tall wire-netting fence but it was clearly visible from the road.
‘Oh yeah, I remember now,’ she said.
‘Melody, when was the last time you were here?’ I asked, turning slightly in my seat to look at her.
‘I dunno.’ She shrugged.
I got out, went round to the pavement and opened her door, which was child-locked. She clambered out and we made our way towards the main entrance. As we entered the playground we passed some children playing and others were slowly joining them.
‘I remember coming here before Christmas,’ Melody said. ‘They had a Christmas tree.’
‘Was that the last time you were here?’ It was the third week in January now.
‘Think so,’ she replied. ‘It’s all a bit of a haze.’
We went through the main door into the reception area. Behind a low counter on my right was a small open-plan office where two ladies worked at desks. One came over and I introduced myself, explaining I was Melody’s foster carer.
‘News to me,’ she said. ‘Let me try to get hold of Mrs Farnham, our deputy head, she might know what’s going on.’ She turned her back and picked up a phone on the desk behind her. I threw Melody a reassuring smile. It wasn’t the best start to the school day. Usually when I take a child into school the staff know the child well and are genuinely pleased to see them. This school secretary appeared very distant and not to have recognized Melody, or been aware she was in foster care. That relied on the social worker notifying the school. Melody looked around at the walls displaying the children’s artwork as we waited.
‘Yes, they’re here now,’ I heard the secretary say on the phone. Then, ‘All right. I’ll tell her.’ She set down the phone and returned to the counter. ‘Mrs Farnham is coming down now to see you. Take a seat.’ She nodded to the row of four chairs against the far wall. Melody and I sat down as another parent came in to talk to the secretary.
A couple of minutes later the door to our right, which led from the school, opened and a woman came through it and walked straight to us.
‘Nice to see you again, Melody,’ she said with a very welcoming smile. Then to me, ‘I’m Mrs Farnham, the Deputy Head.’
‘Cathy Glass, Melody’s foster carer,’ I said, standing.
‘Lovely to meet you. Melody’s social worker phoned me late yesterday afternoon, so I haven’t had a chance to update the staff. Shall we go somewhere more private to talk? The Head’s office is free – I’m covering for her this week.’
I was relieved that someone knew what was going on. Melody and I followed Mrs Farnham through the door, up a short flight of stairs and into a large comfortable office overlooking the playground. The room was carpeted, with framed prints on the walls, a desk and filing cabinets at one end and a small sofa and two easy chairs at the other.
‘Do sit down,’ she said. Melody and I settled on the sofa as Mrs Farnham took one of the easy chairs. ‘How are you?’ she asked Melody, who was eyeing her cautiously. ‘We haven’t seen much of you in school.’ Which I thought was a tactful way of putting it. It is a legal requirement in the UK, as it is in most countries, that all children receive an education, and if they don’t the parent(s) can be prosecuted.
‘I’m all right,’ Melody said quietly, a little overawed at being in the Head’s office.
‘Melody tells me she thinks the last time she was in school was before Christmas,’ I said.
‘She’s right. I looked it up. Seventeenth of December, so exactly a month ago.’
‘She’ll be coming in every day from now on,’ I said.
Melody gave a small sigh and Mrs Farnham threw me a knowing look. ‘Melody joined our school in September, having moved into the area during the summer holidays, but she only ever attended a couple of days a week during the whole of the autumn term. Melody has a lot of catching up to do,’ Mrs Farnham added, as much for Melody’s benefit as mine. ‘She’ll have classroom support from a lovely teaching assistant, Miss May.’
‘I’ll help Melody at home,’ I said. ‘I have three secondary-school-aged children of my own and they have homework to do most nights.’
‘Excellent.’ I guessed Mrs Farnham to be in her late thirties, and her warm, child-friendly manner was combined with a quiet efficiency. Clearly the children in the school were her priority, but I sensed she could be firm when necessary, as any good teacher needs to be. ‘Melody is in Miss Langford’s class,’ she said. ‘She’ll introduce herself to you at the end of school. You’ll be collecting Melody?’
‘Yes, and bringing her in.’
‘Good. We gave her a school uniform from our quality seconds when she first started.’
‘She hasn’t brought it with her, or anything else,’ I said, ‘so I’ll buy her a new school uniform today if possible.’
‘Yes, of course. We stock most items here. Aren’t you lucky?’ she said, looking at Melody, who managed a subdued nod. ‘In fact, why don’t I ask our welfare lady, Mrs Holby, to sort out Melody’s uniform now so we can have a chat? Do you remember Mrs Holby?’ she asked Melody. ‘She gave you a uniform when you first arrived.’
Melody nodded uncertainly.
‘I’ll take you to her now and then you can come back here in your new uniform to say goodbye to Cathy.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘That is helpful. I’d like her to have a spare set of the uniform and the PE kit. Also, if your school has its own logoed book bag and PE bag, I’d like her to have those and anything else she needs.’
‘You’ve done this before,’ Mrs Farnham said with a smile as she stood.
‘Quite a few times,’ I admitted.
Melody looked a bit apprehensive as she left with Mrs Farnham. Unused to school and certainly never having had a complete new school uniform before, I guessed she was a bit overwhelmed, but Mrs Farnham was lovely. I sat back in the chair as the distant sounds of children laughing and shouting in the playground drifted in and occasional footsteps passed outside the door. A few minutes later Mrs Farnham returned. ‘Mrs Holby will bring Melody back here once they’ve finished, then you can settle up the bill at the office on the way out.’
‘Thank you.’
‘So how has Melody been with you?’ she asked, returning to her chair. ‘We hardly know her, we’ve seen so little of her.’
‘We had a good first night, although she’s worrying about her mother, but that’s natural. Once she’s seen her tonight at contact I think she will be reassured.’
‘I raised concerns about Melody with the social services halfway through last term,’ Mrs Farnham said. ‘On the few occasions she was in school, she arrived late, unwashed and hungry. Miss Langford, her class teacher, went to the address her mother gave us, but a man answered the door and said he’d never heard of her. It was one of those big Victorian houses in Station Road converted into small flats.’
‘Yes,
