help smiling at Sadie’s banter, perfectly aware that she was being twisted round the finger of this little thirteen-year-old, but somehow not minding. And who was to say that they weren’t telling the truth? She knew that Carly’s mum was off the rails: a child protection officer had informed the school that she was under observation by social services. Single mum, too fond of the bottle – it was a story they heard all the time, and too often the eldest daughter ended up with the responsibility of looking after her younger siblings.
‘All right, girls. In you go, quickly. Straight to your classes.’
Carly and Anna hurried inside, but on a sudden whim Miss Venables called out, ‘Sadie!’
Sadie turned. ‘Yes, miss?’
‘Is everything all right?’
Sadie looked confused.
‘At home, I mean.’
‘Oh.’ She smiled at the teacher in appreciation. ‘Yes, miss. I think so. Thanks.’
‘Good. Well … Off you go.’
Sadie nodded and ran across the playground into the school building, while Miss Venables thoughtfully locked the main gate and wandered back inside, slowly so as to enjoy the warmth of the morning sun on her face.
After lunch she noticed Sadie again. It was Friday, so Miss Venables was on playground duty, doing her best to keep some sort of order among the couple of hundred screaming kids working off their lunch in the early-afternoon heat. Frankly, she dreaded playground duty: it was hard enough keeping a class of forty kids quiet, let alone a schoolyard full of them. And especially on a Friday, when everyone was looking forward to the weekend.
In the far corner, something was going on. A boy – she couldn’t quite make out who it was – was being circled by three other kids. Even at a distance, she could tell it wasn’t a friendly game. He was being pushed about from one to the other and being jeered at. It was going to escalate into something nasty. Miss Venables started to stride across the playground, blowing her whistle. But, as usual, the kids paid her no attention.
Now she could see the boy who was being bullied. Poor little Jamie Brown. He didn’t stand much chance in this place. He was so badly cared for at home that his skin was always dirty and his clothes stank of urine and filth. She suspected physical abuse, and knew that he was being closely monitored; but he would never admit to anything – he was too scared – and the mother always seemed to have a story to explain away any suspicions people had. But Jamie’s peers didn’t know about all that, or if they did they didn’t care. All they saw was a smelly little boy who cowered at every harsh word, and for whom barely a day passed without tears and fights and traumas. Even Miss Venables had to admit that standing too close to him was a bit of challenge, so the moment he had arrived at school she had known what a rough ride he was likely to get from the kids. And she knew that even if she stopped this little fracas, another one wouldn’t be far behind. That didn’t mean she shouldn’t try, though.
Suddenly she stopped.
She narrowed her eyes as she saw Sadie step confidently into the ring.
Ordinarily she would never have stood back to let other kids enter a brawl, but something encouraged her to keep her own counsel for a few moments.
Sadie was older than the boy who was being bullied, but the kids who had formed the ring were her own age and outnumbered her three to one. With casual confidence, she stood beside Jamie Brown.
The bullies sneered. ‘What are you then? His girlfriend?’
Sadie’s face didn’t flicker. ‘What do you know about girlfriends?’ she asked quietly.
A blush came to the bully’s cheek. His eyes moved from left to right as he looked to see what reaction Sadie’s comment was getting from his companions; then he made forward as if to attack Jamie Brown. Miss Venables saw the little boy flinch and, in her most authoritarian voice, started to call out the bully’s name. But as she did so, she saw the bully’s friends grab him by the arms and pull him away. They started scuffling among themselves for a moment, but then they caught sight of Miss Venables bearing down on them. Each of them threw her a scornful look, and then turned and hurried away. A final insult – ‘At least I don’t piss my pants!’ – reached her ears, but she let it pass, choosing instead to hurry up to Jamie and Sadie.
‘Are you all right, Jamie, love?’ she asked, kneeling down so that she could be more at the little boy’s level. But Jamie simply looked angry and confused; he turned and ran to the other end of the playground, where he sat with his back to the wall, alone and avoided, as he always was.
Miss Venables turned to Sadie. ‘You should leave that sort of thing to the teachers, Sadie,’ she chided.
Sadie looked calmly at her. ‘Sorry, miss,’ she said, but there was no apology in her voice. She looked over at Jamie. ‘But I don’t see why they have to be so horrible.’
‘I know, Sadie,’ Miss Venables agreed. ‘But sometimes it’s the easy targets that attract the weakest people. Jamie will be all right. I’ll keep an eye on him. Now run along.’
She watched as Sadie made her way back to Carly and Anna, who were laughing good-naturedly. They didn’t seem to have noticed what had just happened, and Sadie rejoined them quietly, only occasionally glancing across the playground to where Jamie Brown was still sitting by himself.
The afternoon passed slowly. Sadie sat at the back of the class with Carly and Anna, her chin resting in the palm of her hand; she stared into space as the teacher at the front droned on and on, his monotonous lesson frequently punctuated by barks of reprimand and tellings-off. It was a typical Friday afternoon.
Carly slipped a note under the table. Her childish handwriting asked Sadie in misspelled English if she still wanted to come round to her house after school. Sadie thought about writing a reply, but instead she just whispered back.
‘Can’t,’ she told her friend. ‘Mum says I’ve got to go back home.’
Carly shot her a surprised look, and Sadie understood why. Her mum never told her when she should be back.
Even when Sadie was younger, she had been allowed to wander round the estate by herself. People came to expect it of her. She was forever knocking on doors, fixing her neighbours with her most appealing smile and flogging whatever goods or goodies her dad had a run on that particular week. She understood how difficult grown-ups found it to refuse such a chirpy young girl and she’d got a taste for it. She would always come home, of course, but she never had to be told.
After the funeral, though, things started to become a bit different. Mum would still never tell her when to be home, and at first that was just because it was the way things had always been. But the loss of her man hit Jackie Burrows hard. Sadie would never forget the first time she got back after school to find her drunk. The bottle of cheap vodka on the smoked-glass coffee table wasn’t quite empty, but it wasn’t far off. An ashtray was full of stubs, and the television was on. Sadie’s mum was comatose on the sofa and, try though she might, the little girl couldn’t rouse her. She shook her, tears streaming down her face and crying at her to wake up; but when she did open her eyes, they just rolled unconsciously to the top of her head before closing again. Sadie
