Trust

The buckle on his belt glistened as he fastened it. Roughly, he jerked the curtains open.

‘Get dressed,’ he told her, looking down as she lay with the duvet pulled pointlessly up to her chin. She had nothing left to hide from him. He turned to go, then paused in the bedroom doorway. He drew a line with his finger across his throat.

‘You know what will happen if you tell,’ he said. She nodded, letting him think that everything was as it always was.

When he had gone she lay for a few minutes smiling up at the ceiling. She thought about what she was about to do. Her stomach quivered. She dressed without bothering to shower, not caring, for once, that the smell of him was still on her.

She was too old, really, for skipping, but this morning she couldn’t help herself. She sang under her breath as she skipped. As she got near to school, she stopped singing and started to practise what she would say to Miss Tyler.

‘Is there someone you can trust?’ the nice lady on the phone had asked. She had thought right away of Miss Tyler. Miss Tyler was special. She never shouted, or made you feel stupid, like the other teachers. She always found kind words to say; words that made you feel important. Miss Tyler was the one she could tell. She was the one who could make it stop.

She was early, as usual. She was the only one in the whole class who could be trusted with a special job. Every morning, she was allowed into the classroom before the other children. She counted out the pencils and sharpened them, then put them in their pots on the tables. She had never forgotten. Not once.

She pressed the buzzer, and the secretary let her in. She walked down the corridor, with her secret bubbling inside her. As she got close to the classroom, she slowed down. She heard voices. Her heart lurched. It had to be just Miss Tyler. She leaned against the wall, near the door, listening.

It was Miss Cropper, who only liked you if you were good at PE.

‘Where’s Droopy Dora this morning?’ asked Miss Cropper. Miss Tyler laughed. She could hear her moving tables, slapping books down.

‘God, I wish I could put a bomb under that child,’ said Miss Tyler. She peeped through the glass in the door. Miss Tyler was pretending to be her, doing her slow walk, puffing her cheeks out, putting a stupid look on her face.

She sat down on the floor and covered her face with her hands. Miss Tyler was not special after all; she was just the same as the others. She was not to be trusted.

‘Shall I sweep you up?’ said the cleaner, nudging her feet with the enormous hoover.

‘You might as well,’ she said. There seemed no reason now to keep going.

490 words