Read Online Respect (Mandasue Heller) by Mandasue Heller - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mandasue Heller
Tags: UK
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penny she’d ever managed to get her hands on straight into her bank account. She was determined not to end up like her mum: struggling through life on benefits, with unwanted kids to feed and an insatiable appetite for fags, booze and drugs to cater for. It had been hard, but she had managed to accumulate just under £300 and she resented having to spend it on food. But what choice did she have? She wasn’t old enough to sign on, and she definitely couldn’t ask anyone for help because then the authorities would know that their mum had abandoned them and it would be game over.
‘I wish you’d talk to me.’ Lynn tried again, watching as the troubled thoughts flashed through the girl’s downcast eyes.
Chantelle shook her head and inhaled deeply. ‘There’s nothing wrong. I’m absolutely fine.’
Lynn sighed. As she’d already said, Chantelle was one of the school’s brightest students, and yet she looked set to do badly in every one of the exams that she had sat. It didn’t make sense.
‘Maybe I should talk to your mum?’ she ventured.
‘ No! ’ Chantelle’s head shot up. ‘Please, don’t. She’s not very well at the moment, and I don’t want to worry her.’
‘Ah …’ Relieved to have finally got an insight, Lynn leaned forward. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’
‘No, we’re all right.’ Chantelle dropped her gaze again.
The teacher’s voice was so soft and kind that she felt like bursting into tears. She had always liked Mrs Foster best of all the teachers in the school, and she knew that the woman was fond of her, too. But, in her experience, the kindest adults were often the most easily shocked, and if Mrs Foster were to discover the truth she would feel duty-bound to alert the social worker.
‘It’s just a bit of flu,’ Chantelle lied, forcing herself to look the woman in the eye now as she rose from her seat. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to go or I’ll be late picking my brother up.’ She reached for her bag. ‘And I said I’d go to the doctor’s on my way home and get my mum’s prescription.’
‘Okay, well, try to relax during the holidays.’ Lynn stood up and came around the desk. ‘And don’t worry too much about your exam results. If they’re not up to par we can talk about re-sits when the new term starts.’
Chantelle nodded and pulled the door open. Then, forcing a smile, she fled down the corridor, determined to get out of there before the tears came.
When the girl had gone, Lynn gathered her own things together. Chantelle had always been reserved but she’d been even quieter than usual of late. And she’d lost weight, which was a definite indicator of stress. As she made her way to the staffroom Lynn wondered again if she ought to call the girl’s mother. But she quickly decided against it. Chantelle had asked her not to, and she didn’t want her to think that she’d gone behind her back. Apart from which, Mary Booth was hardly the most approachable of women – as Lynn had discovered to her cost on the one occasion when the woman had actually bothered to turn up for parents’ evening, eyes glazed and reeking of alcohol. Lynn had only spoken to her once since then: eighteen months ago, after Chantelle and her brother returned home after being placed in temporary care. She had called to offer the school’s support, but Mary Booth had made it quite clear that she neither needed nor wanted their help.
So, no, she wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
As much as she suspected that something was bothering Chantelle, she sensed that no good would come of interfering. All she could do was be here when – if – Chantelle decided that she wanted to talk.
Chantelle was glad to see that Immy had gone when she reached the school gates. They had been best mates for years and always walked home together, but Immy would be bound to ask what was wrong if she saw how upset Chantelle was, and Chantelle couldn’t risk telling her. She couldn’t tell any one.
‘I wish you’d talk to me.’ Lynn tried again, watching as the troubled thoughts flashed through the girl’s downcast eyes.
Chantelle shook her head and inhaled deeply. ‘There’s nothing wrong. I’m absolutely fine.’
Lynn sighed. As she’d already said, Chantelle was one of the school’s brightest students, and yet she looked set to do badly in every one of the exams that she had sat. It didn’t make sense.
‘Maybe I should talk to your mum?’ she ventured.
‘ No! ’ Chantelle’s head shot up. ‘Please, don’t. She’s not very well at the moment, and I don’t want to worry her.’
‘Ah …’ Relieved to have finally got an insight, Lynn leaned forward. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’
‘No, we’re all right.’ Chantelle dropped her gaze again.
The teacher’s voice was so soft and kind that she felt like bursting into tears. She had always liked Mrs Foster best of all the teachers in the school, and she knew that the woman was fond of her, too. But, in her experience, the kindest adults were often the most easily shocked, and if Mrs Foster were to discover the truth she would feel duty-bound to alert the social worker.
‘It’s just a bit of flu,’ Chantelle lied, forcing herself to look the woman in the eye now as she rose from her seat. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to go or I’ll be late picking my brother up.’ She reached for her bag. ‘And I said I’d go to the doctor’s on my way home and get my mum’s prescription.’
‘Okay, well, try to relax during the holidays.’ Lynn stood up and came around the desk. ‘And don’t worry too much about your exam results. If they’re not up to par we can talk about re-sits when the new term starts.’
Chantelle nodded and pulled the door open. Then, forcing a smile, she fled down the corridor, determined to get out of there before the tears came.
When the girl had gone, Lynn gathered her own things together. Chantelle had always been reserved but she’d been even quieter than usual of late. And she’d lost weight, which was a definite indicator of stress. As she made her way to the staffroom Lynn wondered again if she ought to call the girl’s mother. But she quickly decided against it. Chantelle had asked her not to, and she didn’t want her to think that she’d gone behind her back. Apart from which, Mary Booth was hardly the most approachable of women – as Lynn had discovered to her cost on the one occasion when the woman had actually bothered to turn up for parents’ evening, eyes glazed and reeking of alcohol. Lynn had only spoken to her once since then: eighteen months ago, after Chantelle and her brother returned home after being placed in temporary care. She had called to offer the school’s support, but Mary Booth had made it quite clear that she neither needed nor wanted their help.
So, no, she wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
As much as she suspected that something was bothering Chantelle, she sensed that no good would come of interfering. All she could do was be here when – if – Chantelle decided that she wanted to talk.
Chantelle was glad to see that Immy had gone when she reached the school gates. They had been best mates for years and always walked home together, but Immy would be bound to ask what was wrong if she saw how upset Chantelle was, and Chantelle couldn’t risk telling her. She couldn’t tell any one.
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