Mummy’s Little Soldier: A troubled child. An absent mum. A shocking secret.. Casey Watson

needs’, ‘neglected’, ‘bullied’ or ‘bully’ or any of the other tags that normally brought children here.

      I held up my hands in submission. ‘Fair enough, so we won’t talk nails, then,’ I said. ‘So how about you just tell me what your parents do, and what you like to do when you’re not at school.’

      If possible, she looked even more bored. ‘My mum is an accountant,’ she trotted out, ‘and my dad’s an engineer. And pretty much the only thing I do besides school is take my dog out for walks – she’s called Luna, if you want to make a note of it – and I also play hockey for a club near where we live.’

      ‘Hockey? Wow. I’m impressed,’ I said, pleased with this admittedly small measure of progress. I’d dredged up some facts. ‘Seriously, that’s interesting. We don’t do hockey here, do we?’

      Ria shook her head. ‘No, miss, we don’t.’

      ‘D’you know why?’

      ‘Don’t you?’

      I shook my head. ‘No, I don’t. And you’ve been here longer than I have so perhaps you can tell me.’

      ‘It’s no biggie, miss,’ she said. ‘Just an injury.’ She touched her forehead. ‘A girl got a ball in the head. Cracked her skull. So that was that.’

      ‘And she recovered?’

      ‘Yeah,’ she said, back on the polish again. ‘She’s fine.’

      It was like pulling teeth, but I felt I had a grip on a molar, so I pressed on. ‘So now you play hockey in your spare time.’

      She nodded. ‘Though I’m not bothered too much. Just, you know, like twice a week. I mostly like walking my dog.’

      ‘Who’s called Luna. What breed is she?’

      ‘Just a Heinz 57. We got her from the rescue centre. Big. Sort of Labrador-ish, Alsation-ish, I s’pose.’

      ‘And your best friend, I’ll bet.’

      She stuck a thumb up. ‘You got it.’

      Except, I didn’t quite. Not as yet. There was no doubt about it. Much as I was warming to her, I was struggling to make a connection with Ria. Not just to connect to her, but to make a connection between the child and the background, and the behaviour being witnessed in school. She was an isolated child; that much felt intuitive – though I had a strong sense that it was a choice rather than something being forced on her. From what I could see, and had been told, she had always been extremely popular; something of a leader. She’d certainly always had a large group of friends orbiting.

      Why then did she feel the need to act out in class? It couldn’t be for attention – she clearly had that in bucket loads. Maybe it was home, then. Maybe her parents were generous with their money but not their time. But that didn’t ring true; she had a mother whom she ‘allowed’ to paint her nails. That didn’t sound like a mother who starved her of love. So what was it? I was stumped. For the moment, at least. And I doubted I’d get much further today.

      ‘Well, it’s been nice getting to know you a little better,’ I said, smiling. ‘You can go back now and wrestle with those ten things again. And see? That wasn’t hard, was it? So I’m sure you’ll do fine. And send Carl up? You and me can catch up again another day. Though no girly chit-chat, I promise,’ I added, winking.

      Her look as she left me was pure gold.

      Carl, as I’d expected, was a completely different prospect, nervous and fidgety and with the unmistakable expression of a boy for whom one-on-one sit-downs with teachers were a thing to be approached with extreme caution. He was also busy scratching his head again.

      ‘Sit down, love,’ I said, pointing to the pile of cushions that Ria had just vacated. He lowered himself onto them and into them as if they might be booby-trapped. ‘And don’t look so worried, pet,’ I reassured him. ‘You’re not in any trouble, we’re just going to have a get-to-know-you chat, that’s all.’

      Carl bit his lip with his teeth and continued to scratch. And scratch with a ferocity that could only mean one thing – lordy, just what we needed: he had nits. I’d have put money on it, and also on the absolute inevitability that if I didn’t concentrate hard I’d soon be scratching too. I shoved my hands under my thighs and tried to focus. We’d have to talk about it, but it didn’t seem terribly polite for it to be the first thing I asked him about himself.

      ‘So,’ I said, ‘you live with Mum, right? Any brothers or sisters?’

      ‘I don’t got a dad, miss, but I got a brother. Sam. He goes to primary school an’ he’s just gone in year 5. He’s only little. Am I getting excluded, miss? My mum’ll batter me if I am.’

      I shook my head. ‘No, no, you’re not getting excluded, love. Heavens – you’ve only just started! But that’s kind of why you’re here, too. To make sure that nothing like that happens. So you don’t get into any trouble or fights.’ I lowered my voice. ‘You got into lots of scrapes at your last school, didn’t you?’

      Carl nodded and scratched his head again; a sudden, frantic action. ‘It was all the other kids, miss.’

      I smiled. ‘Carl, you know that’s what they all say. But go on, try me. In what way? I’m here to listen, after all.’

      ‘Names an’ stuff. They always called me and my brother names and stuff. An’ it’s like, not too bad when it’s just you getting it, is it? But when they’d start on my brother …’

      ‘It used to make you angry?’

      ‘Like, tampin’, miss. So I’d always end up losing my rag.’ He looked anxiously at me, still sawing away at his scalp. ‘But I swear I’m tryin’ to be good this time, like I told Mr Brabbige –’

      ‘Mr Brabbiner.’

      ‘Yeah, him. An’ I mean it.’

      ‘Yes, I’m sure you do …’ I replied, struggling to keep my eyes off his hair, and what I thought I could see lurking within it.

      ‘Love, does your head itch?’ I asked him, finding myself unable not to, such was the ferocity with which he was currently attacking it.

      ‘It’s the nits, miss,’ he said, confirming my worst fears with disarming candour. ‘I can’t find the nit comb nowhere – I’ve been looking and looking – an’ we haven’t got no lotion left at home.’

      ‘Does your mum work, sweetie?’ I asked, struggling not to start attacking my own head again.

      ‘Nah, she’s on benefits. She said we’re on the breadline.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know what that means exactly, but I think it means we’re pretty poor, don’t it?’

      ‘Yes, that’s what it usually means,’ I agreed. ‘But I tell you what. Do you want me to ask the school nurse for some lotion for you to take home with you today? Would your mum would be okay with us doing that?’

      Carl beamed at me. So much so that I might have been offering him a new bike. ‘Really, miss? That would be well good, that would.’

      He looked so gorgeous when he smiled that I had to mentally sit on my hands. It was far too soon for hugs, but oh, I wanted to scoop this child up.

      ‘Go on then, that’s it,’ I said instead. ‘For now, anyway, because the lunch bell’s due. We can sit down and have a chat again later. But I’ll ask nurse for some stuff for you. Sort those pesky nits out.’

      Which had my hand immediately heading towards my head all over again.

      The bell for lunch duly buzzed, cueing a mass scraping of chairs, and a sharp rise in decibels as my little crew busied themselves gathering coats and bags. Well, bar Carl, of course, who apparently had neither. Leaving Darryl to get his coat on, Kelly joined me at my desk. ‘Well, Sherlock,’