Bone by Bone (11 page)

‘I'm no good at anything,' she wailed. ‘I'm so clumsy.'

‘Oh, love, you're not clumsy. You're brilliant – you're a wonderful gymnast. You're just upset about what happened today with Aaron.'

Snot and tears were running down Autumn's face. She shook her head. ‘It's all my fault.'

‘What's your fault?' asked Laura, wiping her cheeks.

‘It's my fault that man shouted at you.'

‘Of course it wasn't your fault. I was the one who pushed his son. Listen, we'll get it all straightened out tomorrow,' said Laura, trying to sound upbeat. ‘I'll speak to Aaron and apologize and hopefully Levi will say sorry to you too.'

She'd brought a warm tracksuit with her and now she crouched at Autumn's feet and helped her put it on over the top of her tights and leotard. She stuffed Autumn's school uniform into the bag and took out a cereal bar and a carton of apple juice, thinking Autumn would need a sugar boost to give her enough energy to make it home.

She pierced the carton with the straw and handed the juice to her daughter. She cupped her face in her hands before Autumn could take a sip and said, ‘Just remember, I caught you. I will always be there for you. No matter what.'

Autumn shrugged out of her grip and stuck the straw in her mouth without looking at her mother.

Tuesday 30 October

AUTUMN

S
he could imagine it. Down below the nature reserve where the ranks of red-brick houses were, there used to be watercress beds and a stream meandering through the middle. Women in long dresses, tucked into their petticoats, bent to pick the cress to sell at the market on Corn Street, or even as far away as Covent Garden.

Mrs Sibson spoilt it. People always did. It was History and they were doing ‘Where We Live', which was all about Bristol. Autumn didn't know much about Bristol and, at first, she thought it would be dull. They'd done The Great Fire of London two years ago at her old school and The Great Plague last year. She didn't think there would be anything Great that had happened in Bristol.

‘Please, Mrs Sibson, can we talk about the black men that were sold on Blackboy Hill? That's why it's called Blackboy Hill,' said Jason loudly to the class.

Mrs Sibson frowned. ‘That's not why it's called Blackboy Hill. We will be learning about slavery but not until spring term.'

Autumn felt confused. Why were black children sold on a hill? She didn't really know what slavery meant either, only that it was something old and shameful. Mrs Sibson unrolled a large map and asked for volunteers to help her stick it on to the wall. It was like an ancient drawing done in sepia-coloured ink. Autumn was so focused on the key – the pictures down the side that stood for real things on the map – the way the artist had drawn a sprig of watercress, like a miniature cabbage balanced on a wiggling root, that she didn't hear the start of the next bit.

All the houses had collapsed, Mrs Sibson was saying, waving her hand to show an entire hillside of terraces. Subsidence, Mrs Sibson said, and something about floods. Autumn didn't know what subsidence was either. It sounded biblical.

‘That is why this area is now devoted to allotments. No one dared build on this hillside again.'

Autumn thought of all those houses. Rows and rows of them. Where the railway workers had lived. Their families. She thought of piles of rubble and rooms, suddenly opened to the sky so that people could look in as if they were giant dolls' houses and see raggedy wallpaper and broken sofas and baby cots. She thought of the children, children the same age as her, who suddenly had no home. And now, where they used to live, where perhaps they had wandered around with no food in their tummies, rubbing their eyes and looking for their mums, there were sheds and sprouting broccoli and dead dahlias and alien squash.

Mrs Sibson asked her – had to ask her twice, in fact – to go and fetch the card. They were going to make model houses, like all the ones that had tumbled into the earth whose roofs and red bricks had rolled down the hill and buried the watercress. The card was thin and white and in a thick pile in one of the art drawers. The drawers were in a long unit underneath the window and were covered in carved pumpkins and plastic spiders and cotton-wool webs.

Autumn didn't know whether to try and lift all the card out at once or just a few sheets at a time and, if she did that, she didn't know where to put the card to gather it all together before she gave it to Mrs Sibson, because she didn't want to ruin her autumnal display. She started to feel panicky. It was the sick feeling from thinking about the houses collapsing on babies, combined with knowing how clumsy she was. She was sure if she picked up the card in a pile, it would slide, nice and smoothly and quite catastrophically, out of her hands and fan across the floor, and Mrs Sibson would tut and wish she hadn't trusted her to do a grown-up task and the other children would laugh.

Her hands were growing damp and sticky. She had a few sheets of card in them and she was looking out of the window in a kind of anxious trance. The classroom faced across the playground. A woman burst out of the main entrance and started running across the yard, mud falling off her boots, her fleecy jacket open, her hair tumbling out of her bun. She swallowed. It was her mum.

What was she doing in school this early? Autumn wondered. It wasn't home time yet. And then she knew. She felt as if something had curdled in her stomach. She glanced, involuntarily, towards Levi's classroom, although all she could see was the big map of Montpelier on the wall separating her from him. But his class also had windows that looked out onto the playground. Maybe he wouldn't notice. Maybe no one would notice. She straightened up and looked away.

Tilly stood on tiptoes. ‘Isn't that your mum, Autumn?' she said loudly.

Everyone got up to have a look.

‘What's she doing here?'

‘Sit down, please!' said Mrs Sibson.

Her mum tore through the gate and it clanged loudly as it slammed shut behind her. Someone sniggered. There were bits of red earth in a line across the playground, like the crumbs scattered by Hansel and Gretel through the wood. The drawer full of card slid from beneath her hands and landed upside down on the floor.

LAURA

L
aura worked until the last possible moment before hobbling to the Land Rover to put her tools away. The work was physically hard and her back was stiff and sore. She looked down at herself: she was muddy and wet, not quite how she wished to present herself to the headmaster.

Ted rested on his spade and said, ‘Leaving already?'

‘I've got an appointment at my daughter's school. I told Barney about it yesterday.' She glanced over at him and saw from his annoyed grimace that he'd forgotten.

‘'S not like you can make up the time, is it?' said Ted.

She'd thought he was a laid-back hippie when she'd first met him, but Ted was like a chippie cabbie with a mean streak.

‘You know I can't pay you for this last hour, don't you?' said Barney.

Laura, turning away from Barney, picked up her spade, her cheeks burning.

‘Of course,' she said, shoving the spade in the boot and shutting the door. ‘I'll put Autumn in an after-school club so I can make up the hours.' Even as she said it, she could see the impossibility of it: it would be torture for the child if she had to stay at school any longer. And now that the other mothers had found out what she'd done to Levi, they wouldn't want to help her out.

As she walked to the school, she rehearsed how she would speak to the head. This time she would sound calm but authoritative. She would state her case politely but firmly. At the very least Levi should be suspended from Ashley Grove. She would say nothing about what she had done to him, she thought. After all, she knew who Levi's father was now and she had his phone number. No doubt he'd be in touch.

Laura kept her coat on to hide as much of her wet trousers as possible, but although she'd tried to wipe the soil off her boots at the door, she was acutely aware of each muddy print she left as she squeaked down the linoleum-lined corridor towards Mr George's office. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

‘Come,' said Mr George.

She pushed the door open and walked in.

‘Ah,' he said, looking up and taking off his glasses, ‘Mrs Baron-Cohen. How are you?' He stood up and shook her hand and then indicated a chair in front of his desk. Dileep George was originally of Indian origin and had a sallow complexion. He was in his fifties, grey around the temples and balding on top.

Laura sat down and wrapped her coat around her.

‘The school secretary tells me you're here to talk about Autumn, how she's settling in.'

‘Yes,' said Laura. ‘I've already spoken to Mrs Sibson.'

He glanced down at some notes on his desk. ‘We're delighted with how she's doing. She's a natural artist and gymnast. She's a quiet child. Hard-working. She appears to be fitting in with the other children in her class.' He was parroting Mrs Sibson – he must have asked her for a progress report, she thought. She noticed him looking at her trousers, her boots, coated in red clay. ‘Do you have any particular concerns?'

‘Yes. That's what I wanted to see you about. A child in the year above has been bullying her. Autumn's class teacher doesn't appear to be taking it seriously.'

‘You mean Levi?'

‘Yes,' she said, surprised. Perhaps Mrs Sibson or Mr Bradley had already spoken to the head – maybe they'd witnessed him bullying Autumn.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, ‘Mrs Sibson is taking the matter extremely seriously, I assure you. She's spoken to both me and to the boy's teacher. She has filed a report of the conversation you had with her, as well as Autumn's, exactly as we are instructed to do by the council when any allegation of bullying is made.'

‘She spoke to Autumn about it too? Without me?'

‘Apparently Autumn made a false accusation about Levi – she said he'd stolen her pen, although the pen was actually in her drawer and had not been moved.'

‘Oh. She didn't tell me. I can't imagine Autumn lying about something like that. There must have been some reason why she thought—'

‘In any case, aside from whether your daughter is making up these allegations regarding Levi, the more serious issue is your behaviour.'

‘
My
behaviour?'

‘Aaron Jablonski came to see me this morning. I thought that perhaps you were here to discuss your attack on his son. I think you're extremely lucky. Mr Jablonski is a reasonable man. I've managed to persuade him not to press charges.'

‘What?' said Laura. She felt her throat start to constrict. She had a vivid image of Aaron shouting at her in the playground surrounded by other parents. ‘Surely you don't…'

‘Mr Jablonski does our IT here on a voluntary basis,' continued Mr George, putting his glasses back on. ‘I've always found him to be trustworthy and diligent. If he does go to the police, I think you'll find yourself facing a serious charge.'

‘Mr George, I'm not here to discuss that… that incident,' said Laura, her voice trembling. ‘Levi has been bullying my daughter. He should be suspended.'

‘Your daughter made another accusation against Levi – that he put slugs in her drawer. We've spoken to both Levi and his teacher. Mr Bradley says it's not possible for Levi to have done it – the classrooms are locked when the children are not in them with their teacher. Levi denies it too. But moving on to your attack on Levi – I'm afraid we do need to discuss the incident, as you refer to it. Levi told his father that six children say they saw you knock him to the ground, where he hit his head on a stone. Seven if you include Levi himself. I haven't spoken to Autumn but presumably that would make it eight. Eight witnesses.'

Eight children had seen her push a child. She swallowed and closed her eyes. She could feel sweat break out on her palms, the start of a blush flame across her cheeks. How should she try and explain this to Mr George?

In an accent that spoke of Eton and Oxbridge, he said, ‘Mrs Baron-Cohen, if you thought Levi had been bullying Autumn, then you should have followed the correct procedure for dealing with it by making an appointment with Autumn's teacher, which you did not. I gather you spoke to her before her class was about to start and she said she felt harried and did not have the time to explore the matter fully with you. You have come to see me now – but only
after
you confronted the child in question yourself and then physically assaulted him.'

Laura sat back in the chair. She was shivering. ‘Physical assault is a bit strong for what actually happened. I didn't
knock
him down.'

‘But you did push him over? He did hit his head on a stone and cut his face?'

‘What I did was inexcusable. I am incredibly sorry. I lost my temper. I can understand Mr Jablonski's anger and why he hasn't accepted my apology. But I spoke to Mrs Sibson about Levi's behaviour. It's not just slugs and a missing pen. It's more than that. It's name-calling. Intimidation.'

It was so hard to explain how devastating the bullying was. Citing
name-calling
seemed trivial compared to the impact the bullying was having on her daughter. Mr George made a steeple with his fingertips and looked at her over the top of his glasses. She was transported back to being a child of ten at her boarding school in London.

‘Hence you thought you'd simply handle the situation yourself?'

She held up her hands. ‘You still haven't dealt with Levi! You need to investigate his behaviour. He ought to be disciplined, even suspended if that's what it takes to stop him.'

‘Let me be clear: I am not going to discipline a child in this school on the unsubstantiated account of a parent. Particularly one who has behaved as you have done. We will monitor Levi's behaviour closely. As you know, we do not tolerate any bullying in this school. I am, however, considering whether to ask you to remove Autumn. Your daughter has, so far, behaved in an exemplary manner, but at Ashley Grove Junior any misdemeanour towards any of our pupils or staff is taken extremely seriously. The only reason, absolutely the only reason I persuaded Mr Jablonski to try and resolve the situation with you rather than take the matter to the police is for the sake of our school's reputation. But if he does report you, I will support him every step of the way.'

Laura stared at him in stunned silence.

‘In my experience, Mrs Baron-Cohen, physical aggression does not manifest itself in isolation. I would recommend that you see a counsellor and take a course of lessons in anger-management. I will also speak to Mrs Sibson to see whether we ought to refer your daughter to Social Services for her own protection.'

‘That is outrageous!' She was on her feet. ‘If you don't start taking my claims seriously and investigating Levi's behaviour, then I shall speak to the council about you and report you to Ofsted.'

Before Mr George could reply, Laura strode out of his office, slamming the door behind her. She tore down the corridor and burst out of the school. By the time she reached the playground she was running, only slowing down as she neared the edge. How could the head trust Aaron instead of her? Mr George didn't seem to believe that Levi was bullying Autumn. The thought that he could even consider she might be abusing her daughter turned her anger to shame. What if he did call Social Services?

Outside the school gates, she stopped. She looked at her watch. Matt was still at the Buddhist village and she wouldn't be able to reach him. Not that she wanted to talk to him about it. Vanessa and Julian were somewhere over the Atlantic, en route to Namibia. That only left her brother Damian. She'd Skype him this evening in case he was in the research station and not following his lemur troop. There was no point in going home, even though she was too early to pick Autumn up. She waited, sitting on the low stone wall surrounding the playground, growing increasingly cold.

Rani was one of the first mums to reach Ashley Grove, striding towards the school in her fuchsia coat. Rebecca, Amy and Lily, as well as a few other mothers Laura didn't know, gathered around her. Laura hesitated and then walked over to them.

‘Hi,' she said uncertainly when she reached the group.

The women fell silent. A couple of the mothers glanced at her and then looked away.

A woman with a hard face and deep lines across her forehead said, ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.'

‘Is disgusting what you did,' agreed a girl, barely in her twenties, her bleached-blonde hair scraped into a pony tail.

Laura looked at Rebecca, hoping she would say something to defend her. Rebecca was facing towards the school, resolutely ignoring her. She swung around sharply as if she could feel Laura's gaze.

‘I can't even begin to describe how shocked I am, we all are,' she said. ‘I don't want to discuss it now. It's hardly appropriate with children around. And it's nowhere near as important, but I wanted to make you aware, in case you are not, that you've been sending Trojan viruses to all of us.'

‘What?' said Laura.

She didn't even know what a Trojan was apart from a mythical horse in a Greek legend.

‘I advise all of you to check your emails and delete any that have come from Laura, regardless of what they say or what the header is,' said Rebecca, her voice carrying loudly and clearly across the playground.

‘But I haven't even emailed any of you – I haven't emailed anyone at all for the past few days,' said Laura.

Rani looked at her and Laura automatically smiled back. After Rebecca, Rani was the person she most liked to talk to at the school gates. She was a voluptuous British Sri Lankan with skin the colour of polished bronze. She had a large nose with a bulbous tip, wide lips and her wavy hair was cut in a thick, glossy bob. She had a wickedly sarcastic sense of humour and, of all the mothers Laura knew in Bristol, Rani had always seemed to be the person having the most fun. Rani did not return her smile.

‘I opened one of your emails and stupidly clicked on the attachment, thinking you were sending me a document,' said Rani. ‘It wiped several of my files and some programs. I've called Aaron to see if he can fix my laptop but I'm going to send you the bill.'

Laura stared at her, aghast. At that moment, the doors opened and children began to pour into the playground.

Amy started to speak. Laura cringed, expecting her to describe a computer malfunction or make some damning pronouncement about how Aaron should go to the police. Or add that she was going to send Laura the bill for her IT repair work too. Amy was Autumn's friend Molly's mother and Laura had always found her cold and distant. She looked like a doll, small and fragile, with a strangely expressionless face and flawless, apricot-coloured skin. Amy had a thin, reedy voice, which was all but drowned by the shouts of the children rushing towards them. Laura just caught the tail end of her sentence.

‘… hear Laura's side of it.'

Autumn slipped her cold hand inside Laura's and gave a quick tug before breaking away. Laura followed her out of the playground, feeling stunned. She had no idea how to put a stop to a malicious virus, if that was what a Trojan was.

‘How was your day?' she asked Autumn, who was walking so fast she was almost running.

Autumn did not reply.

‘Sweetheart, I asked you a question.'

‘I don't want to talk about it.'

‘Did something happen? Did Levi say anything to you?' She felt a surge of panic rise within her. When Autumn remained silent, she said, ‘Come on, Autumn, please speak to me. If you don't tell me, I'm only going to imagine the worst.'

Autumn stopped and swung around to face her. She was furious. ‘You promised not to talk to the headmaster. And you did. I saw you – and so did everyone in my class.'

‘I know you asked me not to speak to Mr George, but I had to. How else can we stop Levi from bullying you? I told him to take Levi out of the school.'

‘You mean expel him?' said Autumn, looking hopeful.