The professionals exchanged glances. ‘As far as I know, there’s no one on our register who lives locally. And being a foster parent doesn’t just happen overnight, you know.’
‘Of course. But—’
‘In any case,’ Education Man Plumley corroborated, ‘if those racist yobs come to the school again, won’t they cause him further grief? Besides which, Jane, your language budget would be bound to suffer if it turns out you need a specialist teacher – or at least classroom support. There wouldn’t be that problem in a larger school geared up for handling migrant children. Plus, if he was admitted here there’d be complaints from local parents whose children weren’t given a place and now see a stranger getting preferential treatment.’
‘We can overcome those difficulties. The only reason I can see for taking him away from us,’ I said flatly, ‘is Paine’s racism. But why anything so morally offensive and in any case illegal should prevent a child having the love and care he needs I don’t know.’
‘I understand his children are pupils here,’ Education Man said. ‘Isn’t that an issue?’
‘They’ve never made any racist remarks,’ Karenza said.
‘But perhaps they’ve never encountered a suitable target until now,’ Education Man said reasonably. ‘It seems obvious to me that the child should be removed to a place of safety, have his health checked and be found a suitable school. So we are all agreed?’
‘Actually, no. There’s just one thing that we have all omitted from our theories,’ I said. ‘Zunaid comes from somewhere every morning and goes back there. Voluntarily. If you just take him away – even if Pam takes him under her wing, for that matter – he won’t be able to get back to whoever might be waiting for him. Maybe even his mother.’
‘Or more likely a people smuggler,’ Foster said tartly. ‘You don’t want us to leave a child sleeping rough where he is for another night, do you?’
‘He may not be sleeping rough. We need to know. We need to ask him where he’s living. For that we need an interpreter – who was supposed to be part of this discussion, as I recall.’
It was hard to tell whether their faces were red with anger or red with embarrassment.
Education Man spoke first. ‘Are you suggesting that someone follows the child at the end of school? Spies on him?’
‘Not unless there’s no alternative. An interpreter would obviate the need. Until then, we should maintain the status quo.’
‘I can’t agree. In any case, the Border Force have to be involved. If we don’t take him, I should imagine the school can expect a visit from them. It’ll just take a good deal longer to get everything resolved – and a good deal more unpleasant for the child – and, I should imagine, for the school.’
I spread my hands, epitomising sweet reasonableness: ‘All you have to do is bring an interpreter here and you can prevent it happening. Until then, Zunaid remains in my care – and you will recall that a head teacher is in loco parentis.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
If it all sounds clear-cut, it wasn’t. I don’t know how many times I reiterated the need for Zunaid to be questioned sympathetically, or how many times I was subtly depicted as a monster. But I stood my ground. No decisions without that interpreter. ‘Let’s reconvene this afternoon,’ I said reasonably, ‘when you’ve had a chance to locate another one if the first choice can’t manage it. Two o’clock? There’s an excellent pub in Wrayford, just a couple of miles down the road, where you can get a sandwich.’
It was clear I wasn’t going to Wrayford myself: my meeting with Tom at the school had to be put back till tomorrow, something he sounded harassed enough to be grateful for. I wouldn’t budge: I didn’t trust my so-called fellow professionals not to come back surreptitiously. Neither, for that matter, did I entirely trust Pam not to spirit Zunaid away again. So, having phoned Tom apologetically, I made myself very obvious indeed, prowling round inside and out like a marauding tiger. All present and correct.
It was time for afternoon classes to begin: I had forty-five minutes before the scheduled return of my visitors.
Coaching was far too grand a word, but I was going to put the upper years through their running paces. Back at Wrayford running before morning registration was becoming a normal part of the day, but life at the smaller school was still pretty sedentary, playground football apart. So here I was, in my lightweight sweats and trainers, teaching warm-up stretches, warm-down stretches, to everyone, including the class teachers, bless them. The kids were in PE kit, the women also in a variety of sports gear, with various degrees of modesty. I had three separately labelled asthma sprays in my pocket. We managed two circuits of the playground before the first child started fading.
And before Lady Preston and her horse appeared at the railings. ‘Well done! Keep going! No, don’t give up. You can do better than that. Don’t be such a wimp!’ She beamed down as she waved at me. ‘So that’s what we were talking about the other day. Whole-school running, eh!’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But not quite the whole school, surely?’
If she could make an effort to be civilised so could I. ‘Not the little ones. Not yet. I want to do a lot more confidence and indeed muscle building before they start. Some of them are still brought to school in pushchairs, would you believe?’ I spotted an excuse to end our conversation: a child starting an asthma attack. ‘Your spray’s over here, Mark! Stand tall. That’s it. Breathe out. Harder, harder, harder. Now press the button and IN!!! And again. Good boy. Now you can help me count how many times round they’re doing. Sorry, Lady Preston – I have to get back.’
My visitors – three of them this time – were pushing at the gate. So they had found an interpreter, which gave round one to me, even if I was at a disadvantage in my sports gear, not a suit. I slipped on my hoodie as if that was a mark of respect.
We trooped back to the library, without Karenza, who really needed to be with her class. Magnanimous in my minor victory, I ordered coffee all round, and sent for Pam and Zunaid. The small talk we made wasn’t exciting, but it was good to get a sense of the interpreter they’d found: a young man called Dawud who looked mild enough, but whose eyes burnt with a baffled anger. It transpired that he too was from Syria, and had seen his family drown in the Mediterranean in one of the first tranches of escapees.
A frantic knocking at the door heralded the arrival of Karenza, with Pam almost tripping over her. ‘He’s gone!’ Pam shouted. ‘Gone. He told me he was going straight to class, but—’
‘Never made it!’ Karenza shouted. ‘And Georgy – he said he wanted to go to the loo and he never came back. They’ve gone, Jane. We’ve checked every room in the school. Every last hiding place. Gone.’
‘We should have taken him when we had the opportunity,’ Marina Foster declared. ‘In loco parentis, I think you said.’ Her sneer became more obvious. ‘And three grown women have contrived to lose not one but two small boys.’
‘Donna’s called the police and Georgy’s mum, who promises to organise a search of their caravan site,’ Karenza said, ignoring her with aplomb. ‘The police are already checking the roads round here. And Glebe Woods, where they found the kids last night.’
‘Excellent.’ I put my head round the door and called to Donna, ‘Can you keep the phone line free – just in case? Thank you.’ I turned to my visitors. ‘So one kid is scared into escaping and his best mate offers to go with him. That’d be my scenario. Now, you are welcome to stay here – Dawud, you’d be more than useful to reassure Zunaid when we find him. Or we can simply reconvene when we’ve found him – and Georgy, of course. Karenza, can you ask all the staff to cross-question every last child? Reassure them that it isn’t snitching and no one will get into trouble if they have to own up to something. And ask them to renew their search of every last corner. I’ll get Donna to text and email all the parents to enlist them in the search at least of their own and their neighbours’ premises. Pam, does Zunaid know where you live? Get there now. Keep your mobile on: I’ll call the
second I hear anything, good or bad, I promise.’
At this point the visitors left, though it was clear that Dawud would have preferred to help us. He needed a lift, however, so had to fall in line.
And what could I do? Tell the governors, for one thing. But that didn’t involve striding round, questioning people – anything. It must have been some of that frustration that Hazel Roberts sensed. ‘I’ll alert everyone else on the board and start them searching too. Meanwhile, my dear, get off the phone. It’s vital you keep the line open. You’re the point of contact for everyone – the still point of the turning world, as Eliot put it.’
Where on earth could Zunaid be? When you’ve looked in all the likely places, it was time to look in the unlikely ones. The roof space? They probably didn’t even know it was there. And how could they have moved the ladder into place – even between them? I checked: the ladder was chained safely in place. And just to make sure I checked the key was still locked in the safe in my office.
Wringing my hands wasn’t going to do any good. If there was a roof space, was there a cellar – even a coal hole? I couldn’t, in my panic, remember. Still clutching my mobile, as if it was an amulet, I did a circuit of the outside of the building. And yes – those heavy doors, set into the ground like those by a pub, must give access to a coke chute. But the bolt was rusted solid. If I couldn’t shift it, a child couldn’t. And there were no loose bricks anywhere near to suggest anyone had tried to get in that way. Once again I was ready to weep with frustration. But at least I now had official reinforcements; a police car was pulling up by the gate.
Before she was even out of the car, the driver was shouting to me. ‘Are you the head that called in about missing boys? We’ve got reports of an injured child being taken to hospital. No details yet. I’m on my way to where we got the call – not very far from here.’ She ducked back in and accelerated away.
I ran after her. Ran. How foolish and irresponsible was that? The officer’s expression said it all as I caught up with her, though she did admit I must be pretty fit to shift that fast. I’d even got enough breath to ask for details.
Identifying herself as PC Fiona Berry, she said, ‘We’ve got reports now of two little boys in hospital. But two little boys don’t just get injured, so I was near here and decided to check. Skid marks, evidence of an assault – I don’t even know what I’m looking for to be honest.’
I stood silently beside her as we stared at bland tarmac and undamaged verges. Shaking her head, she reached for her radio.
But then I did something weird. I grabbed her wrist and raised a finger. ‘There’s someone still there. In that hedge,’ I added on my breath, pointing.
‘Assailant? I’ll call for backup.’ She was equally quiet. She tiptoed off, but came back frowning. ‘Fifteen minutes.’
‘You’ve got me. Citizen’s arrest.’
We separated, advancing on the source of the sound from opposite directions. She started to yell – a strong, carrying voice. ‘Give yourself up. Come out with your hands up! You’re surrounded!’
What movies had she been watching? I continued my silent approach, hoping she’d drive whoever it was in my direction. Crazy – it could have been an armed man twice my size.
I could hear my heart pounding. Surely whoever was lurking would hear it too. Casually I slipped off my hoodie. And edged closer.
‘Now!’ the officer yelled.
I dived, the hoodie outstretched, as if I were after an errant cat. And caught not a knife-wielding adult but a squirming, biting little boy.
Not Georgy.
Not Zunaid.
But the little boy who hadn’t wanted to be washed.
Fiona held him in place. ‘My name’s Fiona.’
‘I’m Jane. From the school.’
‘We don’t want to hurt you. OK? But if you won’t lie still I’ll have to make you.’ She dropped her voice from Englishwoman-talking-to-foreigner mode. ‘I daren’t try and drive with him like this.’ Nor could she – not with a tiny bundle of fury pulling her hair and spitting at her. But how could we restrain him?
‘We’ll just have to tough it out and wait for assistance,’ she said, calling in while I took her place at his shoulders. Her voice was tight with embarrassment. Before she took over again, however, she pulled on blue protective gloves.
With a dry laugh, I said, ‘I’ll summon our tame social worker. The kid’s in need of tlc, not a police cell.’ Standing up, I called Donna, telling her the good news/bad news. ‘Marina Foster is just the woman we need right now. Here. Tell her she’ll need a bin liner and a complete change of clothes from our emergency collection. And a load of paper towels. The police will supply rubber gloves. And make sure she brings that interpreter. Dawud. Any interpreter. Now! Oh, shit!’
The little boy had chosen – and I really suspected it was a matter of choice – to empty his bowels and bladder.
To do her justice Fiona clung on. ‘It’s worse when adults do it,’ she said dourly.
‘Thank goodness you’ve got here so soon!’ I said, enthusiastically greeting Marina Foster the moment she and Dawud emerged from her car. She might have been my long-lost cousin.
‘I told you children like this are a job for the experts.’ Her beam was perilously close to triumphant.
‘That’s what I told Fiona over there. But if you need me I’ll stay and help, Marina.’
‘No – you have a whole school to run.’
Need she have sounded quite so patronising?
‘In that case, I’ll run – literally.’
‘No problem. Is that more police?’ she asked in disbelief.
Blues and twos? A brightly coloured vehicle spurting gravel as it came to a halt?
‘Looks like it. But don’t dismiss them out of hand – you may still need them. He really doesn’t want to have anything to do with any of us.’
‘Very well. So this is Zunaid, is it?’ she asked rhetorically, heading towards the still-struggling little boy.
‘Actually, no,’ I said. ‘This is the one who ran away because he didn’t want to be washed. Are you still sure you don’t need me?’ Taking her temporary and possibly aghast silence as assent, I took to my heels.
Now as clean as the inadequate staff loo washbasin would get me, and looking slightly more the part, I hoped, I joined Donna in the office. She passed me a cup of tea. ‘I’ve been fielding all sorts of calls,’ she said, making one for herself. ‘First of all the police. Some woman found a seriously injured little boy – you know that? With another child? Took them to hospital? ’Course you do. And since they knew we’d lost one, they thought we ought to know. So I said Pam was the one to identify him and – in the absence of any official social worker – to be with him when he was having any treatment.’
I put down my mug and hugged her. ‘Well done.’
‘So I called Pam, who set straight off to William Harvey A&E. It’s weird – she says she’s looking after Georgy, who couldn’t or wouldn’t say anything about what had happened. Anyway, I called Georgy’s mum, of course, and she’s off to William Harvey too – so she might get some sense of what’s going on. Meanwhile, I’ve texted or emailed all the parents, and let the governors know. Oh, and I told the teachers too. Hey, what are you doing?’
‘Handing you my name badge – you can run this place better than I do. At least you don’t go haring off chasing little boys who don’t want to be caught.’ My turn to fill her in.
‘So Her Nibs is having to deal with a child who’s filled his pants? That’s a bit naughty, Jane.’
‘Isn’t it just? I offered, believe me I offered, to stay. But when an expert tells you to go off and run your school, what can you do?’
‘Have one of these biscuits,’ she said. ‘Oh, perhaps not – you’re due at the dentist’s, aren’t you?’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After all the excitements of the day, not to mention pleasures of the dentist’s chair, there was still a lot of mundane admin to do, so
I went back to work long after everyone else had left. Not that I did much. I didn’t like my behaviour towards Marina Foster very much. No point in denying it. It came between me and everything I tried to do. At last I texted an apology.
I got a response. Child now safe with approved foster carer. Whereabouts of Zunaid, please?
As a response it wasn’t what you’d call gracious. Maybe it was all I deserved. Some irresponsible imp wanted me to respond to her question with a flat, No idea. Instead she got, Will try to find out.
The hospital had already refused to give any information, of course, and Ms Popescu’s phone had been off ever since Donna had first contacted her. I tried Pam for the fourth time – and she picked up immediately.
‘Sorry, Jane. It’s been chaos here. Yes, A&E. Zunaid’s been sewn back together, and Mrs Georgy’s just managed to get Georgy to go back home with her – he wouldn’t leave Zunaid, even when the doctors told him to.’
‘Sewn back together?’
‘Didn’t I tell you? It seems the poor little mite – Zunaid, that is – got bitten by a dog. When a passing woman motorist saw the mess he was in, she stopped to help and bundled him into her car. But as she set off, Georgy suddenly appeared, and wouldn’t let go of the car door. Seemed he wanted to be let in – or he might have wanted her to let Zunaid out, she wasn’t quite clear. Anyway, she kept yelling “hospital!” and eventually Georgy came too. She’s a real heroine, the police say: she insisted on staying till someone came. He was absolutely covered with blood.’
‘So you’re in charge of him now?’
‘Only until a social worker turns up: I’m afraid it’ll be that one who was so sniffy earlier.’
‘I hope not. She’s not very pleased with me and she might try and take it out on you. I must let her know, of course, but I’d say possession of the seat beside his bed is nine-tenths of the law.’
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