Don’t Tell Teacher. Suzy K Quinn

Pretend it never happened.’

       Pretend it never happened …

      ‘I’ve never known Tom to hurt anyone.’

      ‘We’ll forgive and forget, Miss Riley. As long as it doesn’t happen again.’

      I think of my mother, suddenly. And Olly. The perfect image. Make everything look good and to hell with what’s really going on.

      ‘Someone has made a mistake.’ Upset rises in my chest. ‘I mean … Tom just doesn’t do things like that. He’s not an angry child. I’ve never even seen him get cross, let alone … He’s very kind to other children. He gets stressed but never angry …’

      ‘Miss Riley—’

      ‘I’m sorry.’ I shake my head. ‘This is so hard to believe.’ My eyes wander to Tom, who still has his arms around me. ‘I’ve never known him hit anyone, let alone a younger child.’

      ‘Let’s say no more about it.’ Mrs Dudley glances at the headmaster’s office.

      ‘Tom must have been confused,’ I counter. ‘He had a seizure. Did the office tell you?’

      Mrs Dudley watches me for a moment, then says, ‘A seizure? Is he epileptic?’

      ‘We don’t think so. No one knows why it happened. But the hospital thinks it was a one-off. An oddity.’

      ‘What sort of seizure did he have?’ Mrs Dudley is watching me intently now and pulls a notepad and pen from her suit pocket.

      ‘Well, I … I don’t know. How many sorts of seizures are there?’

      ‘Was he fitting? Or just confused? Dazed?’

      ‘He was … I mean, he had a fit. He was convulsing.’

      ‘Convulsing.’ Mrs Dudley nods and scribbles on her pad. ‘Anything else?’

      ‘Um … I’m not sure what you mean.’

      ‘Was he confused beforehand? Disorientated?’

      ‘Well, now you come to mention it, yes. Yes he was. What difference does it make? Why on earth are you making notes?’

      ‘The headmaster insists records are kept.’

      ‘I already phoned the school about it. Tom wasn’t absent but I thought you all knew he’d been in hospital.’

      ‘“Absent”.’ Mrs Dudley mock shudders and gives a little laugh, flipping her notepad closed. ‘That’s a word we don’t like here. We like to maintain a good attendance record.’

      ‘Tom was in hospital!’ I realise I’m shouting the words. ‘And why did you want to know those details about his seizure?’

      ‘It’s … a seizure is unusual,’ says Mrs Dudley. ‘We make a note of anything unusual for Alan. He has his reasons. Good reasons. We just have to trust in him. Have faith.’

      I stare at her, heart thumping in my chest, a sickly feeling in my stomach. For her to be so callous about Tom’s seizure … so clinical … This is the woman I’m leaving my son with all day?

      ‘Tom.’ I look down. ‘What happened?’

      Tom replies without looking up. ‘I really don’t remember, Mum. Honest. I don’t think I did it.’

      Mrs Dudley frowns at him, then says: ‘Work with us, Miss Riley. Semper Fortis. Always strong.’

      ‘Come on, Tom.’ My hand tightens on Tom’s shoulder.

      As we walk away, Mrs Dudley calls: ‘And please don’t discuss this incident with anyone else, Miss Riley. Remember the school’s reputation.’

      Tom and I walk home in silence, his usual chatter absent.

      ‘Tom,’ I say, as we near the house. ‘Is there anything you want to tell me? Now Mrs Dudley isn’t listening?’

      ‘I just don’t remember anything,’ says Tom, with a very adult shrug. Then he starts to cry, forehead crumpling into frown lines. ‘I don’t like being in trouble.’

      ‘I know, sweetheart. Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?’

      Tom shakes his head. ‘Honestly, Mum. Nothing. Except … maybe someone else did it and they thought it was me. And Mrs Dudley wasn’t there.’

      ‘Someone else did it? Who?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      I heat cans of tomato soup and toast bread for our dinner.

      We don’t talk like we usually do. No matter how many ways I try to lure Tom into conversation, he only offers one-word answers.

      After I’ve put him to bed, I find myself sitting with my head in my hands again.

      Is Tom being bullied? I know sensitive children are vulnerable to that kind of thing. Soft targets.

      It will get easier. It must get easier. We’ve been through enough.