‘Lochan, I think we need to have a little chat.’
Christ, no. Not this, not today. ‘Um – I’m sorry. I – I actually have maths,’ I say in a rush.
‘This won’t take long. I’ll give you a note.’ She indicates a chair in front of her desk. ‘Have a seat.’
Lifting the strap of my bag over my head, I take the proffered seat, realizing there is no way out. Miss Azley crosses over to the door and closes it with a harsh metallic thud that sounds like a prison gate.
She comes back towards me and takes the chair by my side, turning to me with a reassuring smile. ‘There’s no need to look so worried. I’m sure by now you know my bark is worse than my bite!’
I force myself to look at her, hoping she will reel off the spiel about the importance of class participation more quickly if I appear co-operative. But instead she chooses the roundabout route. ‘What happened to your lip?’
Aware that I’m biting it again, I force myself to stop, my fingers flying to it in surprise. ‘Nothing – it’s – it’s nothing.’
‘You should put some Vaseline on it and take up pen-chewing instead.’ She reaches over to her desk for a couple of gnawed biros. ‘Less painful and does the job just as well.’ She gives me another smile.
With all the will in the world, I cannot return it. The pally small-talk is throwing me off-balance. Something in her eyes tells me she isn’t about to give me a lecture on the importance of class participation, teamwork and all the usual shit. Her look is not one of admonishment, but of genuine concern.
‘You know why I’ve kept you back, don’t you?’
I reply with a quick nod, my teeth automatically scraping my lip again. Look, this isn’t a good day, I want to tell her. I could grit my teeth and nod my way through a heart-to-heart with an over-zealous teacher another time, but not today. Not today.
‘What is it about speaking out in front of your peers that frightens you so much, Lochan?’
She has caught me off guard. I don’t like the way she used the word frightens. I don’t like the way she seems to know so much about me.
‘I’m not – I don’t—’ My voice is dangerously unsteady. The air circulates slowly in the room. I am breathing too fast. She has cornered me. I’m aware of sweat breaking out across my back, heat radiating from my face.
‘Hey, it’s all right.’ She leans forward, her concern almost tangible. ‘I’m not having a go at you, Lochan, OK? But I know you’re bright enough to understand why you need to be able to speak in public from time to time – not just for the sake of your academic future but also your personal one.’
I wish I could just get up and walk out.
‘Is it just a problem at school or is it all the time?’
Why the hell is she doing this? Headmaster, detention, expulsion – I don’t care. Anything but this. I want to tune her out but I can’t. It’s that damn concern, cutting through my consciousness like a knife.
‘It’s all the time, isn’t it?’ Her voice is too gentle.
I feel the heat rush to my face. Taking a panicked breath, I let my eyes scour the classroom, as if seeking a place to hide.
‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Lochan. It’s just perhaps something worth tackling now.’
Face thrumming, I start chewing my lip again, the sharp pain a welcome relief.
‘Like any phobia, social anxiety is something that can be overcome. I was thinking maybe we could devise an action plan together to set you on track for next year at university.’
I can hear the sound of my breathing, sharp and rapid. I reply with a barely perceptible nod.
‘We’d take it very slowly. One small step at a time. Perhaps you could aim to put your hand up and answer just one question each lesson. That would be a good start, don’t you think? Once you can comfortably volunteer one answer, you’ll find it much easier to answer two, and then three – and, well, you get the idea.’ She laughs and I sense she is trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Then, before you know it, you’ll be answering every question and no one else will have a chance in hell!’
I try to return her smile but it doesn’t work. Take one small step at a time . . . I used to have someone helping me do just that. Someone who introduced me to her friend, encouraged me to read out my essay in class; someone who was subtly trying to help me with my whole problem, yet I never realized. And now I’ve lost her – lost her to Nico DiMarco. One evening with him, and Maya will realize what a loser I’ve become, start feeling the same way towards me as Kit and my mother do . . .
‘I’ve noticed you’ve been looking quite stressed recently,’ Miss Azley remarks suddenly. ‘Which is perfectly understandable – it’s a tough year. But your grades are as good as ever and you excel at written exams. So you’ll sail through your A-levels: there’s nothing to worry about there.’
I give a tense nod.
‘Are things difficult at home?’
I look at her then, unable to disguise my shock.
‘I have two children to look after,’ she says with a little smile. ‘I gather you have four?’
My heart stutters and almost stops. I stare at her. Who the hell has she been talking to?
‘N-no! I’m seventeen. I do have two brothers and – and two sisters, but we live with our mother, and she—’
‘I know that, Lochan. It’s all right.’ It isn’t until she cuts me off that I realize I’m not speaking in particularly measured tones.
For God’s sake, try to keep it cool! I beg myself. Don’t go and react as if you’ve got something to hide!
‘What I meant was, you have younger siblings to help take care of,’ Miss Azley continues. ‘That can’t be easy, on top of all your schoolwork.’
‘But I don’t – I don’t take care of them. They’re – they’re just a bunch of annoying brats. They certainly drive my mother round the bend . . .’ My laugh sounds painfully artificial.
Another strained silence stretches out between us. I glance desperately at the door. Why is she talking to me about this? Who has she been speaking to? What other information do they have in that damn file? Are they thinking of contacting Social Services? Did St Luke’s get in touch with Belmont when the kids went missing?
‘I’m not trying to meddle, Lochan,’ she says suddenly. ‘I just want to make sure you know that you don’t have to carry the burden alone. Your social anxiety, the responsibilities at home . . . it’s a lot to have to deal with at your age.’
Out of nowhere a pain rises through my chest and into my throat. I find myself biting down on my lip to stop it trembling.
I see her face change and she leans towards me. ‘Hey, hey, listen to me. There is lots of help available. There’s the school counsellor or any one of your teachers you can talk to – or outside help I can recommend if you don’t want to involve the school. You don’t have to carry all this on your own—’
The pain in my throat intensifies. I’m going to lose it. ‘I – I really have to go. I’m sorry—’
‘All right, that’s all right. But, Lochan, I’m always here if you want to talk, OK? You can make an appointment with the counsellor at any time. And if there’s any way I can make things easier in class . . . We’ll forget the presentations for the moment. I’ll just mark it as a written assignment as you suggested. And I’ll leave answering questions up to you and stop pushing you to participate. I know it’s not much, but would that help at all?’
I don’t understand. Why can’t she just be like the other teachers? Why does she have to care?
I nod wordlessly.
‘Oh, love, the last thing I wanted was to make you feel worse! It’s just that I think really highly of you and I’m worried. I wanted you to know there’s help available . . .’
It’s only when I hear the defeat in her voice, see the look of shock on her face, that I realize my eyes have filled with tears.