Watson - A Stolen Childhood

What Lies Beneath. That was the name of the film, wasnt it? The one where the wife thinks shes seeing things that arent there? As titles went, it was a good one for a psychological thriller. But though it would soon strike a chilling chord with me for professional reasons, right now I was oblivious of what lay in store, so it came to mind for more practical ones. I was busy digging digging deep into my capacious school satchel, to see if what lay beneath in this case was a pen that actually worked.

It was touch and go whether Id have any success. In fact, it was an action that, at times, put me in mind of one of those celebrities in the jungle plunging a hand into a black hole while being blindfold. It was a very big satchel and there was a great deal of stuff generally at the bottom of it, which was par for the course given the nature of my job. You know what? I said to Kelly, my sometime assistant, having turfed out half the contents in order to find one, you would think that after all this time, someone would finally work out how to operate the heating system in this place, wouldnt you? Its not exactly rocket science, after all.

It was mid-morning break and Kelly and I, along with a lot of the other teaching staff, were spending it in the staff-room not just so we could warm ourselves up a bit with hot drinks, but so we could retrieve any extra clothing we might have in our lockers.

It was only the beginning of March, but it was almost as if all the radiators in the place somehow knew that the weathermen had announced that morning that it was officially the first day of spring. They had then apparently decided in unison that they should break down, quite possibly for the entire season. This in turn meant that the school was already going into the usual cold weather meltdown, with key staff bustling about the place bearing thermometers and recording temperatures, while the children always quick to sniff an opportunity on the breeze, particularly a chilly one could already be heard up and down the corridors making plans for a possible early exit, if there were insufficient degrees Celsius for them to be allowed to stay.

Its not boiler science either, Kelly told me. Not on this occasion, anyway. I just saw Donald on the way up here and he said its not the boilers. Apparently someone turned the whole system off over the weekend by mistake and its just taking a long time to kick in again. Still, she said, grabbing a biscuit from the half-opened packet on the table in front of us, didnt Ranulph Fiennes say that when its really cold you burn loads of extra calories through shivering? So thats fine by me. Custard cream?

Her enthusiasm for trying to force-feed me biscuits aside, Kelly Vickers was a godsend in my working life. One of the schools 20 or so teaching assistants, she was assigned, first and foremost, to help me as and when required in my role as the schools Behaviour Manager. Ours was a busy inner-city comprehensive, big enough to have a specialised behaviour unit (well, to us, just the Unit) where my job was all about helping the various children who, for one reason or another, couldnt cope effectively in mainstream classes. It was a veritable mixed bag of reasons, as well, including children who were in danger of being excluded, those who had problems in school (be they academic and/or social) and kids who were struggling because of problems at home something that naturally tended to impact on a childs progress and well-being.

The diversity of my pupils needs meant that no day was ever just like another and, unlike most of the mainstream teachers, who had clear curriculum-based briefs, I couldnt plan too far ahead because I never knew from one day to the next just who I might have in my classroom.

Today, though, I was completely child-free. Well, I hope they sort it out soon, I said, declining the proffered biscuit packet and reaching for my coffee, or well have a hard time engaging our new brood tomorrow, wont we? I dont think theres anything moodier than a kid thats too hot or too cold.

Kelly nodded as she cupped her own plastic vending-machine cup. Have they told you whos coming in yet?

I shook my head. What with all the kerfuffle over the heating, my scheduled meeting with Julia Styles, the schools Special Educational Needs Co-ordinator (or SENCO) had been knocked off the mornings agenda. No names, no pack drill, not as yet, I told her. All I know is that there are three of them a lad from year seven, another from year eight and a girl from year nine with long-standing learning difficulties. Im hoping to get more up to speed on them later on today.

I tell you what, Kelly said, I think I know who the girl might be. I remember someone mentioning to me she was joining the unit when you came back. If its the one Im thinking of, her names Chloe Jones. Mothers a long-standing alcoholic and social services are heavily involved with them, though as far as I know there are no plans to place her in care. There