I Hear You Calling Page 2

  I was based in a small room within the Education Offices with a secretary and a huge pile of case files. The office was cramped, the files were daunting and Pam, the secretary, was highly efficient. Between us we were charged with attempting to reduce the number of students being permanently excluded across the borough.

  In the early days Pam tried hard to befriend me but eventually she got to realise that I was not in the market for anything other than a work relationship and we settled into a pattern that seemed to suit us both. I had been in the job two years when I first heard the name of Richard Banks.

  Richard

  So, I am nine years old and in year five at school and I am a weirdo. I know I am a weirdo ‘cos all the other kids at school tell me that a lot. The teachers don’t call me weirdo but they do get angry with me, a lot.

  Mostly I am just like all the other kids in school; I like football, maths and swimming, just like a lot of the others. But they don’t have a Solly, or if they do, they keep very quiet about it. Mrs Wilkes, the Head teacher, would like me to keep quiet about it too but it’s not that easy; and anyway, Dad says that if I don’t speak with Solly a lot I will lose him and never get to be the medium that I am meant to be.

  Dad and Mrs Wilkes argue sometimes and they both get very angry and me and Mum sit in the middle of them watching, like at a tennis match. And then I get sent home for the rest of the day and when I go back to school after it starts all over again.

  And then the big thing happens.

  So, Mrs Granger asks me and Scott to take the paint brushes in the big red plastic bucket to the toilet to wash them after the art lesson. The bucket is too big to fit into the sink so you have to take the brushes out one by one and wash them under the tap. It’s good to start with cos you watch all the different paint colours fill the sink and then mix together like a little rainbow, red and orange and blue and purple and then they disappear in a swirl down the plughole, but it gets pretty boring after you have done a few.

  For a laugh I reach over and put my finger over the end of Scott’s tap and squirt water in his eye as he bent over his sink.

  Scott squeals and calls me an arse but he laughs and then he scoops some water into his hand and throws it back into my face.

  Then we start throwing the cold water all over each other, having a real laugh.

  My school shirt is soaked at the front and Scott’s hair is totally saturated, like he had just dunked his head in the sink. The tiles on the floor are sopping wet and it is getting very slippy in there.

  I am laughing so much it hurts so I don’t notice my chest tightening and the hamsters starting.

  When it happens my chest goes all funny, like ten hamsters are going round in there on wheels and then stopping to do a bit of break dancing before getting back on the wheels again. I can hardly breathe then.

  So then they were are, the hamsters, while me and Scott are laughing and still throwing water.

  “Don’t, not now, don’t do it to me now,” I think. But it is too late.

  Behind Scott’s head I see the white tiles on the wall all mix together into a big blob, like a wall of snow, and I just know that I am going to see something in the mist.

  Scott is wetting a paint brush under the tap to flick into my face when, just out of the corner of my eye, I see it. A large furry dog, lying by the door with its head on its paws.

  ‘I like your dog,’ I say.

  ‘Haven’t got one.’

  ‘You have, it’s black and white with a long nose.’

  ‘No I haven’t; shut up, weirdo.’ Scott throws more water at me, but angrily this time.

  The dog looks right at me and I am surprised when I see his eyes.

  ‘He’s got one blue eye and one brown one.’

  ‘He died, alright?’

  ‘He’s here, by the door looking at you.’

  ‘If you don’t shut up I will punch you really hard. Anyway, it weren’t really my dog, it was me Grandad’s.’

  ‘I know, he’s here as well. He says the dog’s called Gypsy.’

  I see Scott’s mouth fall open and then all I know is the mist is now all around me, like something white and floaty wrapping itself around my head and filling me with a feeling of floatiness.

  It’s quite nice in a way ‘cos it makes me feel sleepy and a bit like a balloon bobbing along in the sky.

  That’s the way it goes now, Hamsters then Mist. And I know that I am going to go into what Dad calls a trance state, but there is nothing I can do to stop it.

  Next thing I know I am leaning against the sink feeling a bit sick and dizzy. The mist has gone but the room is still icy cold.

  Mrs Genner is there, she has her arms round Scott and he is crying; his face is all white and wobbly and he has pee’d in his trousers.

  ‘He was doing it again miss,’ he is saying. He has two rivers of snot pouring down towards his mouth.

  I am still feeling funny; legs full of jelly, dizzy like I have been on a mad rollercoaster and I want to lie down and go to sleep. She doesn’t care about that though.

  I hate Mrs Genner; she’s the Deputy Head and she’s the strictest teacher in the school. She’s got hair that looks like the brillo pad mum uses on the pans and when she looks at me it feels like she’s punching me with her eyes.

  ‘Richard Banks- take yourself to Mrs Wilkes’ office and wait for me there,’ she says. ‘When I have got Scott sorted out I will be ringing your parents.’

  Mrs Wilkes is the Head Teacher, she’s not as scary as Mrs Genner but she is very posh. Outside of her office there’s this big, black leather sofa that you have to sit on while you wait and your legs stick to it and when you move it makes a noise like a fart.

  Farts are really funny, they make me giggle, and I am trying not to laugh when Mrs Wilkes comes out of her office and sees me.

  ‘Do you really think it’s funny to scare other children?’ she asks.

  I have to think of something sad really quick so I remember when Dad was really poorly and it was scary and I was really sad.

  ‘Sorry Mrs Wilkes,’ I say.

  I am sorry. I am really sorry, but I’m sure exactly what I have done or said this time to frighten Scott. I know I have told him about his dog but then I went into the mist and I have no idea what had happened after that. It must have been bad though ‘cos I have never known Scott wet himself before, not even when the animal man came in to school and we had to hold a tarantula and Scott is really scared of spiders.

  I can hear Mrs Genner’s shoes clopping down the corridor, they are going really fast and I know that means she is still really mad with me.

  And then she comes around the corner and her eyes punch me all the way down the corridor.

  ‘Wait there and don’t move.’ She looks really cross as she goes to walk past me into the office. ‘I am going to phone your parents to come and collect you.’

  I have been sent home before and it makes Mum sad. Dad gets very angry, not with me, with the school, and I hate it ‘cos it makes everything bad again, like it used to be when Dad was really ill.

  ‘Please miss, do I have to go home?’ I ask. ‘Can I say sorry to Scott and promise to be good?’

  ‘You can’t say sorry to Scott, he has had to go home because he feels so bad because of what you did. He will probably be off sick for the rest of the week, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘But can I stay in school? If you tell me what I did maybe I can promise not to do it again?’

  Mrs Genner’s face goes purple then, not red, and her bullet eyes are popping like a machine gun.

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what you did young man,’ she says. ‘And as for maybe you can promise, well, I’ve never heard the like. You need to go home and give some serious thought to this silly behaviour of yours before you find yourself being permanently excluded.’


  Nobody comes out to me so I just sit on the farty sofa and wait

  It seems ages until the secretary comes up to get me ‘cos Mum and Dad are here.

  When I get close to the school entrance I can hear Dad’s angry voice.

  ‘I want to see that woman, I don’t care how busy she is.’

  And the receptionist sounds as angry as Dad when she says;

  ‘You have to make an appointment. There is no other way.’

  When they see me coming down the corridor Mum and Dad start to walk towards me and the receptionist shuts the glass hatch quickly with a bang.

  Normally I like the smell and feel of the soft black leather seats in the back of Dad’s car but I don’t even notice them; I just sit and stare out of the window as we drive through the town. There are lots of women shopping and a few men and some little kids. Nobody my age though ‘cos they are all in school, all except me of course.

  The back of Dad’s neck is as red as Mrs Genner’s face had been and he is swearing a lot at the other drivers. Mum just cries. She does it really quietly, but I can still hear her.

  ‘I’m sorry Mum. I’m sorry Dad.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry Son, it’s not your fault.’ Dad’s voice is a bit shaky but I don’t think he is crying.

  Mum pushes her arm back over her seat and grabs hold of my hand, she squeezes it so tight it hurts my fingers but I don’t say anything, ‘cos I don’t want her to let go.

  Rae

  I remember the day before Richard entered my life – strangely it was a pretty normal day for me, no indication that things were about to go crazy.

  That morning I was in a meeting at North Road Secondary and it was tense.

  Every eye in the room was focused on the pimply face of the fifteen year old boy as we waited for his response to the question. I was actually holding my breath and my heart felt like it was exploding inside my ribcage.

  Silently I willed him with all my might to answer in the way we had rehearsed. ‘Go on Jack’ I thought. ‘Give him the works; full apology, a promise to improve, maybe a little shake in the voice as you say it.’

  Just at that moment a stream of strong wintery sunlight broke through the window of the gloomy school office and, as if powered by the solar burst, Jack spoke: ‘No, I’m not sorry, he’s a wanker and I’d hit him again if he deserved it.’

  I released my breath with a deep sinking feeling knowing that, with these words, young Jack had just sealed his educational fate.

  The Head Teacher raised his glasses to rest on the top of his greying hair, rose from his seat behind his leather topped desk and drew himself to his full height. In a voice that was slightly trembling with an anger and frustration he was too professional to express, he uttered the immortal sentence: ‘In that case you leave me with no option but to permanently exclude you from my school.’

  Seething with frustration I headed my silver Ford back in the direction of the Education office. After months of taking constant verbal digs at Jack the science teacher had gone on to totally humiliate him in front of the whole year group and Jack had snapped and struck out at him on an instant impulse. Of course that didn’t make it the right thing to do, but I could understand the sheer frustration of the youngster. I met with him a few times and made sure he realised that if he wanted to stay in school and take his exams he was going to have to play the game.

  When it came to it though it seemed that Jack’s outraged sense of fair play had proved stronger than his desire to finish his education.

  ‘Bloody hell Jack,’ I said aloud, slapping the steering wheel, ‘now you’ve let him win, you twit.’

  ‘Did you smell the coffee pot?’ Pam called out from the small office kitchen.

  Pam carried out all of the administration work for our small department with the regimentation of a sergeant major. She had the most amazing memory for every small detail and was often referred to, with affection, as “the Oracle.”

  She was a slight woman with a mass of curly dark hair and an olive complexion and deep brown eyes that gave her a Mediterranean look. In truth she was native to Eadstone, as her flat Midlands accent confirmed whenever she spoke.

  ‘How did your meeting go?’ she asked.

  As I dropped down into my office chair I had a sudden flashback to the shocked expression on the faces of the adults in the Head’s office and felt the slow warmth of a smile touching the corners of my mouth.

  ‘Well, he told Archie Smith that Mr Beddington is a wanker and he would hit him again.’

  ‘I’ll be expecting the exclusion data through later then, shall I?’ Pam said as she placed a mug of strong black coffee in front of me. ‘Oh, Carol Wilkes rang for you, she wants you to call her back as soon as possible. Said something about needing some advice about a year five pupil, but that was all she would say.’

  ‘I’ll ring her back tomorrow morning now,’ I said.

  I’d like to be able to say that something mystical told me that something major was about to occur and that I was postponing the awful moment by deciding not to ring her back that day. Truth is though, it was nothing of the kind.

  Carol Wilkes was the Head of one of the “nicer” primary schools in Eadstone and someone I had only come across at Local Authority events. She always wore designer suits, expensive perfume and an air of authority that made me feel about three feet tall. And that was the only reason that I put off calling her back that day.

  ………….

  Lifting the hatchback of my car I stood well back to allow the heaving flurry of golden retriever to zoom past me as Barney sprang out into the woods.

  Barney was the best thing to happen to me in years; he was always really pleased to see me when I got home from work, his lanky legs flying over the laminate flooring like Bambi learning to walk as he rushed to say hello. I would bury my face in his soft golden mane and breathe in the warm earthy scent of him.

  Because of him I went on regular long walks that were good for the soul and the body, and when it was time to settle down for the evening, he was there, lying right by me.

  As long as I fed him on time he never made demands of me, I never had to worry about what mood he would be in that day and he agreed with everything I said.

  Owning a dog had allowed me entry into another world; the select world of regular dog walkers. Walking at the same time in the same place you recognise others doing the same thing. The peculiar thing is that there is a definite etiquette involved in these meetings. Greeting each other by way of the time of day was compulsory, Good Morning, Good Afternoon, Good Evening, and then any further conversation must be based around the animals and then may possibly move on to include the weather. It was good form to ask the name and age of the dog but not the name of the owner. I spoke with several people on a regular basis but knew them only as “the lady with Mack” or “the man with Suzi.’ It was a strange world really, but I liked it because it was totally accepting and non-threatening.

  By the time I got home I was only thinking about the chicken casserole simmering in the slow-cooker and the half bottle of white wine in the fridge, to be followed by a long soak in a hot bath and pair of clean pyjamas.

  But, of course, the next morning I could no longer put off ringing Carol Wilkes.

  ‘Thank you for calling me back so promptly.’ Carol always spoke quietly and clearly enunciated every letter of her words. She had one of those accent less voices that always made me suspect that elocution lessons had removed all trace of true origin.

  I wasn’t absolutely sure if the “prompt response” remark was genuine or a dig at the fact that I hadn’t returned the call yesterday but decided to assume it was the former.

  ‘How can I help you Carol?’

  ‘It’s a difficult situation I have here Rae,’ the Head said. ‘To be honest I would rather discuss it face to face if you could possibly spare the
time to come over?’

  ‘I could come this afternoon if that’s useful?’

  ‘That would be fantastic. Thank you.’

  What on earth could it be that would send the assured Mrs Wilkes into such a state that she didn’t feel she could discuss it on the telephone? My curiosity was raised but

  I didn’t have time to think too deeply about it then as I was due at the home of Ryan Jones, a young man suspended for setting off a fire alarm during exams and bringing the whole school to a standstill, not to mention having two fire engines turn up at the school gate.

  The borough of Eadstone is made up of three small towns and a village and lies in the heart of the Midlands. The heart of the borough is the town of Eadstone, a black and grey landscape that was once a bustling market town flanked by heavy industry. The town had been brought to its knees by economic changes and the High Street had no market anymore, just a large number of pound shops scattered in between the many charity shops. This long and winding poverty row was broken only by the inclusion of a chemist and a bank.

  Away from the High Street the cottages that used to house the factory workers are now home to council tenants and those industrial buildings that remain are mostly boarded up. The Education department and other municipal services are housed on the edge of this town in Victorian buildings that probably used to belong to the factory owners in days gone by.

  Just east of Eadstone is the village of Toftwood which contains the small forest that gave it its name. My little two bedroomed cottage is just on the edge of this village. The roads of Toftwood go winding passed green fields and small houses, a small primary school and a row of shops before emerging into Eadstone.

  The narrow road out of Eadstone Town rises steadily and, just over the brow of the hill lies a rambling spread of new build red brick houses, all with middle of the range family cars gleaming on the paved driveways. This self-contained housing estate makes up eighty percent of the town of Springhill and it is also home to Springhill Primary, Carol Wilkes’ school.