Trouble at the Little Village School (9 page)

‘John has a condition known as autism,’ they were told. ‘It is a strange, complex and often upsetting condition often manifested in people who are unable to form social relationships. I am afraid your son appears to have a severe form of autism. It means that human behaviour will be perplexing for him. He will probably cope quite well with the physical world because it is more predictable, but unexplained changes will disturb him. Autistic people often become locked inside themselves and are obsessed with precision and order. Everything has to be exact and in its place. Sadly they can be unaware of those who love them and show little affection.’

Cracks soon began to appear in their marriage. They stopped seeing their friends, going out to the theatre, even having a holiday, and soon the simmering silences and arguments became part of their everyday life. While Elisabeth wanted to find out more about their son’s condition, Simon was reluctant even to talk about it. He was bitter and angry, he told her, that with all the children born into the world John had to be like this. He had expected his son would be a bright, articulate, clever boy whom he could read to, take to football matches and help with his homework – all the things most fathers did. It soon became clear that he just could not cope with this silent little boy who lived in his own closed world and would be dependent upon them all his life. When John was five, Simon had packed his things and left. Following the divorce, Elisabeth heard that he had remarried some high-flying young accountant in the office where he was a senior partner. She had telephoned him just the once to tell him how John was getting on, and was told it would be for the best if she didn’t get in contact again. It distressed his new wife. Since then Elisabeth had heard nothing from him.

Mr Williams, head teacher of Forest View, was in the school entrance waiting to meet her when Elisabeth arrived. He was a small, dark-complexioned, silver-haired Welshman with shining eyes, and usually greeted her with a broad smile. That morning he looked solemn.

‘Hello,’ Elisabeth said. She sensed something was wrong from his expression. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Could you just pop into my office for a moment?’ he said. ‘I need to have a word with you before you see John.’

‘Has something happened?’ she asked anxiously as she followed him into his room.

‘Do sit down,’ said Mr Williams, pointing to a chair. He sat behind his desk. ‘John had a bit of an outburst yesterday. He got into quite a state and has not quite got over things yet.’

‘What happened?’ asked Elisabeth.

‘He was arranging some coloured beads, sorting them out and putting them in order of size and colour, which, as you know, he likes to do. One of the other children touched them and then moved them around and John got into quite a state and lashed out. He’s never done this before. Fortunately the other child wasn’t badly hurt, but she became very distressed too.’

Elisabeth remained silent and stared at the floor. ‘It’s so out of character for John to do this, isn’t it?’ she said finally.

‘It is,’ agreed Mr Williams. ‘He’s usually such a placid, easy-going and good-humoured boy, but you see when someone invaded his space and disrupted his routine he became confused and annoyed. This is not unusual with autistic people. They take things very seriously. Of course several of the other children do suddenly become angry if something or somebody upsets them but it has never happened before with John, so let’s hope this is a one-off.’

‘Yes,’ murmured Elisabeth. ‘Let’s hope.’

‘As I mentioned to you when John first came here,’ continued the head teacher, ‘there is no disorder as confusing to comprehend or as complex to diagnose as autism. John displays many of the symptoms of this condition: repetitive actions, rigidity of thinking, oversensitivity to noise and touch and getting upset if his routine is broken. I really don’t think this spat is something to get overly worried about, but I thought you needed to know before you see him today. He might seem a bit different.’

‘Why do you think he’s started to be like this now?’ she asked.

‘I’m afraid I cannot say,’ replied Mr Williams. ‘Maybe he’s growing up and hormones are kicking in. You know what some youngsters can be like when they reach adolescence. There are all the changes taking place in their bodies. I know my own nephew went through that moody, “you can’t tell me anything, you’re always getting at me” stage and flying into tantrums, arguing with his parents and storming out of the house. John of course can’t shout or tell you what troubles him. Perhaps this is a way of expressing his feelings.’ Elisabeth looked so dejected the head teacher reached out across the desk and touched her hand. ‘Elisabeth, your son has made really good progress since he has been here. He can dress himself, go to the toilet and clean his teeth, which many children here cannot do. He can express his needs calmly and has started to respond to light demands placed upon him. He is coping well with distractions that might have previously annoyed or made him anxious. All these are positives. Anyway, I just thought you needed to know about his small outburst – and that’s what it was, a small outburst – before you see him this morning. We will of course keep a close eye on him, as we do with all the children. I hope that perhaps this behaviour turns out to be just a temporary thing.’

‘I hope so too,’ replied Elisabeth.

John was sitting by the window in the classroom gently rocking back and forth. She noticed that the other children were keeping well away from him.

‘They are giving him a bit of a wide berth this morning,’ explained the teacher. Mr Campsmount, a young man with a ready smile and bright eyes, clearly loved his job. He had started teaching at the school the year before and had been described by the inspectors in their report as an outstanding practitioner – well organised, enthusiastic, highly committed and relating well to his pupils.

‘So I hear,’ sighed Elisabeth.

‘It’s not like John to get into a paddy,’ the teacher told her. ‘He’s always such a pleasant lad. He’s a bit upset at the moment but I wouldn’t worry too much. I am sure he’ll soon be back to his usual self.’

‘I hope so.’

‘After all, we all get angry at times, don’t we? I remember I went ballistic when my younger brother smashed up my bike when I was John’s age. Lost it completely. Why should these children be any different?’

‘I suppose not,’ she replied.

‘You might like to take John for a short walk in the grounds when he’s calmed down a bit – perhaps when you next visit. As you know, when he came here he found trips out of the school stressful but he quite enjoys them now, especially the puddles. He’s also become fascinated with insects. He never hurts them, but he loves to watch them and have them on his hand. Anyway, I’ll leave you with him. He always enjoys your visits.’

If only I could be sure of that, thought Elisabeth.

She went to John’s favourite table by the window and sat beside her son. He stiffened when she touched his hand, avoided eye contact and stopped rocking. The beads were in front of him on the table but remained untouched. As a small child he had always been happiest when left alone sitting on the carpet sorting out shapes and bricks, spending hours meticulously arranging them. Sometimes he would take all the pans out of the cupboard in the kitchen and put them in order of size. He became quite obsessive about neatness and routine.

‘Hello, John,’ said Elisabeth.

The boy started rocking again, moving rhythmically to and fro, his brow furrowed as if something troubled him.

‘Well, young man,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘I hear you’ve had a bit of a do?’ John continued to rock and stare before him. ‘Well, it’s all over now.’ She squeezed his hand.

Elisabeth spent an hour with her son, sometimes chattering on about the school and things she had done, at other times just sitting there in silence holding his hand and staring through the classroom window at the panorama of pale green fields and limestone walls and distant peaks. When she had done this on previous visits, she had often wondered if John understood anything, but on the odd occasion when she mentioned a memory there would be a reaction – a slight turn of the head, a small change of expression, a rapid blink of an eye. That morning John continued his slow rocking seemingly oblivious to all that she said.

‘I wouldn’t worry your head too much about it, Mr Gribbon,’ said Mrs Scrimshaw casually as she tidied her desk before departing for home.

‘It’s all well and good you saying that,’ the caretaker told the school secretary, ‘but if they’re getting rid of some teachers, downscaling as they like to call it—’

‘Downsizing,’ corrected the school secretary.

‘Whatever. It means they’ll be redeploying and sacking other people as well, and it might be you and me what has to go.’

‘When, and indeed if, this proposed amalgamation does take place,’ said Mrs Scrimshaw, ‘and nothing has been decided yet, there will be two premises to manage, one here and one at Urebank, so that means they will need to have a secretary here and one over there to answer all the calls and deal with all the paperwork. I have no worries on my account. In fact, I’ve been assured by Mrs Devine that my position looks pretty secure.’

‘Aye, well, I’m very pleased for you, I’m sure, but what about me?’ whinged the caretaker. ‘She’s said nothing to me. Has she said anything to you?’

‘About what?’

‘About me,’ he said, thrusting out his jaw.

‘Why should Mrs Devine discuss your future with me?’ asked Mrs Scrimshaw. ‘I suggest you ask her about your position yourself.’

‘I will do,’ replied the caretaker.

‘Of course they may just have the one caretaker,’ added the school secretary mischievously.

‘What?’

‘A peripatetic.’

‘Somebody what’s disabled?’ exclaimed the caretaker. ‘How can he do the job? He won’t be able to get up a ladder.’

‘Peripatetic – someone who moves from one premises to the other,’ explained the secretary, shaking her head.

‘Moves from one premises to the other?’ the caretaker repeated. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. I can’t be going backwards and forwards to two schools like a fiddler’s elbow. I have enough on dealing with this place. I couldn’t manage two, not with my back. Anyway, I’m supposed to be getting a part-time cleaner to help out here. Mrs Devine promised me.’

‘Well, the situation might have changed,’ the secretary told him. ‘I don’t imagine they’ll be taking on any more staff at this time. As I said, it may be that they appoint one caretaker to look after both schools.’

‘Well, it’s not something I want to take on,’ grumbled Mr Gribbon. ‘I can tell you that for nothing.’

‘Well, you might not have to.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘The caretaker at Urebank might do it,’ she told him.

Mr Gribbon went suddenly quiet. ‘Yes, I suppose they might,’ he said under his breath.

‘They’ll probably appoint a site manager,’ said the secretary, ‘to oversee both places, and a team of cleaners at each school.’

‘You think?’

‘Well, it’s a possibility.’

‘I don’t like the sound of that either,’ grumbled the caretaker.

‘I suppose when the governors consider who to appoint they’ll look at the track records of you and the caretaker at Urebank.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning they’ll consider who does the better job.’ Then she added impishly, ‘I’m sure you have no worries on that account, but if I were you I’d keep your bad back to yourself. They might not think you are up to the job.’

‘Not up to the job!’ he exclaimed. ‘Who says I’m not up to the job?’

‘Nobody here,’ said the school secretary, ‘but when it comes to appointments you know what school governors can be like.’

‘I shall have to have a word with Mrs Devine,’ said Mr Gribbon, looking distinctly uneasy.

‘I think that’s a good idea,’ agreed the secretary. ‘Now I must make tracks. I have a Women’s Institute meeting this evening. Mr Lilywhite is talking about “The Amusing Side of Waste Management” and I’m in the chair.’

Chantelle appeared at the door of the school office.

‘Mr Gribbon,’ she said, ‘can you come? One of the infants has been sick right down the corridor on her way home and the tap won’t turn off in the girls’ toilets and the handle’s come loose on the outside door and—’

‘Don’t bring me no more bad news,’ he told the girl loudly before stomping past her on his way to see the head teacher.

The girl rolled her eyes and shrugged. ‘What’s got into him?’ she asked. ‘He’s like a bear with a sore bum, as my nan would say.’

Mrs Scrimshaw could not contain a smile.

‘Might I have a word, Mrs Devine?’ Mr Gribbon was waiting for the head teacher outside her classroom the following morning, jangling his keys and looking uneasy.

‘Of course,’ Elisabeth replied. ‘I was meaning to have a word with you anyway.’

‘You were?’ He looked worried.

‘Yes, but you go first. What is it that you wished to see me about?’

‘It’s just that I’m a bit concerned about my position, Mrs Devine,’ said the caretaker.

‘Your position?’ she repeated.

‘With this amalgamation. Will it mean that I might lose my job?’