we’re going to sit down and say some sorrys.’

  Gavin slumped in his seat and laid his palms on the table, as if manoeuvring his way around a particularly tricky police interrogation. ‘Miss, I am sorry. I’m already sorry. Honest to God, Miss, I’m sorry. I swear on my mother’s life – I’ll swear on me baby cousin’s life, too, if you like – that’s how sorry I am, Imogen, see?’

  I tried very hard not to laugh, and it was something of an achievement that I didn’t, but I kept it together sufficiently that I could deliver a short but important lecture about the importance of seeing other people’s points of view. It was mainly directed at Gavin, of course, but it didn’t hurt to include Imogen in it; she might not be any sort of pest in the classroom, but she was – currently partly of necessity – an introspective only child and it was important she understood that Gavin struggled with challenges too.

  But the important thing now, I thought, as I gave them both a biscuit and sent them out to join the others, was to find out exactly what kind of challenges Imogen was struggling with herself. Because an accusation that an adult had been threatening to set fire to her had certainly lit a fire under me.

  Chapter 15

  It was to be the following morning before I could get back to Gary and fill him in on my chat with Imogen. I had hoped that I’d be able to catch him during final period, but, as if to remind me that I had more than one child to take care of – and perhaps because they wanted a piece of the action – Henry and Ben kicked off almost as soon as they came back from last break, over some disagreement over the latest Manchester United line-up.

  As ever, the full-on fist-fight that honour seemed to dictate must ensue was not really about player stats at all. It was about them – Ben and Henry – two volatile boys always just half a step away from losing the plot. They didn’t know it (well, actually, they did, when they were getting on) but they actually had quite a lot in common. For all that Ben was an only child looked after by his heavily drinking dad, and Henry the youngest of five, looked after by his invariably fraught mother, they both brought the same issues to school with t
hem. Both were angry and unable to express it when they were at home – Ben because he always had to be mindful of his father’s temper, and Henry because, being the designated ‘runt’ of the litter, he wasn’t allowed to express himself, ever.

  I would lie awake at night worrying about children like Henry and Ben, and what if anything I could do to make things better. I couldn’t find a new mother for Ben, or make his father quit the drinking, and I couldn’t whistle up a father figure for poor put-upon Henry, to lick his bullying, ill-disciplined brothers into shape. In short, I couldn’t change their world for them. All I could do – and this always felt like one of the best wisdoms I’d been lucky enough to learn – was to make them change the way they felt about themselves, which would, in turn, change how they interacted with their world.

  In short, it was all about self-esteem-building, as well as team-building, though in the short term it was also about managing the inevitable flash points that were bound to occur when such boys came into conflict. Fortunately, in this case, it was short lived and easily remedied, with the application of some fact checking, courtesy of my trusty computers, and another round of posh chocolate biscuits.

  But that still left me too late to nip up to Gary’s office and, not wishing to keep him, given I knew he was taking on a zillion extra duties currently, I decided that the morning would have to do.

  Early morning, mind. I was still on something of a mission, so I made a point of getting into school half an hour earlier than usual so that we could talk before registration. I knew sod’s law would probably mean I’d get scant opportunity later, and I was also conscious of sticking around, as much as possible, in class. What with Gavin and Imogen, then Ben and Henry, who knew what could happen? Would Shona and Molly launch into fisticuffs next?

  Happily, Gary was in and up for chatting, and even managed to rustle me up a coffee, while I nabbed the comfiest of the comfy chairs by his desk.