Page 31 of Lessons in Life

Fabian was already out of the car. ‘But what is it you’re here for? You shouldn’t have to be doing this. You’re a teacher, not a social worker. Or the police.’ He tutted. ‘I’m coming with you.’

‘Oh, don’t be daft,’ I tutted in return. ‘His mother will think you’ve come to arrest her.’ I laughed. ‘Look, if you’re coming to protect me, just pretend you’re a teacher like me.’

‘In my jeans and trainers?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Fabian. Come on, make your mind up. Pretend you’re a social worker, then.’

Together we walked across a muddy piece of sad-looking grass littered with a couple of empty Red Bull cans, a black bin bag, its noxious contents spewing onto the adjacent broken concrete path, and what looked suspiciously like a used condom. Who on earth was having sex out here on this tiny patch of grass? I averted my eyes.

‘23B.’ I indicated a marked stairwell to the right and together we walked up the concrete steps – a fetid smell of stale urine meeting our nostrils – to the floor above, in silence. I really wished Fabian had stayed in the car; actually, wished he’d stayed back in my own pretty village of Beddingfield. I realised I was now acutely embarrassed that he was seeing me on what amounted to my home turf, vastly different from his beautiful London apartment overlooking Green Park and a different planet entirely from his parents’ pile standing proud in the rich, leafy suburbs of Marlow.

‘Right, this is it.’ I knocked on the door, tentatively at first and then, when there was no response, with a heavier hand.

‘Who is it?’ A softly spoken voice could just be heard behind the door.

‘Mrs Higson? It’s Robyn Allen from St Mede’s. I’m Blane’s form tutor. Mr Donoghue asked me to call round to see what’s happening with Blane.’

‘It’s OK. Thank you, he’s back. Don’t worry. The police know he’s back.’

‘Could I come in? Just for five minutes?’

Silence.

‘Just for a couple of minutes, Mrs Higson? Just to check Blane’s OK? And you are as well?’

‘You’re not a social worker,’ Fabian mouthed crossly, frowning down at me.

Ignoring him, I went on, ‘Could I just have a couple of words with Blane? A quick chat with him?’

‘He won’t want to see you. He’ll think you’re taking him off again. You know, with the police or into… you know… into care…’

‘I promise you, Mrs Higson, I’m his teacher. Two minutes, so’s I can have a word with him?’

After a long silence, the door to the flat opened a couple of centimetres and then, when the woman behind the door, after viewing my school identity lanyard, appeared satisfied that I was who I said I was, she opened the door wider, allowing us entry.

I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting of Blane Higson’s mother – possibly a caricature of every female heroin addict I’d ever read about – but, although the woman was tiny, pale and obviously anxious, she was well dressed in clean jeans and sweater, a pair of white and gold designer trainers on her feet, her long dark hair tied back in a neat high ponytail.

‘Hi, Mrs Higson, I’m Robyn Allen, Blane’s form tutor.’

‘Actually, its Ms Scaccetti,’ the woman replied. ‘And I thought Blane’s form teacher was Ms Logan?’ She turned her head to Fabian, taking in his height, his broad shoulders in the navy jacket, his dark good looks. ‘So, who’s this with you?’ she asked, continuing to stare at Fabian.

‘Just a friend of Robyn’s,’ Fabian said cheerfully. ‘No one in authority?—’

‘I used to go to school with someone called Scaccetti,’ I interrupted, silencing Fabian with a look. ‘She was several years above me at Beddingfield High.’

‘Beddingfield Comp?’ Ms Scaccetti held my eye. ‘Loretta Scaccetti?’

‘Yes, that’s it. Do you know her?’

‘You could say that. It’s me.’

‘What is?’

‘I’mLoretta Scaccetti.’

‘Oh, goodness, right.’ Well, that was a shock. I remembered Loretta as a slim pretty thing who all the first formers constantly looked over at in assembly. Something of a mean girl. How on earth had the charismatic Loretta ended up here in this awful tower block, a heroin addict and Blane Higson’s mother to boot? Mind you, hadn’t there been some scandal about her at school?

‘’Fraid you’re not ringing any bells with me,’ she said, peering at my face through narrowed eyes.

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