A big crack spreads up the screen.
Before I know what’s happening , Bertie is trashing the place, making weird bleating angry noises and smashing up anything he can get his hands on.
The X box is the first to go. He pulls it clean free of its wires and stamps on it until the black plastic cracks.
Board games go flying across the room, a pot plant is thrown to the ground and stamped on until it becomes a gooey pile of green sap and mud, and the curtains are ripped from the windows.
It’s like seeing the incredible hulk fly into a rage, and it doesn’t take long before he turns on me – another object in his bedroom that needs to be trashed.
Bertie flies at me, grabbing at my clothes and hair, pulling and screeching.
I grab his wrists as softly as I can, trying to keep my breathing steady.
‘Hey. Calm down. Calm down.’
I try to look him dead in the eye, but he’s squirming around so much that it’s impossible.
He’s pretty strong for such a skinny little thing, and he manages to get some good kicks in before I pick him up, move him to the bed and hold him down.
‘It’s okay,’ I say, over and over again. ‘It’s okay.’
He wriggles and squirms for a good few minutes before the life finally goes out of him, and he sags into a heavy breathing pile on the duvet.
Every time he breathes out, he makes an angry little ‘mmph!’ noise though, and it takes a while before he’s quiet.
He won’t look at me. Instead, he buries his head in the duvet.
‘So losing makes you angry,’ I say, putting a gentle hand on his back. ‘Is that it?’
Bertie doesn’t answer. Instead he spins his head around, and glares at me with such hatred that it takes my breath away.
‘It’s okay to be angry,’ I tell him. ‘The trick is to figure out what you’re really angry about. Because that’s one hell of a way to lose at a computer game.’
I put a hand to my cheek and feel a mean little bruise where his fist hit me. My arms feel achy too, and I’m sure there must be a few bruises on my legs from his kicks.
‘Here’s the thing,’ I tell Bertie’s back. ‘I’m not like the others. No matter what you do, no matter how much you try and push me, I won’t leave you. I’m here to look after you. You can try to push me away all you want, but it won’t work. I don’t leave my children. I’m here with you until you stop needing me. And right now, I’m pretty sure you need me.’
Bertie rolls over. He looks up at me with those brown-black eyes, but the anger isn’t there any more. Instead he looks sad. Very, very sad. Then he pushes me off the bed, and pulls the duvet over himself.
‘You don’t want me sitting next to you right now?’ I tell the duvet. ‘ That’s okay.’ I’m on my feet, watching the bed. ‘Well. I guess there’ll be no more computer games for a while.’
Bertie sits bolt upright, the duvet around his shoulders. The glare is back on his face, and then he’s on his feet, running out of the room.
I follow him.
25
A few staircases and corridors later, and we’re somewhere I recognize.
Agnes Calder’s office.
Bertie pu shes the door open without knocking, and I see Agnes at her desk, frowning at some paperwork. She’s wearing thin little glasses on the end of her nose.
‘Bertie.’ She looks u p. Then she turns to me. ‘What on earth happened now?’
‘Nothing really,’ I say. ‘Bertie lost a computer game and got angry.’
‘Oh.’ She takes her glasses off and puts them on the desk. ‘I told you he was a nasty child.’
‘He’s not a nasty child.’
‘ I’ve said it over and over again. A good hard slap would do him no harm at all. But in this day and age, sad to say, it’s not allowed.’
‘That’s the last thing he needs,’ I say.
Agnes frowns. ‘When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it. Everyone is too soft with him. He needs order. Firm rules.’ She waves a hand in Bertie’s direction. ‘Or this is the result. Wayward, just like his
Before I know what’s happening , Bertie is trashing the place, making weird bleating angry noises and smashing up anything he can get his hands on.
The X box is the first to go. He pulls it clean free of its wires and stamps on it until the black plastic cracks.
Board games go flying across the room, a pot plant is thrown to the ground and stamped on until it becomes a gooey pile of green sap and mud, and the curtains are ripped from the windows.
It’s like seeing the incredible hulk fly into a rage, and it doesn’t take long before he turns on me – another object in his bedroom that needs to be trashed.
Bertie flies at me, grabbing at my clothes and hair, pulling and screeching.
I grab his wrists as softly as I can, trying to keep my breathing steady.
‘Hey. Calm down. Calm down.’
I try to look him dead in the eye, but he’s squirming around so much that it’s impossible.
He’s pretty strong for such a skinny little thing, and he manages to get some good kicks in before I pick him up, move him to the bed and hold him down.
‘It’s okay,’ I say, over and over again. ‘It’s okay.’
He wriggles and squirms for a good few minutes before the life finally goes out of him, and he sags into a heavy breathing pile on the duvet.
Every time he breathes out, he makes an angry little ‘mmph!’ noise though, and it takes a while before he’s quiet.
He won’t look at me. Instead, he buries his head in the duvet.
‘So losing makes you angry,’ I say, putting a gentle hand on his back. ‘Is that it?’
Bertie doesn’t answer. Instead he spins his head around, and glares at me with such hatred that it takes my breath away.
‘It’s okay to be angry,’ I tell him. ‘The trick is to figure out what you’re really angry about. Because that’s one hell of a way to lose at a computer game.’
I put a hand to my cheek and feel a mean little bruise where his fist hit me. My arms feel achy too, and I’m sure there must be a few bruises on my legs from his kicks.
‘Here’s the thing,’ I tell Bertie’s back. ‘I’m not like the others. No matter what you do, no matter how much you try and push me, I won’t leave you. I’m here to look after you. You can try to push me away all you want, but it won’t work. I don’t leave my children. I’m here with you until you stop needing me. And right now, I’m pretty sure you need me.’
Bertie rolls over. He looks up at me with those brown-black eyes, but the anger isn’t there any more. Instead he looks sad. Very, very sad. Then he pushes me off the bed, and pulls the duvet over himself.
‘You don’t want me sitting next to you right now?’ I tell the duvet. ‘ That’s okay.’ I’m on my feet, watching the bed. ‘Well. I guess there’ll be no more computer games for a while.’
Bertie sits bolt upright, the duvet around his shoulders. The glare is back on his face, and then he’s on his feet, running out of the room.
I follow him.
25
A few staircases and corridors later, and we’re somewhere I recognize.
Agnes Calder’s office.
Bertie pu shes the door open without knocking, and I see Agnes at her desk, frowning at some paperwork. She’s wearing thin little glasses on the end of her nose.
‘Bertie.’ She looks u p. Then she turns to me. ‘What on earth happened now?’
‘Nothing really,’ I say. ‘Bertie lost a computer game and got angry.’
‘Oh.’ She takes her glasses off and puts them on the desk. ‘I told you he was a nasty child.’
‘He’s not a nasty child.’
‘ I’ve said it over and over again. A good hard slap would do him no harm at all. But in this day and age, sad to say, it’s not allowed.’
‘That’s the last thing he needs,’ I say.
Agnes frowns. ‘When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it. Everyone is too soft with him. He needs order. Firm rules.’ She waves a hand in Bertie’s direction. ‘Or this is the result. Wayward, just like his
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