Mummy’s Little Soldier: A troubled child. An absent mum. A shocking secret.

‘Come on then, kiddo,’ I said, patting him on the back, ‘let’s go get the verdict, shall we?’ Now it was my turn to glance at the clock. ‘Though it looks like you’ve missed the chippy for today, sunshine, doesn’t it? No time for going home for lunch now.’

He sighed, but at the same time seemed to accept that, on some days, that was life. In reality he was lucky the teacher had shown up when he had, because I wasn’t sure I agreed with his ‘harder they fall’ line. He could have been badly hurt.

It was with that thought in my mind that I took him the few yards back to Gary’s office, hoping that my day wouldn’t be similarly derailed by a run on the sandwich selection.

But Gary seemed to have other ideas. I was just turning to leave them to it – I’d catch up with Gary in the staff room later – when he flapped a hand beckoning me back. ‘Oh no, come and join us, Mrs Watson,’ he said. ‘If you can spare us a few minutes? As behaviour manager, it wouldn’t harm for you to sit in – maybe you could help us to formulate some kind of plan.’

‘Plan?’ I asked, confused at being unexpectedly included.

‘Yes, for Leo’s future here in school.’

My uninformed first opinion of Leo had, it seemed, been a tad rose-coloured. Perhaps more than a tad, I decided, as I listened to the list of misdemeanours Gary now helpfully read out to me. Skipping school, constantly arriving back late from lunch – and occasionally not returning at all – not listening in class, fighting, swearing and being generally disruptive; as lists went it was pretty comprehensive.

‘Anything to add, Leo?’ Gary said as he looked up from his computer screen. ‘Any explanations to offer for any of this?’

Leo had now retreated into sullen teenage boy mode. ‘No, sir,’ he answered in a monotone.

Gary sighed and turned his chair around to face him. ‘Leo, what do you think we should do with you? I’m interested, really. Do you think you should be allowed to continue to behave like this? If not, what do you reckon we should do about it?’

The room fell silent, bar a rustle as Mr Kennedy checked his watch, his lunch break ticking along every bit as fast as Leo’s. Indeed, he seemed bored now he’d done his heroic bit. Finally, after some time, Leo spoke.

‘Well, I suppose you should exclude me, shouldn’t you, sir? Or, if not, maybe give me another chance?’

It was hard to hide my smile. He really had thought it through, going from one end of the punishment scale to the other in a couple of sentences. And, really, what did Gary expect him to say?

‘I have an idea,’ I said, almost the very second I had it. ‘How about we do give Leo another chance? Incorporating a probationary period in the Unit. He could start on Monday – still do his classes at the youth centre, obviously, but the rest of the time – for say, a half term to begin with? – he can spend with me.’ I glanced at Leo, who looked cautiously pleased, if a little surprised, and then at both men in turn. ‘If that’s okay with everyone else, of course.’

In truth, I was a little surprised myself.

No, scrub that. A lot surprised. What was I thinking?

‘Well, that’s you and your big mouth,’ I muttered to myself half an hour later when, a sandwich grabbed and a coffee slurped, I was reflecting on the fact that my little trio had now become a quintet. And a quintet of different kids who’d have markedly different needs. I was nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

‘Leo Fenton? You’re telling me,’ commented Kelly, as we strolled back to the classroom and I told her about the news of our latest ‘recruit’. And she filled me in on what she’d heard about him already – which seemed to be more of the same. ‘But, more to the point, what’s the word up on Gary?’

I shook my head. ‘Nothing to tell. Yes, I caught up with him, yes, Paul’s parents seemed to like him, no, I don’t have anything more interesting to impart. And, to be honest, I was more engrossed in hearing about Leo Fenton. Still am, in fact – he seems to be something like the local Scarlet Pimpernel, doesn’t he? Sees school as an optional extra.’

Kelly nodded. ‘Oh, yes. From what I’ve heard, he’s a bit of a serial absconder, isn’t he?’

‘It would seem so. But you know when you speak to a kid and you just get a kind of inkling?’

Kelly grinned. ‘Depends on the kind of inkling.’

‘Oh, definitely the good kind. That he’s not a bad ’un. Just a bit of a not quite toe-the-line ’un. That kind.’

‘Well, it’s your call. Your hunch. And it can’t hurt, really, can it? Another year 9 boy might work out well with the younger boys, mightn’t he?’

Assuming he showed his face much, that was.

But that was for worrying about come Monday, in any case, and right now it was still Friday, and I still had two children lined up for their ‘get to know you’ session. But given that the children in question were Darryl and Cody, I wasn’t confident we’d make a great deal of headway.

Darryl, particularly, was never going to be easy to interview. On the evidence we had so far he appeared to be scared of absolutely everything, and I still hadn’t really worked out how I could possibly help him gain the social skills he would need to navigate a mainstream school.

But we had to make a start, and there was no time like the present; so, after speaking further to Kelly, whose side he barely left (well, unless she could enlist the support of one of the older mentors from the sixth form, that was), I decided that, even if it stressed him out, she would walk him across to me in the reading corner, sit him down and then leave him there, however difficult or unsettling he found the wrench. I had to try to connect with him, after all – try to get him to trust me – and at least he would still be able to see Kelly from his vantage point. Although, in reality, however simple it sounded in theory, putting it into practice could be anything but.