LITMIR.BIZ

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does her teacher bit, tells them to sit down and do their work. It has limited effect, so she goes over and joins in.

      ‘What exactly happened, Izzie?’ she asks her.

      ‘I was doing beads with Karen, and Harriet came over and said could she play, but it was a private game, so I said no, and she still wanted to play, so I said no again, and then she tried to grab one of the beads from me really hard and hurt my finger deliberately on purpose. It’s very serious.’

      ‘Would it not have been nice to let Harriet play with you? I’m sure there must have been enough beads to go round?’ Miriam asks Izzie.

      Izzie stares at Miriam as if Miriam has missed the point. Miriam sees her lower lip pucker. Oh dear. She’s about to start reliving her moments of glory with Mrs McGee all over again.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Miriam tells her. ‘Those bandages will do a great job, I’m sure. You’ll be playing beads again in no time!’

      ‘Not with Harriet,’ she says.

      ‘Let’s see – I’m sure you can be friends again,’ Miriam says.

      ‘We were never friends in the first place.’

       Why did you let those girls talk you into it? They aren’t even your real friends!

      A memory of her mother flies in, unwelcome. This is not the moment.

      Get into the moment. Boats.

      Soon enough, the classroom gets its buzz back. Miriam mutters her excuses to the TA and slips out of the classroom.

      She needs to know what has become of the other little girl in her care.

      * * *

      Miriam finds Harriet siting in the corridor outside the head’s office. Another Victorian approach. Harriet’s just waiting there, staring at her hands. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe she’s meant to be reflecting on what she’s done.

      ‘Hey, Harriet,’ Miriam says gently. She wants Harriet to see her as a confidante, a friend. They can build things up from there.

      Harriet looks up, but doesn’t say anything.

      ‘You doing OK?’ Miriam asks her.

      She shrugs.

      Miriam sits down next to her. ‘I know you didn’t mean to hurt Izzie,’ she tells her.

      ‘Yes, I did,’ Harriet says.

      Right. OK.

      ‘Why’s that, then?’ Miriam asks.

      ‘Daddy said if someone doesn’t give you what they want, you have to twist their arm until you get it. But it was her fingers that had the beads in, so I twisted them.’

      ‘Why did you want the beads so badly?’ Miriam asks. She doesn’t want to get into the Daddy issues today. That sounds like a separate conversation.

      Harriet shrugs again. ‘They were pretty. I thought there were enough for all of us. And I couldn’t bring my own toys today.’

      ‘Why’s that?’ Miriam asks.

      ‘Mummy and Daddy were not able to bring me to school today because sometimes they have to work very hard. Auntie Yvette drove me very safely in her car.’

      Miriam wrinkles up her nose, trying to pick between the obviously parent-schooled phrases.

      ‘Are Aunty Yvette and Mummy and Daddy kind to you?’ Miriam questions.

      ‘They don’t let me have beads either,’ she tells her.

      Miriam nods. ‘Sometimes grown-ups are mean,’ she agrees. Harriet gives her a shadow of a grin. Good. They’re getting somewhere.

      Miriam stands up. ‘Give me a moment,’ she tells her. Miriam’s about to knock on the head’s door, but she stops. She bends down to Harriet again.

      ‘Harriet, do Mummy or Daddy, or Auntie Yvette, ever do anything that makes you unhappy?’ she asks.

      Harriet shrugs, avoiding Miriam’s gaze.

      ‘Harriet?’ Miriam asks again.

      Very slowly, she looks up at Miriam.

      ‘Yes,’ she says.

      It’s all Miriam needs.

       Chapter 11

       KIRSTEN, SEPTEMBER 2018

      Sometimes all it takes is for someone to ask you a question.

      A question it should be easy to answer.

      A question like: ‘How do you think things are going?’

      It all comes out.

      Or it doesn’t. That’s the test.

      Kirsten realises she’s failing it when she hears herself saying to Harriet’s headmistress ‘… and then her father just won’t come home on time – or do anything around the house. And I want to keep the family together, for Harriet, because I didn’t have that, but sometimes it’s just so hard, you know?’

      Harriet’s headmistress looks at her sympathetically (at least, Kirsten hopes it is sympathy).

      Kirsten clears her throat. ‘What I mean is, we’re all a bit busy, aren’t we?’

      The headmistress nods. ‘But we have to prioritise our children, don’t we?’

      Yes, yes of course they do. Even though Kirsten will have lost, what, about a grand because of today’s antics? That’s just direct costs. And then more in reputational costs – people let down at the last minute, who will spread toxicity about the practice. No more custom, no chance of getting a partner. Maybe all because Ian was trying to make a concession to her, getting Yvette to drive Harriet in, unsettling Harriet.

      But sure, whatever the antics, you always have to put your children first. No one seems to understand that if you put them second for a bit, it’s because you’re trying to earn enough to put their food on the table and shoes on their feet, and keep a roof attached to a gargantuan mortgage over their heads. No one apart from Kirsten.

      ‘You mustn’t let Harriet pick up on whatever … difficulties there are at home,’ the headmistress says.

      ‘Ian and I love Harriet very much,’ Kirsten says. ‘We don’t let anything get in the way of that.’

      Listening to herself, even she is unconvinced. She hugs her thoughts of Harriet to her, holds them tight, kisses them. She feels tears forming, tries to blink them back. It’s not just about Harriet; it’s the thought of having had to run out of the surgery, again. Putting Harriet first always seems to create a conflict.

      Perhaps she can send her back to class, rather than take her home? Maybe she doesn’t need to cancel all the afternoon’s appointments, can still rescue the afternoon? She flicks a glance at the clock.

      ‘What lessons does she have this afternoon? Ones she’ll be happy in?’ she asks.

      The head answers, ‘I’m sure Ms Robertson has got some lovely plans for them.’

      Yes, Ms Robertson. She seems nice.

      ‘Great, well, perhaps I don’t need to take her home, perhaps she can still go to those?’ Kirsten says, trying to sound bright.

      The headmistress frowns. ‘I’m not sure, in the circumstances …’

      ‘It’s a little playground tiff; let’s not over-egg it.’

      Kirsten regrets her words immediately. She can see the woman drawing herself up.

      ‘Listen,’ Kirsten says, before

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