Simone
SIMONE
S imone noticed the change in Tyler instantaneously.
The lack of eye contact, the heavy shoulders, the subdued quiet of someone with something to say but the inability to say it.
Each lesson he sat, pencil in hand, eyes either on his paper or the table.
Simone attempted to squeeze conversation out of him, but each sentence he started immediately dried up.
Simone had deduced the problem was at home.
She rarely interacted with Tyler’s parents, but she and her colleagues would never forget the morning Tyler’s mother had dropped him off at school only to be confronted by his stepfather.
Despite being surrounded by children and fellow parents, the man strode into the middle of the playground, grabbed his wife’s arm, and unleashed a vast array of expletives.
He accused her of stealing from him, which she denied, all while Tyler held on to his mother’s left leg, staring at the ground.
The stepfather was finally escorted off school grounds and the incident logged.
Simone heard the administrators had informed social services—he was a possible threat to the children and the assault had happened on school property, marking it as their jurisdiction—but the case was soon closed.
Apparently, social services had done their due diligence and found there was no reason to investigate further.
Simone had questioned this conclusion, but Martha had said that social services were too busy dealing with children growing up in drug dens and homes with weapons, so it was unlikely the case would have made it far anyway.
The next day, Tyler had come in, seeming fine, and Simone remembered feeling something akin to relief, but she hated to think what the effect of having to “move on” from such events would have on him in the future.
He was too young to suppress such emotion, too young to view volatile, changing behavior as the norm where adults were concerned.
Simone kept a close eye on Tyler all morning; it caused her to mismark papers and even lose Flora for a moment after she’d wandered out of the classroom, chasing after a rogue marble.
Thankfully, Simone was on playground duty today and could continue her watch there. Tyler barely interacted with the other children and attempted to play a lackluster game of football.
“Is Tyler all right?”
Simone turned to Cillian sitting beside her. “Why do you ask?”
Cillian shrugged. “He seems a bit off is all,” he said. “I tried talking to him this morning but got nothing, and he’s usually full of questions.”
“When have the two of you ever spoken?”
“You’re kidding, right? He’s a conversationalist, that boy,” said Cillian. “Apparently his neighbor is Irish and he’s a big fan of hers, so I was granted acceptance on that basis alone. Great kid.” Cillian inhales through his teeth. “Although, he is an Arsenal fan so how great can he really be?”
Simone allowed Cillian to chuckle to himself. “What else do the two of you talk about?”
“He tells me about his sister,” he answered.
“His older one. Shannon?” Simone nodded to confirm.
“Yeah, he loves her,” Cillian continued.
“She builds forts out of their bedsheets with him, and they go to the cinema together; she buys him a large popcorn each time. She works at one of the fancier ones; she gets free tickets and always takes him. He loves the big sofas—fell asleep in one once.” Cillian’s smile dropped.
“She got into university, but it’s outside of London, so she’ll be moving away. He’s upset about that.”
Simone stared, shocked at the extent of biographical detail she was unaware of. “He told you all of this?” she clarified.
Cillian nodded and Simone lowered her shoulders in defeat.
“Hey, don’t take it personally,” he said.
“You know what they say: It’s easier to share with a stranger than someone you know.
Especially in the playground or during his after-school naps.
In class, you’ve got your attention on multiple kids.
He’s hardly going to tell you all of this during a maths lesson. ”
“I suppose you’re right.”
But Simone still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong.
Last week, her bank had alerted her to the fact that there was not enough money in her current account to be transferred into her savings.
With two of her three long-term clients gone, she had significantly less money than usual.
Thanks to this, Simone knew she had been absent-minded in class lately, constantly crunching imaginary numbers in her head, and this possibly meant her students weren’t getting their usual dose of individual attention.
What else could she be missing as a result?
During after-school club the following day, Simone noticed Tyler join his classmates in getting out paint and paper.
“Would you like to take part in the painting today, Tyler?” she asked.
“Yes,” he responded eagerly.
“I’m glad you’re up for it. How did you sleep?”
“Good.” Tyler smiled. “He took us to McDonald’s yesterday, after the afternoon.”
Simone nodded. “The evening, then.” Tyler always called his stepfather “He.” Simone often wondered whether that was his preference or Tyler’s. “All right, let’s remove your jumper before you start.”
Tyler pulled away when Simone stepped forward to assist him. “I’m sorry, Tyler. I know you can do it yourself.”
He looked silently at the table. “I like my jumper on.”
“We don’t want to get paint on it, Tyler.”
“I’m cold.” He looked around. “I don’t want to paint anymore.”
Tyler didn’t look up at Miss Simone like he usually did when she spoke to him. If he did that now, he might get confused, and he wanted to remember what he had been told yesterday after the afternoon.
“Tyler, can you come with me to my desk?” Simone asked. “To help me with the snacks?”
Tyler brightened and followed Simone to her desk with a skip in his step.
For some reason, it was a great honor at after-school club to help with the distribution of snacks, and with his chest slightly puffed, Tyler listened to instructions.
He was to put the fruit into one bowl and the individual packets of crisps and popcorn into others.
While he did so with the gentle, measured care of someone wishing to have the task bestowed upon him again in the future, Simone asked, “Is there something on your arm, Tyler?”
Distracted enough, evident by the tongue poking out of his mouth, Tyler nodded.
“You’re not in any trouble,” Simone continued, keeping her tone conversational and her eyes focused on her own task: shuffling papers.
“Good job with the crisps. Can you open the popcorn bag yourself? I think you’re strong enough.
” Tyler opened it with ease. “Does your arm hurt?”
He shook his left arm and said, “Not anymore.”
“Tyler, to do painting, you need to at least roll up your sleeves because we’re not allowed to get paint on your uniform. Again, you’re not in any trouble.”
Tyler considered Simone; he looked back at his classmates, who were already laughing, dipping paintbrushes into palettes and mixing colors. He nodded eagerly. Simone started with the left arm and near the crook rested a bruise.
“What happened there?” She turned her attention to his right sleeve.
His primary focus still on his classmates, he said, “I was in the way.”
“You were in his way?” Simone repeated.
Tyler nodded. “Can I go paint now?”
“Of course. You can even take the snacks with you.”
Her smile dropped as soon as he’d turned away.
Simone knew she had broken a few safeguarding rules just then; she’d lost count of the number of leading questions she’d asked and hadn’t remembered to write it all down.
There were strict rules around this because children were easy to manipulate, even without an adult intending to; fact and fiction could interchange in their minds depending on whether they wanted the person listening to like their answers, which could lead to reasonable doubt when further considered.
Tyler said he’d been “in the way,” which she took to mean: in his stepfather’s way.
It was a vague explanation, but Simone’s job was to take even the most ambiguous statements seriously.
The motto for each teacher at Linwood Primary was to overreact rather than underreact, although Simone had witnessed instances where doing the former had resulted in little to no help.
Still, a safeguarding report had to be made and then the DSL (designated safeguarding lead) would be notified.
Simone filled out safeguarding reports every day; it was her job to note even the smallest changes in a child’s behavior.
If Rosie, who was usually full of energy, came into class exhausted, that had to be reported; if Darnell had come to school without lunch, that had to be reported; if Sharna’s uniform was rumpled and there were holes in her tights, it had to be reported.
Simone’s report for Tyler asked her to state what happened in the most specific detail she could remember.
Simone finished thirty minutes later and then asked Cillian to watch her class for two minutes.
She left the room to find Linwood Primary’s DSL: Martha.
She first checked Martha’s classroom, then the staffroom, and even waited outside an engaged toilet cubicle, only for another teacher to walk out.
Doing another loop, she finally found Martha back in her classroom.
Simone entered just as Martha was pulling on her coat, and the older woman sighed immediately. “See-mone, not now. I’m on my way out.”
“I’ve been looking for you for the past fifteen minutes.” Martha continued to button her coat and proceeded to pack her bag. “I’m sorry to stop you, but you are the DSL lead, and I have an urgent matter.”
“Did you fill out a report?”
“Yes—”
“You know there’s a process and currently a backlog; I will get to it as soon as I can.”
“It’s a possible physical assault case.”
Martha finally stopped. “It’s not one of the girls, is it?”
“No, it’s Tyler.”
At least an inch or two of concern faded from Martha’s eyes and Simone rushed to say, “Since I’ve caught you before you’ve gone, you need to look into it.”
Martha stared at her, and if looks could kill, Simone would already be buried. Still, she didn’t budge.
“If it were serious enough, you would have brought Tyler with you for me to question him,” Martha said. “That’s also protocol.”
Simone blinked and swore under her breath. “You’re right,” she acknowledged. “I was supposed to do that. Can you look at the report while I go and get him?” She didn’t wait for Martha to respond before leaving the room.
On reentering her classroom, she scanned the tables for Tyler but couldn’t find him.
“So much for two minutes,” Cillian said. “You were gone for at least—”
“Where’s Tyler?”
“His sister came to pick him up early.”
Simone almost fell to her knees.
“What’s the matter? Doesn’t she usually pick him up?”
Simone explained the situation to him in a corner of the classroom. Cillian sighed. “You should have told me that before you left.”
He was right. “I don’t know what’s going on with me,” Simone admitted. “I keep forgetting the steps.”
Simone returned to Martha to tell her the latest development. “Well, haven’t you made a little mess of this,” she said smugly. “I will consider the report at home. You will check on Tyler first thing tomorrow and let me know. Then you will leave me to do my job.”
Simone went home with a headache and a pit in her stomach.
The next morning Tyler walked in, bright and cheery. Simone sent a message to Martha, who appeared minutes later to collect him.
“Am I in trouble?”
“Of course you’re not, Tyler,” Simone said. “You’ll be back very soon, okay? I’ll be here waiting for you.”
Martha led him away and Simone watched until they’d rounded the corner.
When they returned thirty minutes later, Tyler appeared subdued.
He refused to make eye contact again and barely participated in class.
Each time Simone asked if he was all right (which was usually enough to incite a five-minute conversation), Tyler only nodded and continued on with his work. She wondered if he felt betrayed.
Simone knew she had to leave things in Martha’s hands, but two days went by with no word and she began to chase.
During lunch, Martha was either with a student or nowhere to be found, so Simone resorted to bombarding her with emails, to which she received one curt response: I’ll let you know when/if things have progressed.
Has Tyler shown any changes in behavior?
By now, Tyler seemed to be over the incident with Martha and back to normal, so Simone was forced to say he hadn’t.
It was radio silence from Martha from then on.
However, Simone had already decided she was not going to sit around and wait to find another bruise.
Five days later, Simone managed to corner Martha after the school day had ended.
She entered Martha’s classroom and shut the door behind her.
“I’m very busy right now.”
Annoyingly, Simone couldn’t doubt the validity of Martha’s statement.
Her table was laden with test papers needing to be marked, strands of hair had escaped her imprisoned bun, her cardigan hung precariously off her chair, and the salad she usually had for lunch sat opened but untouched, three empty coffee mugs beside it.
“Have you contacted Tyler’s family?” Simone asked.
“Slow down, See-mone. That meeting requires a form and I have a backlog. No, I cannot push Tyler to the front. I just…” She stared at her desk. “I need a minute.”
“As unethical as this may be, I’m willing to keep silent if you are: I’ll mark some papers if you do Tyler’s form and schedule a meeting now. Do you have an answer booklet for me?”
Martha frowned at first, but it did not last very long. “All right, fine, yes,” she said. “Just this once and it does not leave this room. If I find out it has, I will throw you under each and every bus that comes.”
“Deal.” Simone stepped forward to accept the large stack of papers. “I’ll take them home and bring them to you first thing tomorrow.”
Martha sighed with relief. “Then I will log in to the system and file the report. See you in the morning.”