‘J, Isla’s teacher is on the line,’ Nadine calls, before sticking her head round the door. ‘Miss Miles?’ She clocks the tense atmosphere. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but she says it’s urgent.’
Ward gestures to take the call in his office.
‘What’s happened?’ I ask anxiously down the phone.
‘We’ve had an incident with Isla. She wanted to run away from school this afternoon. You need to get here, as soon as possible.’
‘Go,’ Ward says, when I put the telephone down. ‘Isla needs you.’
Never before has a tube journey taken so long. The train, of course, has to stop at various stations, with yet another apology for the delay, due to a signal failure.
I hail a cab from Hammersmith down to Brook Green. I shove a note into the driver’s hand and don’t bother to wait for the change. I race across the school grounds, towards the double front doors, into a hallway, left towards the headmistress’s office. A few children are walking up and down the corridors, books in their hands. I knock on Miss Miles’s door, open it before she can say, ‘Come in.’
‘Where is she?’ I ask.
Miss Miles approaches me, shakes my hand. ‘Isla’s fine, she’s with a member of staff.’ Miss Miles has short dark hair, a warm open face and a soft Scottish accent. ‘I wanted to have a word with you before I call her in.’
I establish from Miss Miles that Gemma was furious that Isla had sent a text message to one of Gemma’s best friends, asking her over for tea. Miss Miles shows me the message Gemma had sent back to Isla:‘Don’t come near my friends or text them or else, you crippel.’
‘That’s awful,’ I say, my voice flaring. ‘It’s unkind, it’s…’
‘Miss Wild, we agree. We do not tolerate bullying or discrimination in any shape or form.’
‘So, what are you going to do about it?’
‘I’ll come on to that in a minute.’ Miss Miles goes on to tell me that during netball Isla had fallen over just as she was about to attempt to shoot the ball through the net. She had tripped up over her laces. Gemma had jeered and pointed at her, encouraging the others on her team to do the same, saying, ‘You see, sheishandicapped!’
‘Where was the teacher?’ I demand.
‘This all happened in a matter of seconds, Miss Wild. Have no doubt, we will be informing Gemma’s parents of the incident and telling them why she is getting some time in isolation.’
‘Is that all? Time off lessons? Sounds like a reward.’
‘She will be given a long period of isolation to think about what she has done. Our letter will be a written warning telling them that if she ever does this again, there will be severe consequences, but at this stage we want to talk to Gemma to help her to understand that what she’s saying to Isla is wrong and hurtful.’
When Isla is called in to Miss Miles’s office, she’s tearful.
‘Isla, I was telling your mother that we are taking this matter seriously because we want to ensure it doesn’t happen again. Do you understand?’
Isla nods.
Everything that happened between Ward and me, my disaster of a day, pales into insignificance when Isla clings on to me, a frightened girl who doesn’t want to let me go. And I won’t let her go. For a split second I feel close to tears, missing Granny and her support desperately, but also my mother, whose absence in my life has left me feeling never quite whole.
25
Later that night Lizzie comes over for supper. While Isla is massaging her shoulders in our kitchen, a tactic to stay up later, I am making fish pie.
As I mash the potato, I think about this afternoon. After our meeting with Miss Miles, we’d come home and made ourselves a mug of hot chocolate before watching some television, snuggled up together with Spud. She seemed happier when I told her that we were going to Grandad’s for the weekend. While I packed, Isla had a bath in her swimming costume. It was the first time she hadn’t wanted me to see her naked. I’d imagined it was partly due to an awareness that her body is slowly changing, but I also sensed, deep down, it had something to do with games lessons and Gemma. Gently pushed, Isla confided that Gemma and her friends keep on telling her that she’s flat. ‘Here, Mummy,’ she’d said, touching her chest. ‘Like a pancake.’ It had reminded me of the days when I’d stuffed socks down my cotton bra. ‘You have plenty of time, Isla,’ I’d assured her, wanting to throttle that girl now. ‘Don’t let the things Gemma says worry you. If she ever says something nasty again think of your favourite song, or your favourite place and take yourself there. But if she upsets you always,always,tell a teacher and me.’
I’m brought back to the moment when my oven timer rings. Isla is telling Lizzie that she has decided she wants to run a massage and hairdressing salon when she’s older. ‘That feels great,’ Lizzie sighs with pretend pleasure. ‘Now I’m sure it’s Mum’s turn for a back rub.’
‘Can I do your hair, Lizzie?’
Before Lizzie can reply Isla is brushing her hair, Lizzie trying hard not to squeal as her head is yanked back, the brush caught on tangles.
When Lizzie’s hair is plaited to death, along with a pigtail sticking out at both sides because Isla became frustrated with how long it was all taking, Lizzie looks in the mirror and turns from one side to another. ‘I could go on a date with George Clooney,’ she says, trying not to laugh. But it’s too late. She does laugh. And so do I. And so does Isla. We can’t stop laughing and after the day we’ve had, it’s a golden moment.
Later that night, Lizzie leans against Isla’s bedroom door, watching as I kneel down by her bed and stroke her hair. Isla has been tearful again, partly because she didn’t want to go to bed; mainly because she feels sad and lonely because of what’s happening to her at school. I don’t want Isla to dread putting on her uniform; I don’t want her to fear Monday mornings just as I used to. I want her to feel happy, safe, loved.
