Triumph Over Adversity 3-in-1 Collection. Casey Watson

      She nodded. ‘She was only by the water fountain, apparently. She’s up there with him now.’

      ‘Right, then, I’ll get over there,’ I said, ‘and leave you to it. I’ll deal with Gavin later, but right now I’m hoping that as her dander’s well and truly up, she’ll have something more to say for herself. I’ve never seen her quite like that. She was livid. And very, how shall I put it? Expressive.’

      I grinned. ‘But I dare say this lot will fill you in.’

      Kelly winked at Henry. ‘I don’t doubt that. Do you?’

      I made it up to Gary’s office just before the bell went for afternoon break, to find the door to his room wide open, and Imogen seated at the large desk that ran along the far wall. It had two computer terminals along it and she was seated at one of them, typing something steadily and rhythmically.

      Gary himself was standing behind and slightly to the side of her, and as soon as he became aware that I’d come into the office he put a finger to his lip before beckoning me across. I slipped my bag from my shoulder and put it down quietly. Whatever she was doing she was clearly very focused, because she’d made no move to suggest she was even aware of Gary, let alone that I’d entered the room. She still looked angry – her skin flushed, her plaits sprouting hair from her tussle – but oblivious to everything around her.

      Gary said nothing but pointed to the keyboard, which he seemed to be scrutinising with great concentration. He was presumably trying to work out what she was typing, I realised, because what belatedly struck me was most surprising of all – the monitor wasn’t even switched on. What’s she typing? he mouthed at me, once I’d taken in what was happening, as she continued to bang away at the keys. I watched her too, more analytically, till I could see what Gary obviously could – that she seemed to be repeating the same sequence over and over again.

      Gary stepped back, then, just enough that he’d be sufficiently out of earshot so that when he whispered ‘I think I’ve got it’, she wouldn’t hear. He reached for paper, then, while I continued to watch her fingers move across the keyboard. She was only using two and she wasn’t typing too fast for me to follow, so when Gary handed me a bit of paper on which he’d written what he thought it was I already knew what it was going to say.

       I thought she was going to set fire to me.

      The words seemed to leap from the page. Finally, the answer to the riddle of what she’d tried to say to me all those days ago. And, if we were right – and we both continued to watch, just to be sure we were – then my suggestions had all been way off-beam. Set fire to her? When? And why, for that matter? And, most pressingly of all, I thought, who?

      I became aware of Gary’s arm touching my own. ‘I need to get to a meeting,’ he said quietly, though not so quietly Imogen wouldn’t hear him now – after all, we’d divined what we needed to know. ‘Can I leave you to it?’

      ‘Of course,’ I said, pulling a chair up beside Imogen. ‘You get off. We’ll see you later. Imogen,’ I said then, placing the piece of paper beside the keyboard. ‘Imogen, look, sweetheart. Mr Clark’s written it down – see? What you’ve been typing. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? See? We’ve worked it out.’

      She glanced fleetingly at the piece of paper and then carried on typing. Then she looked again, and this time her fingers came to rest. She slid them down into her lap and clasped them together.

      I could tell from the slight movements in her shoulders that she was crying, so I put my arm around her and pulled her close. She didn’t stiffen, which I took to be a positive. But neither did she react in any other way. ‘Sweetheart,’ I said again, ‘please tell me how I can help you. Who did you think was going to set fire to you?’

      I almost added ‘Was it your mum?’ but stopped myself in time. Instinct was by now telling me that wasn’t going to be the answer anyway. Instinct was telling me it was going to be someone else. ‘Imogen,’ I said next, ‘was it Gerri?’

      She seemed to deflate then, like a balloon that had been pricked at a party, shrinking down into herself before pulling her back straight, and wiping tears from her eyes with the backs of her index fingers. Then she nodded. ‘It was Gerri,’ she confirmed.

      ‘Did she hurt you? Did she burn you? What happened, love? Can you tell me?’

      She shook her head. ‘No, Miss,’ she said, ‘she didn’t actually burn me, but she said she would. I thought she would …’ She shuddered then, and the tears started up again. I pulled her closer again and soothed her and stroked her hair.

      ‘When was this, love?’ I asked her. ‘What did she say to you to make you think that? ‘If you can just tell me a little about –’

      But she was shaking her head again. ‘You can’t do anything, Miss. No one can. I just wanted to tell. I’m not a liar, Miss, I’m not!’ she finished, once again animated.

      ‘I know that,’ I soothed. ‘We all know that, Imogen.’

      ‘Gavin doesn’t!’ she retorted, with shades of the strong voice I’d heard only twice.

      ‘Gavin?’

      ‘He’s the liar, Miss!’

      ‘Shhh,’ I soothed. ‘Shhh … What’s Gavin said to you, Imogen? Did he call you a liar? Was that why you got so upset?’

      She nodded, rubbing furiously at her eyes again. ‘He said I just pretended. But I don’t, Miss!’

      ‘Pretended what, Imogen?’

      ‘That I couldn’t speak. Just so’s you and Miss Vickers would like me the best. So I get more attention. But it’s not true! He’s just an idiot. I don’t want any attention! I just want to be left alone!’ she said, sighing again, heavily. ‘They just don’t know … They just don’t, Miss. How can they?’ She looked up and at me. ‘Sometimes, it’s just, like, like when you can’t swallow something. It’s like I can’t even work out how to make it work myself.’

      I studied her, thinking furiously about how best to play it. Should I go back to Gerri? Ask her more? Try and coax more out of her? Get to the bottom of whatever it was that had happened between them? Something told me no. Something told me I must wait.

      ‘You know the thing with Gavin,’ I said instead. ‘You know how over-excited he gets sometimes? You know how sometimes he starts getting on everyone’s nerves, with his shouting, and his endless chattering, and him running around so much? Well, it’s a bit like that for him – sort of like you’ve just described to me, but in reverse. There’s no excuse for anyone calling anyone a liar – of course there isn’t – but, like you, sometimes Gavin can’t stop himself being, well’ – I grinned at her – ‘a little bit too Gavin-y, just like you struggle to make yourself talk. Do you get that?’ Imogen nodded, and I could see she’d absorbed it. ‘And today, in particular, well, he was having a bit of a hyper-Gavin day. And then he gets frustrated – just like you do, sometimes – and then he lashes out. And, because you two can’t communicate, he doesn’t know how hard things are for you. So perhaps that’s why he said what he did, and –’

      ‘And he took my book off me as well, Miss.’

      ‘And why he took your book off you as well. Perhaps just to goad you into saying something to him. Do you think it might be that?’

      She nodded again. ‘But then he tore it, Miss!’ And remembering this made her eyes begin swimming with yet more tears. How much had this child cried? How much did this child still cry? Way too much, was my guess. ‘Hang on, there,’ I said.

      I went and grabbed my satchel, opening it as I returned to the computer desk. ‘Look,’ I said, pulling the loose sheets of her book out. ‘Rescued! And here’s the book, as well,’ I added, handing it to her also. ‘And you know what we can do, right this very