‘During the activity day, Nelly convinced another girl to act as a physical bridge between two chairs so that she could reach her seat without touching the floor.’
‘It’s a touch of OCD. No harm meant.’
‘We don’t think pupils should walk across each other.’
‘It sounds as if Nelly was being creative, innovative, and bold. Three of your golden skills.’
‘At the expense of understanding, kindness and empathy.’
‘Did you see her wonderful dolphin?’
‘No, I did not.’
‘She’s an extraordinarily talented and creative child.’
‘I’m concerned about her behaviour, Mrs Rook. My teachers are concerned. I’ve not yet had the report from her primary school, but she’s been flagged.’
‘Flagged?’
‘They haven’t been specific, but along with our observations, I have to be perfectly honest and tell you that Nelly is not the right sort of girl for Adams.’
‘She’s an Adams girl through and through,’ I say, knowing that Nelly is nothing of the sort but now feeling strongly that they deserve her.
‘Now, I have a meeting to attend.’
‘She’s a child. She has so much to learn. What if I made a significant donation?’ I say, opening my bag.
‘No, no, no... Mrs Rook, please.’
‘Happy to contribute. If Adams needs a new brass plaque to celebrate your commitment to child well-being, or perhaps I could pay the cleaning bill for the girl’s clothes – please let me do my part.’
‘Mrs Rook, it’s not in Nelly’s best interests to go through to the second-round assessment. Nelly would find the rules and approach here too challenging.’
‘Education’s all about being challenged. I want to know my daughter’s true capabilities,’ I say as earnestly as I can, but the woman is made of stone.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Rook.’
‘I need a tissue,’ I say and open my bag. I rummage and take out my compact mirror and place it on the desk, then my purse, a packet of Nurofen Express, mascara, hand sanitizer, and a 16-ounce claw hammer.
‘Aha,’ I say, pulling out a small packet of Kleenex from the bottom of my bag. ‘The tissues.’
I proceed to take out and unfold a tissue as the headmistress’s bright blue eyes focus on the hammer sitting on her desk, the steel claw shining in the late sunlight from her beautiful, mullioned windows.
‘You know what I think?’ I say, dabbing the corner of my eyes as I’ve seen people do whose eyes have become moistened with tears (mine are bone-dry). ‘I think that children like Nelly need the understanding of the best people.’
I take my things up from her desk and return them to my bag, one by one. The hammer is the last item. I pick it up and feel its weight in my hand.
‘I, too, had phases as a child,’ I say, pointing the hammer at the headmistress. ‘Phases when I acted a little outside of the norm, but my school provided me with the love and attention I needed and, because of that, I was able to succeed.’
She gives me that inscrutable look she’s so fond of bandying around. I’m not sure she believes my lies but she says nothing.
‘So I ask, do you have it in your heart to give this gifted child the benefit of the doubt?’ I say.
‘I don’t think so,’ she says softly, pushing her chair back from the desk.
I stand up before she has a chance to get to her feet and peer down at her, the hammer hanging loosely and swinging gently to and fro. Her eyes watch it, like a cat tracking a piece of wool.My grip tightens around the rubber handle and the hammer stops. I lift it to shoulder height.
It might look as though I’m about to strike, or simply using the hammer as a point of emphasis. The headmistress has a short time to discern which it is, and my unblinking gaze is probably not helping.
