Page 93 of A Class Act

‘Where d’you think the key might be?’ I asked hopefully, not sure what else to do.

‘I’m locking up. Now,’ Ken ordered, coming back into the classroom with his coat, hat and scarf on before retreating once more.

‘OK, OK, we’re coming,’ I called after him. I turned back to Blane. ‘When did you lose this key?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Have you ever actually had one?’

‘Yeah, course.’ He didn’t look at me.

‘Blane, where did you stay last night?’

He shrugged.

‘Here? In school?’ I felt my heart plummet. The poor, poor kid. ‘Right, OK, you come home with me now and I’ll ring Mr Donoghue again. He’ll know what to do.’

‘Don’t you bring in no social lot,’ Blane warned, heading for the door. ‘I’m not going into no care again.’

‘Come on,’ I said gently, taking hold of his arm. ‘Come home with me and then we’ll work something out.’

‘What the hell’shedoing here?’ Sorrel looked up from the kitchen table where she was struggling with not only a post-dentist numb mouth, but pages of algebraic equations. Mum, at the ironing board, was equally surprised.

‘Long story,’ I said. ‘Blane here’s lost his key and can’t get in at home.’ I threw both Sorrel and Mum a warning glance. ‘So, he’s going to stay for tea and then, if I can get hold of him, Mr Donoghue will take him home.’

‘There’s a casserole in the oven,’ Mum said. ‘Might be a bit dried up now, but there should be enough for both of you.’

Throughout this, Blane had stood, head down, scowling, refusing to speak or meet anyone’s eye.

‘You hungry, Blane?’ Mum asked gently. ‘You look it.’ She moved towards him and then drew back slightly as the smell of unwashed teen assailed her nostrils. She raised an eye in my direction and then we all turned as Jess came through the back door.

‘I’ve come to help with your maths, Sorrel…’ she started, but stopped once she saw Blane. ‘Hello, who’s this?’

And then, in typical Jess style, once she’d been brought up to speed on the situation, she took over. ‘You look all in, Blane. How about Ms Allen here gets on the phone to Mr Donoghue again? Then, once you’ve had your tea you can come round to my house – I just live next door – and you can have a lovely warm shower and we can find you some clean clothes?’

‘I’m not going into no home again,’ Blane warned.

‘Well, we can’t throw you out on the street, can we?’ Jess smiled. She nodded her head slightly in my direction and I followed her out into the sitting room.

‘You can’t just bring a child home like this,’ she warned. ‘Not convinced it’s ethical.’

‘What else could I have done? I couldn’t leave him to spend another night by himself in school.’

‘I’ll ring the right people.’

‘Who are?’

‘Robyn, don’t forget I’m a registered foster parent.’

‘Oh, I had forgotten that. You’ve not fostered a child for years, have you?’

‘Yes, I have.’ Jess spoke calmly. ‘The spare bed’s always made up in case of emergencies. Not so many now when I’m virtually full time at the care home but, yes, my number is still on lists.’

‘So, what are you saying?’

‘I’m saying, you feed him and I’ll make a phone call. I’ll take the poor kid next door after he’s eaten and keep him overnight if necessary. You keep ringing Mason and then he and the authorities will have to sort it tomorrow.’

Which was what we did. Blane and I sat at the table and ate while both Mum and Sorrel tried to act as though it were an everyday occurrence that one of my pupils – a neglected, unhappy kid from a broken family – had joined us.

---