I Hear You Calling Read online

  I drove through the gates of Springhill and performed the usual 75 point turn manoeuvre involved in trying to park your car in a small school car park.

  Springhill Primary was reflective of its surrounding neighbourhood; a smart modern red brick building with lots of windows and shiny bright paintwork it was surrounded by tall trees and mature shrubs. Everywhere screamed cleanliness and “cared for” unlike a lot of the schools in other areas of the borough.

  An immaculately coiffured receptionist sat behind a beech wood desk and efficiently took my details before asking me to sign in to the visitor’s book. This was a procedure that I went through many times in a week but, often, the book in question was an old ledger with curling up pages and usually a hunt took place for a pen that worked. Springhill’s book was bound in dark green leather engraved with the school’s logo and had a matching Parker pen attached to it by a chain.

  Large colour photographs of school activities had been reproduced onto canvas and were displayed with great taste around the walls. There were 4 black leather armchairs arranged around a large coffee table that contained glossy literature extolling the virtues of being “a member of the Springhill community.” In the distance I could hear the excited, happy chatter of a class of children having their P.E lesson in the hall. The sound of their voices made me smile. Always being a studious, booky type of kid I had hated P.E myself but when I was teaching I realised that most kids actually love the chance to get out of the classroom and run around.

  I had no idea where she appeared from but suddenly the slim frame of Carol Wilkes was standing in front of me. She wore a grey Armani suit with a pale blue shirt. Her auburn bob had not a hair out of place and, as usual, she smelled of something very expensive. I was very conscious of my Marks and Sparks outfit and what little remained of my morning spray of Eau de Cheap.

  ‘Rae,’ she smiled, holding out her hand. ‘Thank you for coming. Please come through to my office.’

  And that is when I first heard the name of Richard Banks.

  ‘I really am not sure how to handle the situation I am finding we have here,’ she began. ‘It is all to do with Richard Banks, a young boy in year 5, who is causing us a great deal of problems and seriously affecting other pupils.’

  She paused at this point as the coffee was brought into the room.

  I opened my trusty notepad and prepared to make the list of misdemeanours that I was usually given at this point.

  ‘OK. So what exactly is this young man doing?’

  There was a slight pause before Carol answered. ‘What he is doing is scaring half of my pupils to death,’ she said. ‘But I guess it’s more a case of what he is saying that you are really looking to know.’

  I raised my eyes from the notebook and met the troubled gaze of the other woman; ‘OK, what is he saying?’ I asked warily.

  Usually, “verbal offences” (as I had come to call them) consisted of bad language and explicit sexual references. In the case of a child so young these would be very worrying and might well suggest that a Children’s Services referral needed to be made to investigate any possible abuse that might be taking place.

  Her face looked like she had been sucking a lemon that been soaking in vinegar for a day beforehand when she answered.

  ‘He is telling pupils that he is talking with dead people.’

  She paused to allow the impact of her statement fall on me and sipped at her coffee for a moment.

  I stayed perfectly still with my pen poised ready to strike but not knowing what to actually write. This was a new one on me.

  I looked at Carol with what I hoped was an unsurprised professional expression and encouraged her to continue.

  ‘The children are scared by the things he says, he talks about things that nine year old children just don’t talk about. He is obsessed with death and dying and he is now also upsetting some of the staff.’

  ‘Have you talked with him and asked him to stop?’ I asked, having learned that sometimes the most obvious course of action was the last to be taken.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Carol’s face tightened with impatience and her previous controlled demeanour returned. ‘Of course we have. He just looks at you with this superior expression and says that he is unable to stop. This, it appears, is his mission.’ At this point her perfectly waxed eyebrows rose upwards.

  ‘Mission,’ she repeated quietly with a shake of her head.

  She took another mouthful of coffee before saying, ‘Children are going home and telling their parents what Richard is saying and, naturally, every morning now I am being greeted with complaints from them at the school gate before school even begins.

  And then yesterday we had the bathroom incident and that is when I decided to call you.’

  ‘The bathroom incident?’

  Reaching into the blue folder on the desk in front of her Carol withdrew a sheet of paper and passed it over to me. ‘Read for yourself.’

  The sheet that she handed to me was a copy of an entry in the school’s behaviour log. I picked up my coffee to drink as I read a child’s account of an incident that had happened the day before.

  Springhill Primary School Behaviour Log – 23/4/14

  Statement given to Mrs Wilkes by Scott Makin, following the incident with Richard Banks

  Me and Richard were splashing water over each other when we were washing the brushes – he started it and then I splashed him back and we were both laughing and it was fun. Then he went and did that thing again – you know, that thing where he starts talking all weird about dead dogs and people. He told me that Gypsy was there in the toilets with us, and Grandad as well. I told him to shut up ‘cos I didn’t like it but he carried on anyway.

  And then, he went really mad, his eyes closed and this stuff came out of his nose, like white stuff, spooky stuff. It wasn’t snot or anything like that, it was horrible. And the whole washroom went really cold, it was like being in a freezer.

  And then he started talking to me but he sounded like my Grandad, and I don’t know how he did it ‘cos he never heard my Grandad talking, but he copied his voice really good.

  I got really scared and told him to stop it but he started walking towards me and saying ‘Scotty, it’s me, your Grandad.’

  I thought he was a zombie.

  He put his arms and hands out in front of him and tried to grab hold of me. I thought he was going to strangle me so I screamed and that’s when Mrs Genner heard me and came

  in. Richard’s really nice when he doesn’t do that weird stuff but my mum says I can’t play with him any more now.

  I re-read the account in the hope that it would make more sense and that I would have a flash of inspiration as to what to say next. It didn’t really help but at least Carol would see that I was taking her concerns seriously.

  ‘And what do Richard’s parents say about this?’ I asked, clutching at straws whilst I waited for inspiration.

  A pained grimace crossed Carol’s face, ‘They are the main reason I have asked you to become involved. They see no problem with Richard’s behaviour and at times Mr Banks, Richard’s father, has become most abusive towards me. His mother strikes me as a bit of a mouse of a woman who goes along with everything her husband says. I am really in a dilemma. As your records will show Rae we do not exclude at Springhill, normally we have no reason to,’ she looked slightly smug at this point I thought.

  ‘However, if things continue as they are we may have no choice.’

  She spoke now in a sad quiet tone that made me feel very bad about my earlier judgement. It was obvious that Carol found this whole thing painful and really did not know what to do.

  ‘Would you like me to talk to the parents?’ I asked.

  For the first time Carol smiled. ‘I would very much like that,’ she answered quickly. ‘I am hoping that when they see that the Local Authority is involved th
ey may finally realise that it is a serious matter and then, maybe, they will join with me in persuading Richard to stop what he is doing and saying. I am also hoping that you will persuade them to seek medical help for his mental health.’

  Glad to have something to offer I readily agreed to this plan but even then something was telling me that I might well be out of my depth on this one.

  Richard

  So, I go back into school the next day and try to find Scott in the playground to tell him I am sorry. He’s not there and his cousin, Harry in year six, says that Scott is not coming back ‘cos he is scared of me. Harry sort of growls at me and says that he would hit me if he could but he doesn’t think I am worth getting excluded over. Then he spits on the ground in front of me and walks away.

  Everybody must know what happened ‘cos nobody wants to talk to me and I am really glad when the bell goes for lessons.

  At playtime I tried to stop in the classroom but the teacher made me go outside.

  Our school playground is massive, it has a football pitch and a tennis court and a play activity area and a quiet garden area, with benches and flowers and stuff like that. I usually play on the climbing stuff in the activity area or on the football pitch but now I am sitting on the bench in the quiet garden area trying not to cry.

  I can just about see Daniel chasing after some year three girls and they are screaming like they are scared. They’re not really scared though, it’s all just part of the game. The game that they wouldn’t let me play.

  ‘Go away,’ Dan had shouted when I tried to join in. ‘Go away, weirdo.’

  The girls had all laughed and then they all started shouting after me, ‘Weirdo, weirdo, weirdo.’

  Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a weirdo and that I could play with the other kids like I used to and not have them run away and stuff. But sometimes I like being a weirdo, like when Dad says, “Richard you are so special. You are going to be a really important person.” I like that and I like it when Dad smiles a lot. He used to be a really important person, Dad used to be a big boss until he was poorly.

  My Mum used to be a chef and she makes us great things to eat, especially cakes and puddings. My Dad says that when he was at school he got picked on as well, people called him Ginger nut and stuff. Mum says his hair isn’t ginger, its strawberry blonde, just like mine.

  And then I hear Solly’s deep voice in my ear.

  ‘Hello Solly.’

  ‘It will all be ok in the end,’ he tells me.

  I want to ask him when and how but then the bell rings and all the kids go to line up to go back into class; they look like a million little ants scurrying across the playground and then joining the long lines waiting to go in.

  I know that I should go as well but I can’t while Solly is still with me.

  ‘I have to go now,’ I tell him.

  But he is still there.

  ‘Go away, you’ll get me into trouble.’ I can feel my lip beginning to shake and I am getting really scared. If he stays with me then I might start giving messages in class or something and get into more trouble.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ I shout out loud, just as Mrs Granger comes over to see what I am doing.

  ‘Richard Banks, did you not hear the bell?’

  ‘See, now you’ve done it again,’ I tell Solly. And I am so angry with him that I say that out loud too.

  ‘Just what have I done?’ Miss Granger puts her face very close to mine and I can see the hairs in her nostrils and smell coffee on her breath.

  ‘Nothing Miss….go away…’ I put my hands over my ears to shut out the noise of Solly’s voice.

  Mrs Wilkes is not happy with me. I know that ‘cos she has told me so at least ten times in the last half - hour. She wants me to tell her why I told Mrs Granger to go away and she won’t believe me when I tell her that I didn’t.

  Mrs Wilkes takes off her glasses and lets out a long breath and then she says;

  ‘Are you saying that Mrs Granger is lying when she says you shouted “go away”?

  ‘Not lying Mrs Wilkes,’ I say. ‘I did say it, but to someone else, not to her.’

  ‘That is hardly likely Richard, seeing that Mrs Granger said you were alone in the quiet garden.’

  I know she won’t like it but I have to tell her, otherwise she will think I was being rude to a teacher.

  ‘Solly was there. I said go away to Solly, not Mrs Granger.’

  Mrs Wilkes’ face goes very red then and she slams her glasses back on so hard I think she might have broken her nose.

  ‘Not Solly again,’ she says. ‘Go back to class Richard.’

  I think Mrs Wilkes works very hard, she sounds very tired today.

  We are doing history that afternoon, about the Victorians, and Mrs Granger makes Daniel work with me to research information from the internet. He won’t speak to me much to begin with but then he is OK. I want to tell him how mad and sad he had made me when he wouldn’t play with me earlier but I think he might get nasty again so I don’t say anything about it.

  Mrs Granger is really pleased with our work, she says we made a good pair. I look at Daniel and smile and he smiles back at me.

  But then, as we are getting our coats and bags to go home he punches me in the side and calls me weirdo again.

  Rae

  The Banks’ family home was a typical modern red brick semi-detached house in a leafy cul-de-sac in Spring Hill. As I walked slowly up the path I was psyching myself up to be firm; from what Carol had told me about the parents I felt I would be best to take the stern authoritarian stance.

  The front lawn was well kept but pretty bland with just a few shrubs in the borders and a small picket fence enclosing it. The house itself looked well cared for, with a gleaming white front door and cream vertical blinds at all of the windows.

  I heard the tune to “You are my Sunshine” burst through the hallway as I pressed the doorbell.

  Janet Banks had a mass of blonde hair with flicks and curls that took me back to the seventies. Her small frame was dressed smartly in black trousers and a pale pink shirt, the open neckline of which revealed a few creases in her skin that suggested she was maybe older than the late thirties I would otherwise have put her at.

  She smiled as she led me through the small hallway and into the sitting room.

  ‘My husband is just putting something away in the garden shed,’ she said. ‘He will be with us in a minute. Can I get you a cup of tea?’

  I was alone in the small sitting room long enough to take in its tidiness and calm beige and brown theme. I really hadn’t known what I was expecting but this very ordinary reception from a very ordinary woman in a very ordinary house probably wasn’t it! Partly relieved to not be in the house of Satan that I had been imagining, there was a sneaky little part of me that had to admit to being a little disappointed.

  Christopher Banks was a stocky man with sleek red hair and eyes that were the most piercing shade of blue that I had ever seen outside of an advert for coloured contact lenses. He entered the sitting-room and reached out his large hand to grasp mine in an extremely firm shake.

  ‘Thank you for coming.’ His voice was low and I detected a faint hint of a Scottish accent. ‘It’s really good to have someone to help us with this school.’

  ‘I will certainly do my best to help clear this up,’ I told him, wiggling my fingers a little to try to get the circulation going again after his vice- like grip.

  When I had mentally rehearsed this scene (which I had done several times over the last couple of days) I began the conversation by firmly stating that their son’s behaviour was totally unacceptable in a school and also very worrying. In reality, however, I didn’t get a chance to speak. Chris took the stage the second he released my hand.

  ‘You see, Richard has the gift,’ he said. ‘From three years old we have seen it in him. Ev
ery year it gets stronger and just now it is increasing every day.’

  Janet nodded in silent agreement, just as Carol had told me she did when her husband spoke.

  ‘It’s a gift that needs nourishing and encouraging, he needs to be proud of it, not ashamed,’ Chris concluded.

  ‘He is a very special little boy,’ his mother said. ‘We are privileged to have been chosen to be his parents.’

  Usually when I meet parents they start off by saying “Now, I know my son’s no angel but…..”

  These people seemed to be saying the exact opposite and they told me this stuff in such matter of fact terms that, as I was listening, I was desperately wondering how I was going to bring this story back around to life amongst us every day folk! They were clearly not quite normal in their thinking and I would have to find a way in that would bring them back to earth without upsetting or offending them.

  “I have spoken with Mrs Wilkes,” I began.

  “That woman.” Chris sprang up from his seat. ‘She is bigoted and downright rude.’ ‘She won’t listen to us’ Janet said quietly. ‘She is so sure that her way is the only way.’

  ‘She does have a school to run,’ I reminded them. ‘She has legal obligations and responsibilities towards all of the pupils in her care.’

  “Exactly, ALL of the children, including my boy.” Chris’ Scottish accent was much more pronounced now.

  I knew that I had to keep calm and sound totally non-judgemental if I was going to make any headway here at all but at the same time this couple had to see reason.

  ‘As I understand it,’ I tried again, ‘Richard is upsetting the other children and so, obviously, the Head has to act on their behalf.’