How To Be Brave by Louise Beech Page B

well as I knew my own. But knowing them enlightened me; it shone a light more clearly on the dark parts of her nature. I’d punished her many times for over-ebullience at school that led to cheeking teachers. She’d once sat in her room for hours after swearing at next-door’s cat. But this time she had merely responded to being bullied, only taken food because her poor body dictated she should.
    ‘I promise I’ll explain it all to Mrs White,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this Bradley? I could have come in and sorted it out. You don’t have to push me away all the time. Why do you always fight me when we’re on the same side?’
    No answer.
    ‘Shall I go and talk to Mrs White and come back for you?’
    After a moment the sound of sliding latch bounced off the tiles and the door opened a crack. Rose peered out, her thin face smudged with chocolate flapjack. It was like I viewed her with new eyes. I saw how emaciated she still was, how lank her hair, how dark the lines beneath her eyes.
    When Jake had been away for months and came home, I often saw new things in his features – new lines, new freckles, new whiskers, new life. Whatever absence does to the heart, it does more to the eyes. It opens them. It was as though Rose had been gone months too and now I saw her. Really saw her; what she was going through, her bravery, her flawed beauty.
    My love bubbled to the surface. I felt sure she’d feel it too and held out arms for her to fall into. But she wiped her mouth and blew her hair off her face and said, ‘Mum, Mrs White hates me. She’s going to kill me.’
    ‘We’ll see,’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s go and sort this out. You do know your blood sugars will be high at lunchtime?’
    ‘Doesn’t matter. You said I get to look at Grandad Colin’s diary.’
    I had forgotten it, neglected our lunchtime pact. ‘It’s at home,’ I said. ‘I left in such a rush. We’ll worry about that later.’
    ‘But you promised,’ she pouted. The bell sounded; feet scurried past the door, shook the tiles beneath us. ‘You can’t like say things and then …’
    ‘For God’s sake, let’s just see Mrs White first.’ I guided her firmly out of the toilets. ‘You’ll have to say sorry to the boy if they want you to,’ I said, adding quickly when she reacted with a scowl, ‘but I’ll make sure they know what he’s been saying to you first.’
    Children swarmed past us, heading for whichever classroom or hall they were supposed to attend. Mrs White opened her office door and ushered us inside, expression grim, glasses clinging on. We sat, separated from her by an orderly desk where files had been placed on one side of the computer screen and a keyboard on the other. I used to be that tidy; I used to keep my house beautifully clean.
    ‘Rose is sorry for hurting the child – Bradley, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘But I would like you to know that he’s been bullying her since she came back to school, saying some rather vile and upsetting things. Obviously if he’s sorry we can put it behind us and move on.’
    Next to me, Rose fidgeted and picked her nose, looking everywhere but at Mrs White.
    ‘I’m sure you’ll understand that I cannot permit vigilantism in my school,’ said Mrs White. ‘Rose should have come to one of her teachers and we could have dealt with Bradley in an appropriate manner. Taking the law into her own hands and using violence is not the answer.’
    ‘I understand that,’ I said, trying to keep my voice even. ‘But children don’t always have the courage to speak up when being bullied. She only reacted so angrily because he said she’s going to die. Can’t you have a little compassion and see that Rose has recently been diagnosed with a serious medical condition and is still coming to terms with it?’
    ‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’ said Mrs White. ‘All of my staff have been understanding and helpful with this, as have I. But I cannot excuse violence, nor, of course,