Moderate Violence (24 page)

* * * * * *

It was the sort of late summer day when the
sky is cloudy but it’s too hot to wear a jacket. None of Jo’s clothes seemed
suitable. And what
was
suitable
for an appointment with your headteacher in the holidays anyway? In the end she
put on jeans and a loose blouse, and a necklace. She tied back her hair in a
pony tail, but on the bus she caught sight of herself in the window looking
about twelve, and shook her hair out over her shoulders.

The sliding glass panel revealed that the secretary’s
office was empty, but the door to Mr Treasure’s office was open. When Jo tapped
on the glass he called out, “That Jo? Come in!”

He looked different without his usual dark suit. His
short-sleeved shirt and casual trousers made him look lightweight, with less
authority than he actually had. She noticed that he’d recently had a haircut,
ready for the start of term. While Jo had been on the bus the sun had come out,
and the Venetian blinds made stripes of light across Mr Treasure’s desk.

“Thanks for coming,” he said.

“You said it would be doing you a favour.”

He nodded. He hadn’t smiled yet. He put his forearms on
the desk and linked his fingers. “Did you do me the other favour I asked for?”

“Well, I told my dad to make another appointment, and
that you don’t like being messed around.” As she said this, Jo thought how
little she, too, liked being messed around. “I kept reminding him, but he
didn’t do it.”

“No, he didn’t.” Mr Treasure leaned back in his chair
with his arms folded. This was the position he always adopted when he was in
prosecuting-lawyer mode. Jo’s spirits wilted a little under the certainty of
more and more questions. “However, things have moved along a little since last
term, haven’t they?”

Jo swallowed. Mr Treasure knew. Jo didn’t mind him
knowing, just like she didn’t mind Ed knowing, because neither of them would
tell anyone else. “Yes, I suppose so,” she said cautiously.

Mr Treasure gave a small nod. “And has your opinion
about your future moved along at all since last term?”

“Yes, sir.”

She looked at him. Blinking, she realized that although
he wasn’t exactly smiling, he didn’t look stern, or smug, or anxious, or any of
the things teachers usually looked like when they were trying to be a
psychiatrist. He was just sitting there, as impassive as his spectacles,
listening to her being her
own
psychiatrist.

“I think I’ve realised what it’s been like for my
parents,” she told him. “They must have loved each other once, and to lose
that…well, Trevor being a drunk must have been as bad for Tess as it was for
me, and her being so…difficult, must have been as bad for Trevor as it was for
me, but I only saw how bad it was for
me
,
and blamed them. And neither of them could make sense of what I was doing.”

One of those silences that aren’t really silent at all
fell between them. Mr Treasure went on looking at Jo, and Jo went on looking at
him. She knew what he was thinking, and he knew what she was thinking. She
could hear a wasp butting against the open window behind the blinds, and the
sound of the mower cutting the grass on the school field. She felt calm and
safe in familiar surroundings, like when she went to sleep with her face in her
pink rabbit’s belly.

In the end, Mr Treasure spoke. “You’ve made sense of
it, though, haven’t you?”

She nodded. She thought about the gouges on her arm and
the cuts on her leg, but she kept her face expressionless unless Mr Treasure’s
super-sensitive antennae picked up her brainwaves. “I worked so hard for my
GCSEs while threatening all the time to leave school, because the only way I
could make Trevor and Tess notice me was to do something that hurt them. Though
it hurt me more,” she said softly. Then she thought of something, and smiled. “I’m
a case-study in a psychology textbook, aren’t I?”

Unfolding his arms, Mr Treasure leaned forward with his
elbows on the desk. “No, you’re not. This is a big thing in your life. This is
about
you
, and
your
parents.”

Jo knew he was right. Newspaper articles about divorce,
alcoholism, scarred girls, hospitalized girls – articles that made you shake
your head sorrowfully when you read them – were about things that happened to
other people, and you forgot them immediately. But to those who were
experiencing them, they were the biggest thing in the world, and would never go
away.

“Will we see you back on the first day of term, then?”
asked Mr Treasure.

Jo didn’t know whether she felt embarrassed, or stupid,
or relieved, or something else altogether. “Um…yes, sir,” she said.

Mr Treasure didn’t say anything.

“My dad’s looking for a new job, and he’s in AA,” she
blurted unexpectedly. “I’ll make sure he sticks at it.”

Mr Treasure nodded. “And what does your mother think
about this?”

“Oh…” Jo had to consider before she spoke. “Well, she’s
got a new boyfriend and doesn’t really notice my dad. But that’s OK. The only
way to deal with her is not to have very high expectations. Anyway, they’re not
going to sell the house, and one of them’ll live there with me.” She paused,
smiling a little. “My mum’s boyfriend’s there at the moment, and Trevor’s
staying with his friend Ken. But Mark, that’s my mum’s boyfriend, has got a big
house of his own, in Hertfordshire or somewhere, big enough for Tess. And all
her shoes. So I expect it’ll be me and my dad again.”

Mr Treasure didn’t smile. “I’ll write to your father,”
he said crisply. For a moment he looked like the usual Mr Treasure who stood on
the stage in Assembly and walked quickly down corridors with his shoes
clicking. “And your mother, too.”

“All right, sir.”

He stood up. The interview was over. “First day of
term, nine o’clock, Sixth Form Assembly,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” said Jo.

He didn’t say anything else, and Jo turned and left the
office. She went down the corridor and out into the deserted school grounds,
where bits of newly-mown grass swirled in the air and an aeroplane drilled its
way across the sky.

At the gate, Ed was waiting.

“I thought you’d be longer,” he said, taking her hand.

“We didn’t have much to say to each other. He asked if
I was staying on and I said yes.”

“You didn’t burst into tears or anything?” He was
grinning.

“Nope.” She looked at him grinning, and thought how
stupid it was that they’d spent the whole summer messing around with Pascale
and Toby. “I’ve done enough of that bursting into tears stuff to last me for a
while, I think.”

They began to walk towards the bus stop. “Does he know
about…you know, the VBE?” asked Ed. They’d taken to calling it that. Even
though it was Tess’s invention, it was a useful code to use when there might be
other people listening. Ed liked it so much he used it even when there weren’t.

She nodded. “He was pretty nice about it.”

He didn’t look at her, but drew her more closely
against his body. “So he bloody should be. He’s got clever Jo Probert in his
precious Sixth Form, hasn’t he? He should be arranging a red carpet and a
photo-shoot, let alone being
nice
.”

She put her arms around him. His body felt smooth and
tubular under his T-shirt, and his breath smelled minty; he’d cleaned his teeth
especially for her. The bus came round the corner, and they hurried and caught
it. Then they went upstairs and sat in the back seat, and kissed contentedly all
the way home, just like they did in the movies.

Anyone affected by any of
the issues covered in this book can seek help and advice from the following
organisations:

Selfharm.co.uk

Selfharm.co.uk
 is a
safe, pro-recovery project dedicated to supporting young people impacted by
self-harm. We also offer advice, training and resources for parents and
professionals and work to de-stigmatise society's view of self-harm through the
media.

Visit 
www.selfharm.co.uk
 or email
[email protected]
 for more information.

ChildLine

For advice and information about self harm
visit
childline.org.uk/selfharm
. Or you can talk to ChildLine for free, 24 hours a day, whatever
your worry -
0800 1111.
Find out more at childline.org.uk.

About the Author

Veronica Bennett taught English for many years
before leaving the profession to become a
full-time writer
. She is married with
two children.

Veronica is the author of eight
young adult novels in her own name, and also writes the successful
 
Poppy
Love
 
series under the
pen name Natasha May. More information can be found about the author on her
 
www.veronica-bennett.com.