Chapter Eight Rules of Engagement
Chapter Eight
Rules of Engagement
Alfie lasted all of three days at his new school before Nathan got the call.
He’d hoped the invitation to meet the form tutor after school on Wednesday was just that. An invitation . Politeness. A routine check-in. Maybe even a courtesy call to welcome the new parent on the books.
But he knew better.
Nathan hadn’t exactly been a hands-on parent up to this point, but he’d seen the reports.
The digital trail. The warning letters. Back in Romford, he’d been on the contact list, even if he wasn’t around to do anything about it.
SIMS InTouch or whatever the hell the school system was called, had pinged his inbox often enough.
Unauthorised absences. Threats of fines.
Detentions, suspensions, “ongoing behavioural concerns.”
There’d even been talk of a pupil referral unit. The place where they sent the kids who’d already slipped too far through the cracks. That was when Nathan finally stepped in.
Took leave. Took custody.
Then left the army for good.
He dragged Alfie out of London and back here. To Worthbridge. Windy coastal town full of sea air, drifting gulls, and kids who built forts instead of watching their backs on council estates. It was where Nathan grew up. Where he and Freddie grew up. Maybe it could give Alfie a clean slate. Maybe.
He didn’t know why Katie moved to Romford in the first place, after finding out she was pregnant.
Her dad, probably. She always took the path of least resistance.
Let her old man enable her until everything spiralled.
By the time Alfie came along, Nathan was eighteen, scared shitless, and halfway out the door to basic training.
The army felt like the only thing that wouldn’t make him feel like a total fuck-up.
He sent what money he could from whatever grim barracks he was in.
Took the blame every time something went wrong.
Visited when he could. Stretched long weekends into something that might’ve resembled fatherhood.
One fishing trip. A few awkward days at the coast. A visit to the War Museum because at least there he could talk about something he understood.
He brought Alfie back to Worthbridge a couple times.
A night here. A pub lunch there. But never long enough.
Ghosts in every corner. Especially the one with Freddie’s name on it.
He didn’t think about the other kids Alfie met during their sporadic visits here. Didn’t clock the lads in branded hoodies hanging around the estate, waiting to pounce on a lonely kid. Because Nathan was there. But only in flashes .
Moments, not presence.
Now he was trying. Actually trying. Full time. Real. But the damage had already been done. Cracks everywhere. And deep down, Nathan wasn’t sure if he was fixing something… or propping up a structure that was never solid to begin with.
Still, he was here.
Sitting across from Alfie’s form tutor, pretending he belonged in the grown-up chair, while Alfie sat next to him, hoodie up, arms folded, looking like the last thing he wanted was for Nathan to be there at all.
Nathan didn’t know what he was supposed to say.
What he wanted to say was: I’m here, aren’t I?
“Thanks for coming in,” the teacher said, slight Yorkshire accent beneath the professional tone, and stroked down his tie over a gingham shirt as he took his seat. “I’m Mr Ellison. Alfie’s form tutor for Year Nine and his history teacher.”
Nathan nodded, eyes drifting from the man’s outstretched hand to Alfie, who stared at the floor and made no move.
So Nathan stepped up, slipping his own hand into the teacher’s.
He wasn’t used to shaking hands that didn’t come with grit, skin thick with callouses, knuckles scabbed, and trying to prove something.
Army handshakes were firm. Grounded. Posturing and brimming with testosterone. This was… different.
Not that Nathan fancied himself as some kind of expert, but he’d learned how to read people.
The quiet tells. The subtle shifts in energy.
It had served him well on the barracks. Made it easier to spot the ones who might’ve been up for fucking the boredom out of a long deployment, no strings, no questions.
The rainbow lanyard swaying gently from the teacher’s neck gave most of it away, though.
But it was more than that. It was in his eyes.
That calm steadiness. That open way of looking at someone and expecting nothing back.
Nathan wasn’t used to being looked at like that.
Not without an agenda.
“Appreciate you coming in on short notice.” Mr Ellison withdrew his hand with a polite smile. “I know you’ve probably got a lot on.”
Nathan gave another nod, though that wasn’t strictly true.
The garage wasn’t exactly bursting at the seams with business.
Half the regulars were now taking their cars elsewhere because they clearly didn’t trust a sixty-five-year-old bloke to service their vehicles properly, or because they’d figured out how to change a spark plug from a ten-minute YouTube video and a Halfords loyalty card.
Still, Nathan said nothing.
He was used to this. Sitting across desks. Trying not to look like the worst version of himself. Trying not to let his past bleed into Alfie’s present.
He’d turned up.
That had to count for something.
“I wanted to reach out to you about a few concerns we’ve had around Alfie’s start here at Worthbridge Academy.” Mr Ellison folded his hands on the desk as if he was about to say something that might not land well. Then he addressed Alfie. “How do you think it’s gone so far, Alfie?”
Alfie shrugged, slouched even lower in his chair, and let out a grunt that could’ve meant fine , don’t care , or screw you . Hard to tell. But if Nathan had to bet, he’d put money on the latter. Alfie had a knack for turning apathy into an art form.
“We appreciate how challenging it can be for a student to join partway through the term. Especially when he’ll be choosing his options. There’s a lot of change for Alfie to process. New environment, new routines, new faces. So yes, we’re making some allowances where we can.”
Nathan gave a nod. He knew what was coming.
“But we are picking up on a consistent pattern across subjects. His teachers have all raised similar concerns.”
“Which are?”
“Mostly around behaviour. It’s not extreme. Yet. But we’re seeing refusal to follow instructions, low-level disruption, lack of engagement. There’s also some ongoing uniform issues—”
“That’s my fault,” Nathan piped up. “They were out of the blazers, not coming in for a couple of weeks, so I said it’d be alright to wear the hoodie to school as it’s cold.”
“We don’t allow hoodies in school, and we’ve given him a spare blazer which he’s refusing to put on.”
Nathan glanced down at Alfie’s bag. Inside was a scrunched-up blazer.
“Don’t want no reject blazer,” Alfie spat. “You want me to get a beating?”
“We’ve also had more of that,” Mr Ellison said, widening his eyes at Alfie. “Backchat, that’s escalating.”
He gave Alfie a quick look. The kid stared ahead, stone-faced.
“I know this isn’t easy. Uprooting. Starting over. Adjusting to new expectations. And possibly some changes at home, too?”
Nathan felt his jaw tighten but nodded again, hoping the man would steer clear of that thread.
“We’re all here to help Alfie settle and succeed, and we want him to feel like he belongs here. But we also need him to meet us halfway. Right now, that give-and-take balance isn’t there.”
Nathan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the plastic chair.
He hated this setup. The desk, the notepad, the soft-spoken concern dressed up as professionalism.
He recognised the script too well. It was the same tone he’d used on green lads straight off the bus at Catterick.
Lads with chip-on-the-shoulder attitudes and fuck-all trust in authority.
He’d been one of them once. Back then, the officers had called it “having a word.” What they really meant was: you’re already on the scrap heap, son. Don’t make us regret giving you a shot.
And now here he was. On the other side of the desk.
Listening to that same language used about his boy.
Didn’t matter that he’d made it out. Didn’t matter that he’d worn the uniform, led lads through hell and back, or trained recruits who’d never seen their dads sober.
In this room, with this teacher, he was another bloke who’d fucked off for most of his kid’s life. And now his kid was acting up.
There was no way that wasn’t his fault.
“I wanted to bring this to you early,” Mr Ellison said. “Before it spirals. He was in isolation today, which really isn’t ideal for new students. It removes them from the classroom environment, from peers. It sends a message. And we don’t want that to be the tone of Alfie’s first week.”
Nathan looked at his son staring blankly at the floor.
He swallowed down the burn of failure creeping up his throat.
He hadn’t been around to teach the kid how to do this. How to show up. How to not self-sabotage.
And now he was trying to parent from behind the curve. Starting the race three laps down.
“I get it,” Nathan said. “I want him to do well here, too. That’s why he’s here.” He nudged Alfie’s arm gently. “You’ll do better, won’t you, Alf?”
Alfie gave a grunt that barely passed for a response and sank lower in his chair, hoodie tugged halfway over his face as if he wanted to disappear into it .
Mr Ellison nodded, still wearing that calm, measured expression teachers must be trained in. Kind, but firm enough to make it clear the kid had to meet them halfway.
“That’s all we’re asking,” he said. “This isn’t a punishment. It’s a reset button. But only if you want it, Alfie.”
Nathan swallowed. Want wasn’t the problem.
He wasn’t even sure Alfie knew what he wanted anymore.