Aisha’s eldest zooms out of the classroom next, side-swerves his mother, leaps up the grassy bank, barges into another boy, and starts wrestling. We watch to see if this is an act of camaraderie or a vicious assault. A moment later, the two boys are kicking a ball against a wall together and all is well.
No sign of Nelly. She’s six years old but won’t be rushed, even by a teacher. I think being last helps her to avoid other children. She finds friendship difficult, as I did at her age.
Nelly finally walks out holding the one thing in the world that she seems to love, an ageing blue-eyed doll with a filthy gingham dress and a fixed expression, which has been passed from mother to daughter. A visible bond between us.
Her teacher follows her over to me, which is unusual as they do tend to keep their distance since my animated lecture to Nelly’s previous teacher on why she deserved to be at the top table despite her poor showing in maths tests.
I turn swiftly to make my escape. I not only want to avoid small talk, I have a lot to do before Stephen gets home for Nathan’s family party.
‘I wonder if we might have a word,’ says Miss Hammond. She’s wearing a shapeless corduroy smock dress. The floral embroidery on the collar is the only sign of life I can see.
‘About?’ I say.
‘About Nelly.’
‘I think we should make a fast getaway,’ a smirking Sophie says to Aisha.
‘What about her?’ I watch Sophie making a crucifix symbol behind Miss Hammond’s head and smile. Miss Hammond glares at me disapprovingly, then looks down at Nelly.
‘We had a little accident today, didn’t we, Nelly?’
My daughter stares up at her teacher, her angelic expression devoid of understanding.
‘Do you remember what happened in class? Do you want to tell your mummy?’
Nelly shrugs.
Miss Hammond turns to me. ‘There was an incident with the class hamster.’
Nelly has decided to appear nonchalant, and starts swinging her hips and rocking her doll in her arms.
‘I might need a private word with Mummy, Nelly. Can you play?’
We watch Nelly wander off to a bench, sit down alone, and place her doll beside her as a kaleidoscope of children in colourful coats cascade all around her.
‘So, Miss Hammond, I’m glad of the opportunity to speak. I wanted to ask if you could set Nelly some more demanding homework. Her entrance exam for Adams Prep is approaching at pace.’
‘Please call me Rosie,’ she says, which I won’t. ‘And Nelly doesn’t do any of her homework, which I’ve mentioned a number of times.’
‘She throws her homework in the bin because it’s too easy for her,’ I say. ‘That’s at the root of her behavioural challenges. Nelly is not like other children.’
‘Well, yes, I can see that,’ she says in a tone that is close to the bone. My guts churn. I know what it’s like to be locked away from opportunity and friendship just because your mind works differently, and I don’t want that for Nelly.
‘Praise works. But she’s thick-skinned, so you have to praise her wildly for minimal effort.’
‘Mrs Rook. I don’t know how else to say this. Your daughter drowned the class hamster.’
‘But she loves animals.’
‘She filled the art sink with water, put the hamster in it, and just walked away.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s hardly the fault of a child if a hamster can’t swim.’
‘I found it floating there,’ says Miss Hammond.
‘Just to be clear, she made it a swimming pool, presumably in the belief that the hamster would enjoy it. Nelly loves swimming.’
‘Hamsters don’t.’
