Read Online In Loco Parentis by Nigel Bird - Free Book Online Page A

looks at me hoping I’ll be able to explain.
    â€œI don’t know. Aurora, are these your grandparents?” She tilts her head and her brow furrows, but there’s no answer. “I think they must be her grandparents in Sweden.”
    I take the picture from her. On the back, written in pencil, it tells me what I need to know.
    Beckoning Aurora over, I tell the class about her grandparents. “Olaf is a journalist who writes for American newspapers mostly. Ingrid’s a teacher. They live in Stockholm and have a small cottage in the country where the photo was taken last year.”
    I’ve done my job. Stretched it as far as I can go without an interpreter.
    When Aurora turns away, there’s the intake of breath and the straightening of backs of the three children who are left.
    I point to Don and his face becomes animated.
    He jumps to his feet and fiddles about with his clothes. Lifts his tops like he’s going to undress.
    There, just underneath his ribs and all the way down to the top of his hip is a bruise, the colours all damson and plum. It’s round. I imagine it’s about the size of an adult fist.
    Just as I see it, it’s gone and he’s pulling the tee-shirt down.
    â€œI got this yesterday.”
    â€œWow,” everyone says.
    They’re all looking at the Arsenal FC transfer across his chest. The only thing I can think of is the bruise. Picture knuckle-marks in there, but can’t be sure I’m not just imagining.
    I want to ask about it. Who put it there and when, but I have all the child-protection courses I’ve ever been on to think about at the same time.
    No leading questions. No putting words into the child’s mouth. If you’re not sure, pass it on to the child-protection officer in your school.
    â€œThat’s fantastic,” is what I say. Shit is what I think. Shit, shit, shit.
    Looks like Don’s won the day in the show and tell stakes anyway. David and Charlie are both up getting a closer look.
    â€œArsenal,” Zlatan says. “It is my favourite team.”
    â€œThey’re your favourite team,” I say, remembering to re-model rather than to correct.
    I look at the clock for help. It doesn’t. There are still twenty minutes to go and now I’m not sure if it’s too short or too long.
    There’s time to get in touch with social services, but I don’t have any faith in what I saw. Besides, I’d be putting Don’s trust in me on the line at the same time. Alienating his family. Starting up the gossip.
    Better just to leave it to the end of the day. Write it in the incident book and make a note to myself.
    â€œAnybody else?” I forget to ask Don about his top, but he’ll live. At least I hope he will.
    Arash gets up with a car, Arabella does a dance, Zulfi stands up and sits down again.
    When the bell goes it knocks me from the labyrinths of my mind. Milja has the floor.
    â€œWhat did the flower say to the flower?” A joke to end the day on. We’ll be late for the parents, but they can wait.
    â€œDon’t you grow anymore.”
    Either there’s something there that I can’t see or she’s a comic genius. Half of the kids are on their backs. David has his legs in the air and is kicking out like he’s just been hung.
    I wonder if I should explain why it’s not funny.
    Instead I want to be that popular.
    â€œWhy did the hedgehog cross the road?”

the girl with the leather bag
    When the children leave, I just sit.
    Without their laughter, the constant tugging at my trousers or the hearing of my name, the world seems an empty place.
    There’s plenty to sort. Wet paintings hang from a string tied from wall to wall like brightly coloured washing. There’s play-dough to put away and worksheets and photographs to be stuck into folders. On my desk is the pile of letters about after-school clubs I was supposed to give the kids before they left.
    I