Risk of Harm

by Jane Renshaw

  Holding tight to Beckie’s hand, Flora broke into a jog.

  ‘Excuse me!’ she shouted, and one of the boys – he looked like a giant insect, his limbs impossibly thin in black jeans and top, a pair of outsized, heavy-framed glasses on his pointed noise – stopped and looked at them.

  ‘Excuse me!’ she repeated, gasping, at last daring to look back as she approached the students.

  The street behind was empty.

  ‘There were some men,’ she gabbled at them. ‘Following us, shouting things…’

  ‘It was the Johnsons,’ Beckie said in a small voice. ‘They’re bad people, basically... It was, Mum – I recognised one of them from before.’

  ‘Or it could have been someone who just looked a bit like one of them.’

  ‘Wanna call the cops?’ Insect Boy handed her a phone.

  ‘Oh!’ Flora took it gratefully. ‘Thank you. I’ve lost my phone… Can we walk up the road with you while I call them?’

  ‘Yeah, sure you can.’

  She decided to call 101, the non-emergency number, rather than 999. She didn’t want to seem as if she was hysterical and overreacting. She explained to the woman who answered what had happened, and she was put through to the local police station. She then had to explain it all again to a bored-sounding man, all the time checking the pavements ahead and across the road and behind.

  She explained that the family of her adoptive daughter had been harassing them again, that there would be a record of the previous incident on file. The bored man said police officers would meet her at the school to take a statement.

  At the school gate they said goodbye and thank you to the students and then they were safely on the expanse of tarmacked playground in front of the school buildings, thronging with yelling children and groups of helicopter mums standing about talking with half their attention, the other half dedicated to tracking their children.

  Beckie suddenly stopped. ‘Why did you lie?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was the Johnsons. You just told the police it was them.’

  ‘Well – actually I don’t know for sure that it was…’

  ‘Of course it was them, Mum. It was that big muscly one from before. They’re going to come back and try and like grab me or do something to me –’

  ‘No, darling –’

  ‘I’m not a baby!’

  ‘They’re not going to “grab” you. Dad and I would never let that happen.’

  ‘Yes you would. You couldn’t do anything to stop them. If they’d grabbed me just then, there’s nothing you could have done about it.’

  ‘Beckie –’

  ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘I’ll tell Miss Douglas and Mrs Jenner what’s been happening, and they’ll keep you safe inside at break and at lunchtime – and Dad and I will both come and collect you in his car.’

  ‘No, I mean I want to go home home. I hate it here. I hate this school. And I hate Miss Douglas and Mrs Jenner! They would probably want the Johnsons to take me! They’re fucking cows.’

  ‘Beckie!’

  Beckie tugged her hand out of Flora’s, and Flora grabbed it back and began pulling her towards the P4 extension where Beckie’s classroom was. Beckie wriggled and struggled, tears and snot on her reddened face.

  ‘Behave yourself!’ Flora shouted.

  And Beckie cringed away.

  She cringed away and sort of ducked her head as if to avoid the blow that was coming.

  Oh God.

  Flora had never turned her anger on Beckie before; never once.

  Her own tears coming, Flora folded Beckie in her arms. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.’

  Beckie was stiff in her embrace.

  Guiding her blindly across the tarmac, Flora was aware for the first time of all the eyes upon them – children frozen mid-chase; groups of mums staring. And there was Ailish, in her usual prime position in the middle of the playground under the big horse chestnut, standing there in her high boots and swingy beige coat, muttering out of the side of her mouth to Marianne, her gaze fixed coldly on Flora.

  That bitch.

  Flora had seen her hurrying Thomas past on the street earlier as she and Beckie were leaving the house.

  ‘Thanks a lot for your support, Ailish!’ she shouted across at her, like someone on EastEnders.

  She didn’t wait for her response. She focused on the cheerful turquoise double doors of the extension, on the cut-out children’s drawings of animals stuck to the safety glass, mutant deer and badgers and foxes.

  Then she was pulling open the left-hand door and pushing Beckie inside.

  The little lobby smelt of disinfectant and printer ink and glue.

  She sat Beckie down in a chair and hunkered down in front of her, wiping her face with a tissue.

  ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you. And I know it’s very scary, darling, but Daddy and I both love you far too much to let anyone take you anywhere. We couldn’t do without you, you know.’

  She thought Beckie was going to stay mute – maybe she’d never speak to Flora again, and maybe she would deserve it – but then, without looking at Flora, she whispered, ‘I couldn’t do without you.’

  Tears prickled again at the back of her nose, but Flora managed to smile and push Beckie’s hair back off her face and say, ‘Just as well I’m here then, isn’t it. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to speak to the policemen, and then I’m going to call Dad and he’ll come and get us.’

  ‘So I can skive off?’

  ‘You can skive off. And if Mrs Jenner doesn’t like it, she can lump it.’

  They shared a little rebellious smile.

  But Mrs Jenner was more than kind about the whole situation, insisting that Flora and the policemen use her office to take the statement while Beckie read a book in the outer sanctum where Mrs Jenner’s secretary worked.

  Ushering them into her office, she said, ‘What a terrible stressful time you’re having.’

  Flora could only nod.

  The ordinary sounds of the school could be heard faintly – a teacher’s voice raised with calm, measured authority; the squeak of rubber shoes on polished vinyl flooring; a distant clatter.

  Blinking her false eyelashes rapidly at Flora, Mrs Jenner murmured, ‘We do take security extremely seriously – all schools must, these days, sadly. I’m afraid this sort of situation isn’t unheard of – estranged parents threatening to snatch a child… We have systems in place.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Flora weakly.

  Mrs Jenner nodded briskly. ‘I’m with a class all morning, so please take all the time you need. And when you’re finished, of course you can just take Beckie home – use the phone in my office to call your husband if you like.’

  ‘You’re so kind. Thank you.’

  When Mrs Jenner had gone, the two young policemen looked at her rather helplessly, as if transported back to their own – not very far off – schooldays and a summons to the headmistress’s office. Flora went round behind the desk and sat in Mrs Jenner’s chair, hoping this might lend her an air of authority.

  The policemen sat down on the other side of the desk and one of them produced a notebook to take down Flora’s account of the morning.

  But in this portentous setting, after all the build-up, somehow it fell flat when she actually began to tell them what had happened. Three youths had walked behind them on the pavement being loud and sweary and throwing a plastic bottle at a wall.

  ‘So they didn’t throw it at you or your daughter?’

  ‘Maybe they did and missed.’

  ‘They didn’t actually speak to you? They didn’t confront you?’

  ‘They were shouting things – like “Fucking snobs”.’

  ‘And this was directed at you?’

  ‘Well – yes, I’m sure it was.’

  ‘But there was no actual confrontation…’

  And then:

  ‘And it was the same man you’d encountered earlier – it was Travis Jo
hnson.’

  ‘Yes, Beckie recognised him too, independently – of course I didn’t tell her who it was, she came out with it, she said it was the same man as before. The muscly one, she called him. Muscles, tattoos and… a sort of little fringe stuck to his forehead. And he had a squashed nose, you know, like it’s been broken… What will happen now? They were just cautioned about breaking the court order the first time, but now it’s happened again despite the caution, what happens?’

  ‘The Prosecution Service will review the situation regarding the court order, but it’s likely another caution will be issued rather than an arrest being made at this stage, in the circumstances. Meanwhile, I think our colleagues explained about non-harassment orders? Now that there’s been another incident, that’s an option open to you. Or there’s the option of an interdict through the civil courts, which is easier to apply for, but the penalties for breaking its conditions aren’t as severe. To apply for either, you’ll have to contact your solicitor. But there are victim support services that can guide you through it – my colleagues possibly have spoken to you about this already.’

  ‘Yes. So basically, breaking the court order again is just going to get them a slap on the wrist. And even if we get a non-harassment order, they can’t be arrested until they break it, or – or the whole thing escalates…’

  The policeman sat back. ‘That’s up to the Prosecution Service. We’ll let you know what’s happening once the situation has been reviewed. Call us immediately, of course, if you see them again...’

  When they’d gone, Flora picked up the phone, staring unseeingly at the Castles of Britain calendar on the wall as she waited for Neil to pick up.

  It went to voicemail, and she left a message asking him to come home – she’d meet him there with Beckie. The Johnsons had followed them on their way to school, she said, and Beckie was really upset. ‘We’ll get a taxi. There’s no way I’m walking her back.’

  She put down the phone.

  Tears threatened again, and as she rummaged in her jeans pockets for another tissue a slip of paper drifted to the royal blue carpet.

  She picked it up and saw it was Caroline’s number.

  Caroline answered immediately. ‘Hi Flora!’

  ‘They followed us to school. The Johnsons.’

  ‘Oh God! Where are you?’

  ‘At the school. I can’t get hold of Neil and I don’t want to take Beckie home just the two of us…’

  ‘Of course not! Have you called the police?’

  ‘I’ve made another statement. They said we can take out a non-harassment order now…’

  ‘What, they’re not actually going to do anything?’

  ‘They might give them another caution.’

  ‘Oh whoopy-doo! Listen, Flora, don’t move. I’m coming to get you. Where’s the school?’

  ‘There’s your next-door neighbour again,’ said Beckie from her station by the window. ‘Mr Hewson. That’s the third time he’s been to look in his wheelie bin. I think he’s maybe suspicious. He could be like in league with them.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Caroline joined her to squint through the wooden Venetian blinds that she’d pulled almost closed against the bright light of the street. ‘How about a break from surveillance for a peanut butter and jam sandwich?’

  Beckie wrinkled her nose. ‘Really?’

  ‘Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.’

  ‘Disgusting enough that you probably will like it,’ Flora smiled.

  Beckie shot her a wary look.

  Oh God.

  She hadn’t meant that as a criticism.

  Beckie turned back to Caroline. ‘What kind of jam?’

  ‘Well, I think I have a choice. Can’t remember exactly what of…’

  ‘I’ll come and help you.’

  Two peanut butter and apricot jam sandwiches later, Beckie sat on the sofa glancing occasionally at the window but more often looking curiously at the huge jigsaw spread out on a special mat on the coffee table. All the pieces were set out and some of the edges had been started. It was full of bright colours and Flora thought she could make out eyes and feathers on some of the pieces, but it was impossible to tell what the picture was yet.

  ‘It’s one of my sad and completely useless hobbies,’ said Caroline. ‘Want to help?’

  ‘Yes please. Where’s the box?’

  ‘Beckie!’ Caroline pretended shock. ‘You don’t mean to tell me you look at the picture?’

  ‘Um – yes?’

  ‘Confirming your status as a complete amateur. You, my girl, have a lot to learn about the wonderful world of jigsaw freaks.’

  ‘Okay!’

  With Beckie hunched happily over the jigsaw, Flora and Caroline cleared away plates and cups to the kitchen. Closeted there, Flora gave her a proper run-down on what had happened.

  ‘And that bitch Ailish was there in the playground. Looking down her nose at the spectacle we were making… What?’

  Caroline grimaced. ‘Nothing. But that explains the cryptic post on The Chipmunk Show.’ She opened the laptop that was sitting on the kitchen table amidst folders and Post-It notes and documents with laminated covers. The desktop wallpaper was a photograph of a sunset over a beach, silvery waves lapping at a long stretch of sand and two colourful rowing boats tied to a quay in a tiny harbour, seabirds rising up from two tall stacks of rock further out to sea.

  ‘That’s lovely,’ sighed Flora.

  And now it was gone as Caroline quickly clicked on the Facebook icon, and an odd look flitted across her face. Was it somewhere Caroline used to go with a lover? The love of her life, maybe, lost to another woman?

  It was none of Flora’s business.

  ‘Scroll down past all the Jasmine ones...’ said Caroline.

  Ailish had posted ‘Just witnessed #MegaParentFail. Nope, shouting and screaming at your child until she cries is not parenting’ and an inspirational quote:

  Your child may NOT REMEMBER the words you SPEAK, but all her life she WILL REMEMBER how you made her FEEL

  ‘Bitch,’ said Flora as tears threatened. Ailish was right – Beckie would probably remember that awful scene in the playground all her life... the way she’d been made to feel... The way Flora had made her feel.

  ‘Oh God, Flora, don’t worry about it – it’s Ailish. Everyone knows what she’s like. Take a look at the Jasmine one above it.’

  This was a photograph of Jasmine in yet another slutty outfit – a tight black dress with a cut-out over her stomach that dipped so low it was almost indecent. The comments under it, finally, made Flora smile.

  Marianne Reiker: Stunning! She’s gorgeous, Ailish. ☼☼☼

  Tamsin Smith: Beauty.

  John Fraser: Crikey! Fifteen going on twenty-five. Does she go out in that?

  Ailish Young: Dad, this is what they all wear now. It’s fine, LOL. She’s off out with her boyfriend.

  Marianne Reiker: Lucky guy!! ☺ ☺

  Ailish Young: He’s a keeper – just told me I’m way cooler than his mum!

  Katie Henderson: Coming from a teenager, isn’t that a bit of a worry? ☺

  Ailish Young: Katie, LOL, I don’t think it’s too much of a worry. I think Chris meant I don’t sweat the small stuff and take it out on my daughter, unlike some we could mention...

  John Fraser: I thought her boyfriend was called Jamie. Jasmine goes through boyfriends like we go through Rich Tea biscuits! We’ll have to start calling her Liz!

  Ailish Young: Dad, this is only her second ever proper boyfriend. I don’t think little Ricky in P2 with the eye patch who used to leave icky sweets in her bag counts!!!

  ‘At least the dad sounds nice,’ said Caroline, reading over Flora’s shoulder.

  ‘Yes. At least Jasmine and Thomas have him. Those poor kids.’ She pushed the laptop away.

  ‘I mean, the irony – Ailish is MegaParentFail in action twenty-four-seven, and all her thousand-plus Facebook friends know it.’

  ‘Do they, though? Percept
ions are so different, aren’t they? One person might look at a particular family and see ParentFail, but another…’ And Flora found herself telling Caroline all about Saskia, about her hurting the children, hurting Beckie, to get them removed from the families she thought were bad for them.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Caroline kept saying, standing looking at Flora with an expression Flora couldn’t read – horror was there, of course, but something else too, something like – blame?

  But how could it be their fault, what had happened before they even knew of Beckie’s existence?

  ‘I didn’t find out until a few days ago,’ she said defensively.

  Caroline sat down in the chair across the table from her and shut the laptop, running her fingers over the gunmetal grey surface as if removing nonexistent marks.

  ‘Neil thinks this changes things,’ Flora said. ‘That we should maybe think about an open adoption, letting the Johnsons have contact with Beckie, but –’

  ‘Oh God, no!’ Caroline burst out, eyes flashing now at Flora. ‘You can’t do that! They’re a load of nutters!’

  Relief flooded through her. ‘I know. That’s exactly how I feel, but Neil – he’s led such a sheltered life, you know, such an easy middle-class life, up to now, obviously… So he tends not to see the dangers.’

  ‘And you haven’t led a sheltered life?’

  Flora shrugged.

  ‘Sorry – didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘No, it’s okay.’ In fact, the temptation to confide in this tough, pragmatic woman was dangerously strong. She was pretty sure Caroline wouldn’t judge her as others might. ‘I had a nice middle-class upbringing too, only Mum and I had a bit of a hard time after Dad died. And Mum and I, we didn’t really get on... And she was killed in an accident when I was at uni. She was run over by a milk float, of all things.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  Caroline’s eyebrows shot up, but her mouth didn’t even twitch. And for some reason Flora was suddenly remembering Pam’s reaction to this piece of information.

  Pam had smiled.