Page 28 of Lessons in Life

‘I am aware of that, Mason. He wasn’t in registration this morning. But that’s nothing new; he rarely gets to school on time, if he comes in at all. He’s always bunking off, you know that. How many times have you had to ring his mum and then the local authority’s attendance team to go and search for him?’

‘The thing is, Robyn, we need to have a point of contact for perennially absent children. With Blane, it’s always been his form tutor or head of year.’

‘Mason, Celia Logan is not only 9CL’s form tutor, but also the Year 9 head of year. As she’s now strapped up in a French Alps hospital muttering “Sacré bleu”, but otherwise enjoying the unexpected extension to her holiday instead of chasing after Blane Higson, I would imagine the point of contact you’re looking for will have to be yourself? Hmm?’

‘The thing is, Robyn,’ Mason repeated, his voice persuasive, ‘the concept of a “constant person” to work with a family, once attendance issues become serious, is always seen as the best possible practice…’

‘Seen by whom?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Whosees this as best practice?’

‘Well, you know… erm… educationalists.’

‘Mason, you’re beginning to sound like a politician.’ I went towards the door, Mason following on, obviously determined to have his say. ‘Stop quoting the educational dogma you learned off by heart in order to secure your headship here.’

‘Excuse me, will you please remember I’m your boss?’ Mason was beginning to sound as irritable as I was feeling. ‘You see, Robyn, this person, this one point of contact when a child is constantly absent from school, may not necessarily be a teaching member of staff…’

‘Great, that lets me off the hook, then.’ I opened the door, Mason still in my wake.

‘Indeed, leaders talk about the valuable skills and knowledge brought to this role by staff who have come from social work, police, mentoring or other backgrounds…’

‘Other backgrounds? Oh, such as a supply teacher with a knackered ACL, previously dancing in the West End?’

‘Perfect.’ Mason nodded with some degree of relief. ‘You know I hate to ask, Robyn, but with Petra pregnant, I don’t want her wandering round the streets of Blane’s estate looking for him. I’m so up to my ears with the day-to-day stuff, plus the press constantly wanting to talk to me about the alleged closing down of the school. As well as the attack on Joel Sinclair. And then there’s all the meetings I’m having to have with the local authority. I really don’t have the time to be Blane Higson’s minder as well. It was his mum who got in touch this time; she got a neighbour to ring school. Apparently, he didn’t actually go home last night…’

‘Well, he’s stayed out before. Remember I found him hiding in the girls’ toilets overnight because he’d lost his key and couldn’t get in his house when his mum had overdosed again…?’

Mason tutted. ‘Of course I remember, Robyn. And I know you have a special relationship with Blane.’

‘A special relationship?’ I turned back in Mason’s direction.

‘You’re good with these kids, Robyn. Youcare.’

‘Oh, don’t try and get to me through sycophancy…’

‘And every time his social worker is back on his case, he’s taken into care again. But he just runs back home. I thought…’

‘Look, if he’s not been home, then it’s a matter for the police. Surely you can see that? A missing fourteen-year-old? Social workers and the police need to be involved, Mason.’ I did sometimes wonder how on earth Mason Donoghue had been tasked with heading up St Mede’s. Exceptionally good-looking, charismatic and persuasive he might be, but after almost five months under his direction, I really was no longer convinced of his leadership. Oh, he was jolly good at talking the talk, walking the walk and, brilliant though he was with these St Mede’s kids, knowing just how to handle them, he appeared to have little knowledge of the actual administrative requirements for the day-to-day running of a school.

‘Look, I’ve missed Sorrel now.’ I tutted crossly as the bell for afternoon school sounded, shattering the corridor’s silence with its raucous clanging. ‘Jeez, why does that bell sound so loud down here in the basement?’ I headed for the stairs and the Year 7 class I was taking.

‘Acoustics,’ Mason was saying as he followed me up the two flights of stone steps and into the main body of the school. ‘And,of course, it’s a matter for the police and Blane’s social worker and they’ve been informed. Particularly after the attack on Joel. If the press gets to hear we’ve a missing child just a couple of days after what happened to Joel, they’ll be all over us like a bad rash…’

‘Hi, miss. I love your English lessons. You’re my best teacher.’ Billy Caldwell, his face pale beneath a mass of freckles, tapped my arm affectionately as if I were his mate and, despite the worry about Sorrel’s sudden departure and now the missing Blane Higson, I wanted to laugh.

‘You see—’ Mason continued to follow me even as I brought the class into the room ‘—you’ve a special relationship with the children.’

‘Are you stalking me, Mason?’ I finally asked as he walked in my wake right down to the desk at the front of the room.

‘No, no, I just…’ he started.

‘OK, Mr Donoghue, you let me out of school for the last period. It does mean you’ll have to get someone to take 9CL—’ anything to get out of teaching that shower ‘—and I’ll drive down to Blane’s house to see his mum and find out what’s going on. I’m not going after school, Mason – it’s getting dark by four and I need to get home to see what’s up with Sorrel.’

‘OK, OK. Good. We’ll do that, then. Good. Good. Very good. Excellent.’ Obvious relief that he’d managed to offload one of his many problems made Mason garrulous in his response. Then, apparently deeming even his effusive words of thanks insufficient, he bent to kiss my cheek before quickly leaving.

‘Blimey, did you see that?’ Lewis Bedford sat open-mouthed, staring after Mason’s departing back.

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