Moderate Violence

by Veronica Bennett

  He gave her something approximating to The Look. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Jo.”

  “Um…” She knew her neck was going pink. “Well, anyway, it was all a bit difficult.”

  Ed put his elbow on the table, leaned his head on his hand and went on looking at her. “And you and Holly are still friends, are you?”

  Jo nodded. “Amazingly enough, yes.”

  He seemed to be awaiting an explanation.

  “We worked it out,” she said.

  He grinned knowingly. “And Pascale’s come out of this with her reputation intact, hasn’t she?”

  Jo wished she could tell him the truth. Her attack on Pascale, though scary for both perpetrator and victim, was the straw that had broken the back of the whole Toby thing, and ended up sorting it out. “She’s a brilliant person, you know, Ed, even if she can be a bit mean about boys.”

  “That’s an understatement.” There was admiration on his face. “She really likes you, you know, Jo. She was hysterical that day when you were in hospital. She kept saying it was her fault, and Holly kept saying it was her fault.” Another grin. “Me, I think it was Tarquin’s fault.”

  Jo smiled, and the smile turned into a laugh. Ed slid a little further along the bench, so that his thigh was pressed against hers. “This party at Tom Clarke’s on Saturday,” he said softly. “Will you come with me?”

  Jo didn’t know what her face was doing. She hoped she was smiling, but she could hardly speak because her heart had turned into a battering ram. She could feel Ed’s hipbone sticking into her and his breath going in and out. “That would be nice,” she said. Then she thought of something. “But you can’t go, surely?”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “Tom says it’s fancy dress.”

  “So?”

  “You said you’re never going to a fancy dress party again.”

  “Did I? When?”

  “Just now, when you were telling me about Tarquin.”

  He took hold of her hand under the table, right there in front of everyone. No-nonsense Ed. Do what you feel like doing. “The trouble with you, Jo,” he said, “is you’re too clever.”

  Jo fished her results slips out of her bag and waggled them at him. “Six A-stars!”

  * * * * * *

  It was the sort of late summer day when the sky is cloudy but it’s too hot to wear a jacket. None of Jo’s clothes seemed suitable. And what was suitable for an appointment with your headteacher in the holidays anyway? In the end she put on jeans and a loose blouse, and a necklace. She tied back her hair in a pony tail, but on the bus she caught sight of herself in the window looking about twelve, and shook her hair out over her shoulders.

  The sliding glass panel revealed that the secretary’s office was empty, but the door to Mr Treasure’s office was open. When Jo tapped on the glass he called out, “That Jo? Come in!”

  He looked different without his usual dark suit. His short-sleeved shirt and casual trousers made him look lightweight, with less authority than he actually had. She noticed that he’d recently had a haircut, ready for the start of term. While Jo had been on the bus the sun had come out, and the Venetian blinds made stripes of light across Mr Treasure’s desk.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said.

  “You said it would be doing you a favour.”

  He nodded. He hadn’t smiled yet. He put his forearms on the desk and linked his fingers. “Did you do me the other favour I asked for?”

  “Well, I told my dad to make another appointment, and that you don’t like being messed around.” As she said this, Jo thought how little she, too, liked being messed around. “I kept reminding him, but he didn’t do it.”

  “No, he didn’t.” Mr Treasure leaned back in his chair with his arms folded. This was the position he always adopted when he was in prosecuting-lawyer mode. Jo’s spirits wilted a little under the certainty of more and more questions. “However, things have moved along a little since last term, haven’t they?”

  Jo swallowed. Mr Treasure knew. Jo didn’t mind him knowing, just like she didn’t mind Ed knowing, because neither of them would tell anyone else. “Yes, I suppose so,” she said cautiously.

  Mr Treasure gave a small nod. “And has your opinion about your future moved along at all since last term?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She looked at him. Blinking, she realized that although he wasn’t exactly smiling, he didn’t look stern, or smug, or anxious, or any of the things teachers usually looked like when they were trying to be a psychiatrist. He was just sitting there, as impassive as his spectacles, listening to her being her own psychiatrist.

  “I think I’ve realised what it’s been like for my parents,” she told him. “They must have loved each other once, and to lose that…well, Trevor being a drunk must have been as bad for Tess as it was for me, and her being so…difficult, must have been as bad for Trevor as it was for me, but I only saw how bad it was for me, and blamed them. And neither of them could make sense of what I was doing.”

  One of those silences that aren’t really silent at all fell between them. Mr Treasure went on looking at Jo, and Jo went on looking at him. She knew what he was thinking, and he knew what she was thinking. She could hear a wasp butting against the open window behind the blinds, and the sound of the mower cutting the grass on the school field. She felt calm and safe in familiar surroundings, like when she went to sleep with her face in her pink rabbit’s belly.

  In the end, Mr Treasure spoke. “You’ve made sense of it, though, haven’t you?”

  She nodded. She thought about the gouges on her arm and the cuts on her leg, but she kept her face expressionless unless Mr Treasure’s super-sensitive antennae picked up her brainwaves. “I worked so hard for my GCSEs while threatening all the time to leave school, because the only way I could make Trevor and Tess notice me was to do something that hurt them. Though it hurt me more,” she said softly. Then she thought of something, and smiled. “I’m a case-study in a psychology textbook, aren’t I?”

  Unfolding his arms, Mr Treasure leaned forward with his elbows on the desk. “No, you’re not. This is a big thing in your life. This is about you, and your parents.”

  Jo knew he was right. Newspaper articles about divorce, alcoholism, scarred girls, hospitalized girls – articles that made you shake your head sorrowfully when you read them – were about things that happened to other people, and you forgot them immediately. But to those who were experiencing them, they were the biggest thing in the world, and would never go away.

  “Will we see you back on the first day of term, then?” asked Mr Treasure.

  Jo didn’t know whether she felt embarrassed, or stupid, or relieved, or something else altogether. “Um…yes, sir,” she said.

  Mr Treasure didn’t say anything.

  “My dad’s looking for a new job, and he’s in AA,” she blurted unexpectedly. “I’ll make sure he sticks at it.”

  Mr Treasure nodded. “And what does your mother think about this?”

  “Oh…” Jo had to consider before she spoke. “Well, she’s got a new boyfriend and doesn’t really notice my dad. But that’s OK. The only way to deal with her is not to have very high expectations. Anyway, they’re not going to sell the house, and one of them’ll live there with me.” She paused, smiling a little. “My mum’s boyfriend’s there at the moment, and Trevor’s staying with his friend Ken. But Mark, that’s my mum’s boyfriend, has got a big house of his own, in Hertfordshire or somewhere, big enough for Tess. And all her shoes. So I expect it’ll be me and my dad again.”

  Mr Treasure didn’t smile. “I’ll write to your father,” he said crisply. For a moment he looked like the usual Mr Treasure who stood on the stage in Assembly and walked quickly down corridors with his shoes clicking. “And your mother, too.”

  “All right, sir.”

  He stood up. The interview was over. “First day of term, nine o’clock, Sixth Form Assembly,” he said.

  “Yes, s
ir,” said Jo.

  He didn’t say anything else, and Jo turned and left the office. She went down the corridor and out into the deserted school grounds, where bits of newly-mown grass swirled in the air and an aeroplane drilled its way across the sky.

  At the gate, Ed was waiting.

  “I thought you’d be longer,” he said, taking her hand.

  “We didn’t have much to say to each other. He asked if I was staying on and I said yes.”

  “You didn’t burst into tears or anything?” He was grinning.

  “Nope.” She looked at him grinning, and thought how stupid it was that they’d spent the whole summer messing around with Pascale and Toby. “I’ve done enough of that bursting into tears stuff to last me for a while, I think.”

  They began to walk towards the bus stop. “Does he know about…you know, the VBE?” asked Ed. They’d taken to calling it that. Even though it was Tess’s invention, it was a useful code to use when there might be other people listening. Ed liked it so much he used it even when there weren’t.

  She nodded. “He was pretty nice about it.”

  He didn’t look at her, but drew her more closely against his body. “So he bloody should be. He’s got clever Jo Probert in his precious Sixth Form, hasn’t he? He should be arranging a red carpet and a photo-shoot, let alone being nice.”

  She put her arms around him. His body felt smooth and tubular under his T-shirt, and his breath smelled minty; he’d cleaned his teeth especially for her. The bus came round the corner, and they hurried and caught it. Then they went upstairs and sat in the back seat, and kissed contentedly all the way home, just like they did in the movies.

  Anyone affected by any of the issues covered in this book can seek help and advice from the following organisations:

  Selfharm.co.uk

  Selfharm.co.uk is a safe, pro-recovery project dedicated to supporting young people impacted by self-harm. We also offer advice, training and resources for parents and professionals and work to de-stigmatise society's view of self-harm through the media.

  Visit www.selfharm.co.uk or email info@selfharm.co.uk for more information.

  ChildLine

  For advice and information about self harm visit childline.org.uk/selfharm. Or you can talk to ChildLine for free, 24 hours a day, whatever your worry - 0800 1111. Find out more at childline.org.uk.

  About the Author

  Veronica Bennett taught English for many years before leaving the profession to become a full-time writer. She is married with two children.

  Veronica is the author of eight young adult novels in her own name, and also writes the successful Poppy Love series under the pen name Natasha May. More information can be found about the author on her www.veronica-bennett.com.