Storms - 23. Intermission: Stephen

‘You’ve always been a diligent student, Julie,’ said Stephen, and smiled. ‘But lately you’ve been applying yourself a lot more, and it seems you’ve come out of your shell a bit, I think.’

Mrs. Kinkaid looked pleased. ‘I’m very happy to hear it, Mr. Griffiths,’ she said. ‘Julie speaks highly of you as well, don’t you, Julie?’ Julie blushed and said nothing, but smiled. Her mother went on, ‘I have to admit I’ve been somewhat concerned about the new friends she’s been making, though. They are older than she is, after all.’

‘Mum . . .’ Julie looked away and chewed her lip. ‘I told you, they’re nice.’

Mrs. Kinkaid sighed. ‘I know, sweetheart.’

‘Michael Storm and his friends, you mean?’ asked Stephen, and Julie nodded. ‘In my experience, Mrs. Kinkaid, they’re very good kids. You should have nothing to worry about.’

‘That’s good to know,’ said Mrs. Kinkaid and smiled. ‘Anyway, you say Julie’s been applying herself in PE?’

‘Oh, absolutely. Why don’t you tell us about how you experience my lessons, Julie? If I were to change something, what do you think I should change?’

* * *

Stephen sat back and sighed as they left the room. Julie was a good kid. Too bad her mother seemed so overprotective of her. A girl her age was supposed to be making friends and having fun. He glanced at the clock. An hour to go of this, and then he could go home to his husband. He imagined a hot bath, and Lewis’s cooking, and sighed again, but this time it was with warmth.

There was a knock on the door jamb, and he looked up to see Mr. Wilcox and Loz. Suspension or no, parents’ night was parents’ night.

‘Come in, Mr. Wilcox.’ Stephen smiled and stood to shake the man’s hand, and then Loz’s. ‘Please, have a seat.’

Loz looked nervous and fidgeted in his seat.

‘So,’ said Stephen with forced cheer. ‘How are you, Loz?’

Loz shrugged and said nothing.

‘He’s been behaving himself,’ said Mr. Wilcox. ‘I understand that you stepped in to break up the fight, Mr. Griffiths. I’m very grateful. Things could have gone a lot worse.’

Stephen smiled. ‘My pleasure. Well, not pleasure, perhaps. But I’m glad to have been able to prevent any further injury to either of them.’ He turned to Loz. ‘I hope when you return, we’ll be able to put it all behind us and go back to normal, eh? You’ve always excelled at PE, and I’d very much like for that to continue.’

After Loz and his father had left, Stephen looked at the list of his year tens. Nearly all of them had been to see him, and those who hadn’t he already knew weren’t coming. Except for . . .

Stephen stood up and left his office. Mrs. Lawton one office over was also by herself at the moment, and so he knocked on the door jamb.

‘Stephen,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

‘Thank you, Grace. Done for the day?’ Stephen sat in one of the chairs, leaning back.

‘I believe so, but I suppose we’ll have to stick around until eight o’clock regardless. Can I help you with anything?’

‘I was just wondering if Daniel Hartman and his mother have been by to see you.’

Mrs. Lawton shook her head. No matter how many times she said to call her Grace, she was such an imposing and authoritative woman that Stephen struggled with calling her by anything other than her surname in his head. ‘No, I haven’t seen him, or his mother. Strange, too. Doesn’t seem like they’ve told us they’re not coming.’

Stephen nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’ He chewed his lip for a moment. ‘What’s your impression of Daniel, Grace?’

‘You mean, before all this with the posters and the photo?’ she said, and he nodded. ‘Quiet boy. Could excel at Mathematics if only he applied himself more, in my opinion, but he doesn’t appear particularly motivated.’

‘My impression as well. He also seems kind and empathetic, but I get the feeling there’s a lot he’s hiding, you know?’

Mrs. Lawton nodded thoughtfully. ‘Quite.’

Stephen stood again. ‘I think I’ll go and try giving his mother a ring.’

‘Good luck. I hear Mary’s been trying to get a hold of her for some time already, with no luck at all, save for one time when she was evidently too busy to speak.’

‘Yes, I heard that too. Still, won’t hurt to try.’

He returned to his office, closing the door behind him. Nobody else would be showing up today. Bringing out his list again, he dialled Chantal Fowler’s phone number. It went to voicemail, and he tried again. This time, she answered.

‘Yes? Hello?’ The voice was weak and raspy.

‘Ms. Fowler? This is Stephen Griffiths calling.’

‘Stephen . . . Oh! The PE teacher!’ She sounded at once more awake. ‘How nice of you to call again!’ She spoke in a watered down accent of some description. Midlands, perhaps. A bit north, in any case.

‘Again?’ Stephen asked in surprise.

‘Yes, you rang last week, didn’t you? So good of you to follow up on my Daniel.’

Stephen licked his lips. What was she talking about? He decided to go with it. ‘Er, yes. I’m calling because it’s parents’ night, and you never gave word that you weren’t coming. We’ve been expecting you and Daniel.’

Silence. ‘Parents’ night? I’m sorry, I don’t . . .’

Ah. She didn’t know. How did she not know? They’d used both e-mail and snail mail to invite parents, as well as sending notes home with the pupils. ‘There’s still time,’ he said. ‘We’re here until eight, and I understand you don’t live far.’

‘Oh. Er . . . I’m afraid I’m not quite well.’

‘I see . . .’

‘Either way, it’s not necessary, is it? I mean, Daniel seems to be doing pretty well, right?’

Stephen frowned. ‘Doing well?’

‘Yeah, you said so when you rang before. Said he was making friends and everything. Like that Michael.’

‘Michael Storm.’

‘Yeah. He even went to his birthday party, last weekend. Stayed over and everything. And Michael’s been by here, too.’

Stephen shook his head. ‘Ms. Fowler . . . Is it possible that you don’t know about the bullying?’

Silence again. ‘Bullying?’

‘Yes. It really came to a head a few days ago. Our counsellor has been trying to reach you, but we were under the impression that you had at least read the letters we’ve sent. You’ve signed all the forms.’

‘I . . . Bullying? Daniel’s being bullied? What—’ She cut herself off with a sob. ‘Oh, God . . . My poor baby . . . What—’ She cleared her throat. ‘What’s been going on?’

‘Well, it appears he’s been bullied for quite some time, by multiple people. Last week, someone hung posters around school with his face and . . . homophobic slurs on them. And then, at that party—Michael’s party, it seems—he was attacked, by some older boys.’

Ms. Fowler swallowed audibly. ‘I . . . I had no idea. He hasn’t told me anything.’ She sobbed again. ‘Oh Lord, what kind of mother doesn’t notice that her child’s being bullied? How could I . . .’ She broke down crying.

‘Ms. Fowler,’ said Stephen patiently. ‘Many children try to hide this kind of thing from adults. Out of shame, or fear.’

She pulled a few ragged breaths. ‘I’m a terrible mother . . . I barely function. Dear God, no wonder he won’t talk to me when I’m such a wreck. Do you know, I haven’t been out of bed all week? Except to . . . Well. Oh, my poor boy . . .’

Something stung, somewhere in the vicinity of Stephen’s solar plexus. Poor boy, indeed. Was his mother really so ill that she barely even saw her child? Who took care of him? Who fed him? No wonder he had seemed so alone, before Julie and Michael took him under their wings, if he was suffering this kind of neglect.

‘I’m sorry, Ms. Fowler,’ he said, putting as much warmth and kindness into his voice as he could. ‘I understand this comes as a big shock to you. I’m just Daniel’s teacher, but if you’d like to know more, please call the school on Monday and speak to our counsellor, Mrs. Penn. She’s very capable, and has a better grasp of the situation than I do.’

This wasn’t quite true. Stephen had been concerned about Daniel for quite some time and even brought his concerns to the administration after the conversation he’d had with Daniel back at the beginning of October, but nothing had been done. It was clear that Stephen had been paying closer attention than anybody else had.

She sniffed. ‘Yes. I will. Er . . . Thanks. Thank you, for calling me. For looking out for my son. I . . . I’m sorry I didn’t notice any of this myself.’

Stephen nodded, then realised she couldn’t see him and gave a ‘hmm’, instead. He wasn’t sure what he should say. ‘Perhaps you ought to talk to Daniel as well,’ he said at last.

‘Yeah. I will. Thank you, Mr. Griffiths. We’ll . . . we’ll speak again.’

‘We will. Take care, Ms. Fowler.’

‘Chantal, please. Thank you. You too.’ She hung up.

Stephen sighed, for what felt like the thousandth time that night. He leaned back in his chair and dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He felt exhausted. Home. Lewis. Food. Bath. Lewis, especially. That’s what he needed most of all.

But before he could do that, he had another call to make. He picked up the phone again and dialled Mary Penn’s private number.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Mary. It’s Stephen. I’m sorry to interrupt your tea, but it’s kind of urgent.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I just got off the phone with Daniel Hartman’s mother. I’m extremely concerned. I need us to have a meeting on Monday to discuss it.’ The time for politeness was passed.

‘I see. All right.’

‘Mary. I’ve voiced my concern before, and nothing was done. Fair warning, if we can’t come to an agreement this time, I will contact the NSPCC and get help from there.’

‘Noted,’ said Mary. ‘I . . . I’m sorry we didn’t take you seriously.’

‘I’m not the one who deserves an apology. I’ll see you on Monday.’

Stephen hung up and glanced at the clock again. Quarter to eight. ‘Fuck this,’ he murmured to himself, standing up from his chair and stretching. ‘I’m going home.’