had to learn about this new career I’d chosen – Mike and I had both chosen – not to mention having a very stark and physical reminder of what an incredibly big and demanding job it was.
I took a deep breath and stooped to collect a small piece of broken plate under the table, which I’d missed, surprised to see that I was physically shaking. In all my time in the school unit, I’d never felt quite so vulnerable and shaken up. How the hell had an eleven-year-old reduced me to this? I reached for my cigarettes on autopilot and went outside to light one. But I couldn’t because my hands wouldn’t stay still long enough to make the lighter work.
How could this be? I had worked with some of the most difficult children for years, and I tried hard to look back and think of a comparable event. I was angry with myself, and with the situation too. It seemed that the one time, in fact, the first time, that I had an ‘in’ to Justin, I’d had to – through no fault of my own – then destroy it. Yes, it was the protocol, but it was bloody hard to swallow, and I wasn’t sure I trusted the protocol any more.
It took me a long time to calm down, and once I had, I tried to call Mike, but he obviously had no signal at the football ground because his phone was going straight to voicemail. I knew he wouldn’t be back till teatime either, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought about asking Riley to come over but I was worried that might just make Justin worse.
I spent some time feeling completely undecided, just standing in the conservatory, smoking, staring out into the garden. Should I go up to him and see if he’d calmed down, or should I not? In the end, I opted not to because I thought it might just exacerbate the situation and ignite a further confrontation. I was also nervous and wary about facing him again, alone. He’d scared me quite a bit and I had knots in my stomach just thinking about going up there. Best to just leave him and hope he stayed put and had calmed down by the time Mike got home.
In the meantime, I needed to get on with something, so after I’d cleared the last of the mess up and binned the remains of Justin’s sandwich, I set about preparing that evening’s tea. I’d planned home-made chicken korma with rice – one of Kieron’s favourites, and now methodically pulled the ingredients from the fridge. Chicken breasts, peppers, onions and garlic, all of which I assembled and started chopping and crushing. It was strangely therapeutic, doing this rhythmic, mindless task and, minute by minute, I felt the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. I even began to wonder, as I steadily grew calmer, if perhaps I was over-reacting to what had just happened. After all, I had expected an outburst from him hadn’t I? And maybe it was justified, too.
I’d been at it for about half an hour when Justin suddenly reappeared in the kitchen, startling me, as I hadn’t heard him come down the stairs. He said nothing; just took up his place at the table once more. Taking his lead, I decided to say nothing either. I just smiled but he immediately turned his face away.
It seemed he was determined to get my attention, for all that, because he began tapping cutlery against the table top. Not for long though; he soon tired of that, and got up once again – coming over quite close beside me, at the worktop. Here he picked up the flat knife – the one I’d just used to crush the garlic cloves – and started running it up and down the worktop. He then put it down and went over to the cooker, where the frying pan of chicken was sizzling. Now he picked up the wooden spoon that was resting in the pan and began tapping it rhythmically against the side of it. The growing tension was once again almost palpable.
‘Can you stop doing that please, Justin?’ I asked him levelly. But he ignored me and simply carried on. I left it for a minute then asked him again. ‘Justin, can you please stop that?’ I repeated, this
I took a deep breath and stooped to collect a small piece of broken plate under the table, which I’d missed, surprised to see that I was physically shaking. In all my time in the school unit, I’d never felt quite so vulnerable and shaken up. How the hell had an eleven-year-old reduced me to this? I reached for my cigarettes on autopilot and went outside to light one. But I couldn’t because my hands wouldn’t stay still long enough to make the lighter work.
How could this be? I had worked with some of the most difficult children for years, and I tried hard to look back and think of a comparable event. I was angry with myself, and with the situation too. It seemed that the one time, in fact, the first time, that I had an ‘in’ to Justin, I’d had to – through no fault of my own – then destroy it. Yes, it was the protocol, but it was bloody hard to swallow, and I wasn’t sure I trusted the protocol any more.
It took me a long time to calm down, and once I had, I tried to call Mike, but he obviously had no signal at the football ground because his phone was going straight to voicemail. I knew he wouldn’t be back till teatime either, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought about asking Riley to come over but I was worried that might just make Justin worse.
I spent some time feeling completely undecided, just standing in the conservatory, smoking, staring out into the garden. Should I go up to him and see if he’d calmed down, or should I not? In the end, I opted not to because I thought it might just exacerbate the situation and ignite a further confrontation. I was also nervous and wary about facing him again, alone. He’d scared me quite a bit and I had knots in my stomach just thinking about going up there. Best to just leave him and hope he stayed put and had calmed down by the time Mike got home.
In the meantime, I needed to get on with something, so after I’d cleared the last of the mess up and binned the remains of Justin’s sandwich, I set about preparing that evening’s tea. I’d planned home-made chicken korma with rice – one of Kieron’s favourites, and now methodically pulled the ingredients from the fridge. Chicken breasts, peppers, onions and garlic, all of which I assembled and started chopping and crushing. It was strangely therapeutic, doing this rhythmic, mindless task and, minute by minute, I felt the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. I even began to wonder, as I steadily grew calmer, if perhaps I was over-reacting to what had just happened. After all, I had expected an outburst from him hadn’t I? And maybe it was justified, too.
I’d been at it for about half an hour when Justin suddenly reappeared in the kitchen, startling me, as I hadn’t heard him come down the stairs. He said nothing; just took up his place at the table once more. Taking his lead, I decided to say nothing either. I just smiled but he immediately turned his face away.
It seemed he was determined to get my attention, for all that, because he began tapping cutlery against the table top. Not for long though; he soon tired of that, and got up once again – coming over quite close beside me, at the worktop. Here he picked up the flat knife – the one I’d just used to crush the garlic cloves – and started running it up and down the worktop. He then put it down and went over to the cooker, where the frying pan of chicken was sizzling. Now he picked up the wooden spoon that was resting in the pan and began tapping it rhythmically against the side of it. The growing tension was once again almost palpable.
‘Can you stop doing that please, Justin?’ I asked him levelly. But he ignored me and simply carried on. I left it for a minute then asked him again. ‘Justin, can you please stop that?’ I repeated, this
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