“I had a child in my class today who didn’t want to go home.”

Emily lowered her large shoulder bag to the floor with a gasp of relief and pulled a chair out from the table. Her flatmate, Katelynne, switched on the jug and hunted in the pantry for the teabags.

       “What did you do about it?”

       “What could I do?  I’m just the reliever. I tried to find out if he was worried about being bullied – I thought maybe there was some kid waiting for him outside the school – but he said no, could he clean the board for me?”

Emily sank down into the chair with a long sigh.

       “I wasn’t convinced, but I let him clean it. Then I saw the bruises.  I tried to find someone to tell but the other teachers were having a staff meeting. I left a note for the class teacher, letting her know what I’d been doing, then I closed the room and came away. The kid was still hovering at the gate.”

       “Poor little devil!  Afraid to go home?”

       “Looks like it. I wish there were something I could do. I thought I might ring his teacher in the morning.”

       “What was he like, this kid?”

Emily closed her eyes, the better to see him in her mind’s eye.

       “He’s small for his age, and skinny. Huge eyes. Quite a nice looking kid when he smiles, but he doesn’t smile much. His hair needs cutting and he doesn’t look too clean. He has bruises on the back of his legs – and probably in places that are hidden by his clothes.”

       “What was he like in class?”

       “Quiet, well-behaved. I hardly noticed him until the end of the day. He never answered any questions or contributed anything to class discussions, but he read quite well when it was his turn to read to me.”

       “And the other kids?  How did they react towards him?”

       “Mostly they ignored him. He did have one friend, a boy as small and quiet as he is. They were playing marbles in the playground together. But the other boy had to catch the bus, so he left sooner.”

The telephone rang. Katelynne picked it up, answered “Oh, hi, Rick!” and walked with it into her bedroom.

Emily made herself another cup of tea. She was dog-tired. Another school had booked her for the next day and she knew she should be planning for it, but for now she wanted to forget teaching and rest. She carried her cup of tea through to the lounge and stretched out on the couch.

She woke when Katelynne tapped her on the shoulder. “I’m going out. Rick’s coming to collect me in five minutes. You’ll be all right on your own?”

Emily frowned. “I usually am, aren’t I? What did you wake me for?”

Her friend laughed. Katelynne’s job in a city firm was less stressful and to Emily’s annoyance, better paid, than Emily’s. As far as she could make out, it consisted of answering phones, looking decorative and entertaining clients.

Katelynne was very decorative. She had long legs, a slim figure with a good bust, long dark hair and huge innocent eyes with long dark lashes.  Men fell for her on sight and she changed her boyfriends almost as often as she changed her hairstyles. Her present companion was Rick, a young executive she had met at one of her business lunches.

       “Don’t frown!”  Katelynne advised. “It’ll give you lines. Don’t wait up for me…”

       “Do I ever?”

Emily glanced in the mirror, despite herself, checking her frown. Would she get lines?  Her mother had frown lines, etched deeply above her nose between her eyebrows. Her mother was always frowning, but her mother always saw life as containing much to frown about. She was a constantly depressed – and  depressing – person , which was why Emily had jumped at the chance of moving out of home and into a flat with Katelynne.

But sometimes Katelynne was too much. Like now.

       “Go!”  Emily commanded. “I can hear Rick’s car.”

       “He can wait. I must check my makeup. Can you let him in?”

Emily sighed and went to the door just as the young man outside raised his hand to knock.  He stopped, hand in mid-air, startled.

       “You must be Rick.  I’m Emily, Katelynne’s flatmate.”

He pulled himself together, turned the hand movement into an attempt at a handshake. His hand was warm and slightly moist. Emily repressed the desire to wipe her hand on her skirt. Rick, she decided, looked too conservative for Katelynne. His clothes were too obviously expensive.  Understated, but elegant, they were well-tailored and well-chosen to present him as well heeled and upwardly mobile.

Boring, she thought 

He tried a smile to make up for his lack of conversation but Emily didn’t feel like helping him too much – he  was Katelynne’s date, not hers – but she did smile back. She led him inside, seated him on the couch and gave him the newspaper.

       “Katelynne may be a while,” she said, and retreated to the kitchen.

Understatement of the year, probably.

She took out her planner and checked on her resources for the next day. Then she looked in the fridge and decided that the contents looked uninteresting. It would have to be takeaways.  She picked up her handbag.

Rick was sitting on the edge of the couch, rifling through the newspaper.

       “I’m sure she won’t be much longer,” Emily said. “Can you tell her I’ve gone out to buy takeaways. I’ve got my keys so she can lock the door. Turn on the T.V. if you’re bored.”

       “Thanks.”

She felt sorry for him. He looked a nice guy but there was not enough fire in him to keep Katelynne’s interest long. Not my type, either, Emily thought, but then, what is my type?

When she returned, they had gone, leaving the television blaring. Emily opened her packet of fish and chips and ate them out of the paper while she watched the news. But it was somewhat off-putting, while eating chips covered in tomato sauce, to watch people dying from gunshot wounds; she changed channels and found another news programme. This time it was local; in fact she knew the street. It was close to the school she had taught in that day and not far from her flat.

Police were leading away two handcuffed men who had apparently been involved in an altercation. Both were swearing at each other and at the police, and a group of spectators was enjoying the scene immensely. From behind a broken window peered the anxious faces of a woman and a child.

 Another woman had to be pulled back from attempting to attack the policemen who were leading her man away. She screamed at the top of her voice, first at the police and then at the woman in the house, hurling four letter words and insults at them all. The woman at the broken window just stood and stared, her features blank, her face white except for a trickle of blood which ran down from a cut near her eyebrow.

Flying glass, Emily wondered, or did one of them hit her? Then she sat up, for the child came forward and pulled the woman gently away from the window. A child she knew. The boy who didn’t want to go home.

Poor kid, she thought. Hopefully they’ll lock up the bastard who hit him, and he’ll stop being afraid.

She changed the channel, watched a movie until it was finished, then went to bed. Sleep was slow to come. The sad face of the boy kept drifting into her mind.