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“It’s well placed.” The watch commander waves me from the room.
I quickly change out of my uniform and into my regular clothes before signing out of the station.
I try my hardest to drive sensibly to Noah’s school. It’s only ten minutes down the road, but it feels like a lifetime with so many possible alternatives flashing through my mind. I know he was very down this morning. Maybe it’s that, and the teachers are worried about him.
There’s nowhere to park on the school premises when I arrive, which leaves me cursing. I drive around the nearby streets and eventually find somewhere to abandon my car. By the time I reach the school, I’m breathing heavily and filled with anguish, desperate to get to my son. I just about remember to wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans before I greet the teacher, who’s waiting for me at the entrance to the school.
“Miss Bailey?” I ask.
This is the first time I’ve met my son’s teacher. I couldn’t attend Noah’s last parents’ evening due to being on shift, so my parents took him instead. She instantly strikes me as very pretty. I can’t tell her age. Her long, brown hair is tied back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she’s wearing a flowing black skirt, knee high boots, and a bright red jumper. A whistle and an ID card hang from a lanyard around her neck. My perusal of her is quickly replaced by my concerns for Noah, once again.
“Is my son all right?” I ask.
“He’s perfectly fine, Mr. Stewart. I’m sorry to worry you, but I thought it best I discuss this matter with you directly, face to face, and I didn’t want to give any details to the lady I spoke to on the phone.” Miss Bailey gestures for me to follow her, and I do. She leads me down a corridor, filled with the noises of children learning and playing, towards a quieter area. “I’m afraid there was an incident at playtime. Noah struck another boy. The other boy has bruising to his cheek, and we’ve had to inform his parents of what happened.”
“Noah did what? Did the other boy do something to him first?” This is completely uncharacteristic of my son, and I instantly jump to his defence.
“I can understand your response. It appears the boy was teasing one of the other children, and Noah stood up for him. It’s commendable that your son wanted to help, but violence isn’t the answer. When I addressed this with Noah, I’m sorry to say he told me…” she pauses, and I can see she’s trying to figure out how to tell me the next bit.
“Spit it out?” I’m angry, confused, and sad all at the same time. It’s making my temper a little more heated than it would be normally.
“He told me to F.U.C.K. off.” She spells out the expletive.
I step back, stunned. I didn’t even know Noah knew that word. I might have used it in the army and at the fire station, but it’s certainly not something I’d say at home.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I instantly find myself apologizing. “That’s not how he behaves normally.” My hand rubs over my forehead as I allow this revelation to sink in.
My son’s teacher reaches out and places her hand on my arm. I can feel the warmth of her palm through the sleeve of my jumper.
“Please, Mr Stewart. This isn’t behaviour I’d expect from Noah either. He’s one of my best students. He’s kind and helpful, and even if his actions were inappropriate, he was standing up for a child who couldn’t defend himself. I’m more concerned about what has upset him to make him act so out of character.”
The date I always try to forget, because it’s easier that way, immediately springs to my mind.
“It’s the 25th of November today, isn’t it?” I ask, wanting clarification.
“It is,” she replies, looking up at me as we stop in the corridor outside a classroom door bearing her name.
“I should have reminded the school this morning. Today is the fifth anniversary of his mother’s death. He always finds things difficult around this date. I’m so sorry.” I think this is probably the hundredth time I’ve apologized since I walked in the school. I must sound like a broken record and a god-awful father.
“That explains a lot. The poor thing.” She points at the door. “Noah is in here. I’ll need to punish him for his actions, but I’ll take into consideration what you’ve just told me. Under the circumstances, it might be best if you take him home for the rest of the day, so you can spend this time together.”
She still has her hand on my arm, and I feel her sympathy. I don’t deserve it—only Noah does. He doesn’t know the truth about his mother’s accident, and he never will. Today is not the day for allowing those bad memories to resurface, though. Only the good ones are important today.
“Of course. Thank you, Miss Bailey, and I really am sorry for the trouble this has caused.”
“It’s not a problem.” She removes her hand from my arm to open the door. The place she was touching suddenly feels very cold. “My door is always open if you or Noah need help.”
She motions me into the room but remains outside. Noah’s sitting at a desk on his own. He looks so lonely. I remember the first time I saw him after I landed back in England, having got the news Julia had died. He’d run straight to me and cried for hours in my arms. It damn near broke my heart.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” his voice breaks as he apologises and his tears start to fall. I hold my own back, needing to be strong for him.
I nod as I make my way over to him.
“I know, Son.” I pull him into my arms. “But no matter how bad you feel, you can’t hit people or swear at teachers. It’s wrong.”
“I don’t know why I did it. It was like it wasn’t even me,” he sobs.
My bottom lip is quivering.
