Kitabı oku: «Finding Stevie», sayfa 3
‘Yes,’ came his reply.
I left Verity with Stevie. It’s usual for the social worker to spend some time alone with the child or young person in case there are any issues they want to discuss that they might find uncomfortable with the foster carer present. I looked in on Paula, who was still in her room. ‘Verity is going soon,’ I said. ‘She’s just saying goodbye to Stevie.’
‘OK, I’ll come down when she’s gone.’
Paula knew she could go downstairs any time, although it wasn’t appropriate for her to sit in on some of the meetings that took place in our living room, including Verity placing Stevie. Fostering is intrusive and disruptive to the foster family and it’s often this that puts off prospective carers. Foster carers have regular visits from the child’s social worker and the carer’s supervising social worker – both of whom look around the house at each visit. There are also visits from many other professions involved in the case, including the educational psychologist, the Guardian ad Litem and the child’s solicitor if the case is going to court, the health visitor, LAC nurse and sometimes the child’s family. In addition, the child’s reviews are often held in the carer’s home. It can seem like a never-ending procession of visitors, and of course it’s disruptive for the child in care as well, who just wants to be loved and to lead a normal family life.
Verity was with Stevie for about ten minutes and then I saw her out. Paula came down for a snack and drink to see her through to dinnertime, and I persuaded Stevie to come down too. He and Paula sat at the table in the kitchen-diner while I was in the kitchen. I could see and hear them from where I worked and Stevie was talking really nicely to Paula, asking her about college, what she wanted to do when she left and whether she minded fostering. Although aged fourteen, Stevie could pass for much older. He was tall and there was a sophistication about him, which Paula didn’t have.
‘You’ll meet my brother Adrian and my sister Lucy later,’ I heard Paula tell him.
‘Do all the family have dinner together?’ he asked. ‘We did at Gran’s.’
‘Yes, if everyone is in.’
‘I’d better get ready then,’ he said. Having finished his snack, he stood.
‘Stevie,’ I said, going into the dining area, ‘we usually have dinner around six o’clock, and you’re fine as you are.’ For I didn’t really know what he meant by ‘get ready’.
‘Oh no, I need to look my best for when I meet Adrian and Lucy – first impressions and all that.’ With a flick of his wrist he left. Clearly, looking after Stevie was going to be a whole new experience for us all.
Chapter Five
Secrets
Stevie stayed in his room until I called everyone for dinner. Adrian, Lucy and Paula were already seated at the table when Stevie (having been called twice) arrived. I think he’d waited until everyone was there so he could stage an entrance. Although he was wearing the same clothes – blue jeans and a yellow sweater – he now had a light blue silk scarf tied loosely around his neck, had painted his nails bright red and was wearing a lot more make-up.
‘This is Adrian,’ I said, introducing him to Stevie.
Adrian had never experienced any doubts about his gender and had a long-standing girlfriend, Kirsty. He could also be a bit conservative, which was no bad thing, but to his credit he just said, ‘Hello, Stevie, nice to meet you.’
‘And you.’ Stevie smiled charmingly.
Lucy on the other hand didn’t have the same reservations as Adrian, and sometimes there was no filter on her thoughts. ‘You’re never called Stevie!’ she cried, horrified, staring at him.
His face fell. Clearly he had wanted to be noticed, but in a positive way, and it was clear from his expression this wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated. I must say I’d expected better from Lucy. I’ve tried to bring up my children to be non-judgemental and accepting of differences whether they are race, religion, physical or – as with Stevie – gender related.
I threw her a warning glance, which she either didn’t see or ignored.
‘You’re not really called Stevie, are you?’ Lucy persisted dramatically. ‘Please tell me it’s not true!’
The poor lad looked mortified and I was about to tell Lucy off when I realised what she meant. ‘Oh, Lucy. Stop it. Shall I tell him or will you?’
‘You can.’ She laughed.
Stevie was looking at me, worried and confused, as well he might. ‘Many years ago Lucy came to me as a foster child and stayed,’ I explained to him. ‘I wanted to adopt her, but her social worker at that time was against it. She felt she should live with a family that reflected her ethnicity.’ (Lucy has dual heritage, and I tell her story in Will You Love Me?). ‘Thankfully we had a change of social worker and the adoption went ahead. That first social worker was called Stevie. I had forgotten. It’s no criticism of you – Lucy just didn’t get on with her.’
Stevie gasped with relief and managed a smile. ‘My grandparents call me Steven, but I prefer Stevie.’
‘That’s fine,’ I said.
‘Can we eat now, Mum?’ Adrian asked patiently. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Yes, of course.’
I served dinner and everyone tucked in so all that could be heard for some minutes was the chink of cutlery on china. Lucy was sitting directly opposite Stevie and I saw her keep looking up at him. I had a good idea what she was thinking even before she said it.
‘Stevie, why are you wearing all that make-up?’ she asked at length, not rudely, but it was a forthright question, and probably one he’d heard before.
He didn’t take offence but, setting down his cutlery, he said, ‘It’s a statement about who I am. I see myself as gender-fluid, which means I haven’t got a fixed gender. That’s not to say I’m gay, although it’s possible, I haven’t decided yet. I’m trying to find out if I want to live my life as male or female, so at present I’m gender-fluid.’ I thought that, for a fourteen-year-old, he was very articulate in matters that deeply affected him.
‘So you’re making up your mind, right?’ Lucy asked him.
‘Yes, although I could stay gender-fluid all my life and not identify with either sex. Some days I feel more female than male, then it can change. Sometimes it can change during a day depending on who I’m with and what I’m doing.’
‘That must be confusing,’ Adrian remarked.
Stevie shrugged. ‘It would be more confusing for me if I pretended to be male all the time, like my grandparents want me to.’
‘Do you get bullied at school?’ Paula asked sensitively.
‘I used to,’ Stevie said, picking up his knife and fork again, ‘so I stopped going.’
I looked at him carefully. ‘Stevie, is that the reason you haven’t been attending school – because you were being bullied?’
‘Sort of,’ he admitted.
‘Did you tell anyone you were being bullied?’
‘My grandparents, but Grandpa said I needed to man up, and if I stopped behaving like a pansy I wouldn’t attract the bullies.’
Having met Fred, I could hear him say that – a flippant, simplistic solution – but his intolerance and lack of sensitivity obviously hadn’t helped Stevie, who was looking for support.
‘Did you tell your social worker you were being bullied?’ I asked.
‘No. I thought she would side with Grandpa and say I had to go to school.’
‘I’ll explain to Verity, and when we see your mentor tomorrow we’ll talk to her about what the school can do to help, all right?’
He shrugged and continued eating while I thought, Well done, Paula, for spotting that. Bullying was such an obvious reason for a child or young person refusing to go to school, especially for someone who stood out as being different, like Stevie. Bullying can make a child’s life a misery and all schools in the UK have an anti-bullying policy. But of course for it to be effective the school needs to be aware the bullying is taking place, and children often don’t want to admit they’re being bullied, feeling it is their fault. Unfortunately, Fred’s bigoted remarks had compounded that, but I was pleased that Stevie had been able to share it with us so I could help him.
‘OK,’ Lucy said, ‘I understand what you’re saying about the gender stuff, but why are you wearing so much make-up?’ Let it go, Lucy, I thought, you’ve made your point. ‘I mean, it’s too much,’ she continued. ‘It’s like you think that’s how girls should look. Most of us don’t. It’s so stereotypical, and as Mum tells us – when it comes to make-up, less is more.’
So she had been listening to me, I thought! I waited tentatively for Stevie’s reaction. I hoped he didn’t feel Lucy was getting at him, although what she’d said was true.
‘So you think I’m wearing too much make-up?’ he asked, as though it was a revelation.
‘Yes, I do, far too much. Don’t you think so, Paula?’
‘A little,’ she said diplomatically.
‘What about you, Adrian?’
‘I don’t know the first thing about make-up,’ he replied.
‘But Kirsty doesn’t wear a lot of slap, does she?’ Lucy persisted.
‘No,’ Adrian conceded.
Lucy returned her attention to Stevie. ‘If you like, I’ll show you how to apply make-up,’ Lucy offered. ‘I wanted to be a beautician once.’
‘Really? That would be wonderful!’ Stevie cried passionately.
‘I wouldn’t wear it for school, though,’ Adrian said.
‘No,’ Paula agreed. ‘Girls aren’t allowed to wear make-up in school, so that rule should apply to everyone.’
I felt rather proud of my family. Here they were, discussing this sensitive and unusual topic constructively and being supportive of Stevie. None of us had faced the challenges he had, so it was a learning curve for us all. The conversation now changed to other things, and once we’d finished eating everyone helped clear the table. Then Stevie asked Lucy, ‘Can you come up to my room now to show me how do my make-up?’
‘Yep, I can give you half an hour, then I have to watch EastEnders,’ she said.
‘I love that programme,’ Stevie enthused, clasping his hands together.
‘Stevie, can you bring your make-up down here and do it at the table?’ I said. Lucy knew why. It’s part of our safer-caring policy that young people aren’t alone in one of the bedrooms. Not because I didn’t trust them or imagined they’d get up to anything inappropriate, but safer caring is about avoiding situations that could be misinterpreted so that all family members feel safe and secure.
Stevie fetched his make-up, which he kept in a silky floral patterned cosmetic bag, and sat at the table with a mirror in front of him while Lucy gave him a lesson in applying make-up. Paula and Adrian had gone up to their rooms and I was in the kitchen clearing up. Lucy and Stevie had quite a laugh, but by the time Lucy had finished, Stevie’s make-up looked much better – subtle. She also got him to take off the bright red nail varnish, ready for school. They then went up to their respective rooms, which left Sammy and me in the living room.
I took the opportunity to go through the Essential Information Form and then wrote up my log notes. All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or children they are looking after. This includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures they may make about their past. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services. I’d begun my log for Stevie when I’d attended the pre-placement meeting, and now I wrote a short paragraph detailing his arrival, what he’d disclosed about being bullied and how he was settling in.
Adrian, Paula, Lucy and I are not night owls during the week, as we all have to be up in the morning for work or college. I needed to get Stevie into the same routine, so at nine o’clock I asked him if he wanted a hot drink and a snack before he went to bed. ‘Can I have an Ovaltine, please?’ he asked. ‘My gran always makes me one.’ It’s little details like this that help a child or young person to settle and feel at home.
I didn’t have any Ovaltine so I said I’d buy some the next day and he had a hot chocolate instead. I then gave him a set of towels and checked he had everything he needed for the night; his gran had packed his nightclothes and a wash bag with a toothbrush and so on. I suggested he had his shower first, as we all had to use the bathroom. I expect all the children I foster as well as my own to have a daily shower or bath. Some children who have come from neglected homes aren’t used to this, but Stevie was – it was part of his grandparents’ routine.
By ten o’clock we were all upstairs in bed or getting ready for bed. Before I went to bed I looked in on Stevie to say goodnight and remind him to switch off his phone. ‘You know where I am if you need anything in the night?’ I said. Despite his age, he was in a strange house, and had been used to sharing a bedroom with his younger brother.
‘What time do I have to get up?’ he asked.
‘Nine tomorrow, but it will be earlier when you are back in school.’
I never sleep particularly well when there is a new child or young person in the house. I worry about them and listen out in case they wake with a start, upset and not knowing where they are, when I go round and reassure them. It didn’t matter that Stevie was nearly fifteen; I still listened out for him. As it was, he seemed to sleep well and only surfaced when he heard the rest of us getting up in the morning.
I find it takes a few days for a new arrival to fit into the family. At the start everyone is a little self-conscious as my family adapts their routine to include another family member and they adapt to fit in with us. Then usually we all chug along without too much trouble. We all need to use the bathroom in the morning and sometimes a queue forms, although this morning Stevie didn’t have to be out the door at any set time. I made him breakfast – cereal and toast as his gran did – and saw Adrian, Paula and Lucy off at the door. Just after nine o’clock I telephoned Stevie’s school and asked to speak to his mentor, Carolyn. It took a few minutes before she came to the phone and was confused when I introduced myself – ‘Cathy Glass, Stevie Jones’s foster carer.’
‘I didn’t know Stevie had gone into care,’ she said. ‘Although there was some talk about it at the end of last term.’
I explained it had all happened quickly the day before and said Stevie was fine and settling in, and that his social worker was aware I was phoning her to arrange a meeting to get Stevie back into school as quickly as possible.
‘Yes, of course. Could you make one o’clock today?’ she asked.
‘Perfect.’
‘Will Stevie’s grandparents be coming too?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘OK. When you arrive, come in the main entrance and give your name at the office and the school secretary will buzz me.’
‘Thank you.’
I said goodbye and then wondered if Stevie’s grandparents would want to attend the meeting as they had before. Stevie was in care voluntarily and there were no child-protection issues to prevent them from attending. It’s always better for the child to see their family working with the foster carer, although in many cases it’s very difficult, even impossible, if the parents are angry that their child has been taken from them as a result of abuse or neglect. But that wasn’t so with Stevie’s grandparents. The problem I could foresee was that Fred could easily do more harm than good with an outspoken, thoughtless comment. Even so, I felt I should mention the meeting to them. I had their contact details on the Essential Information Form, and sometimes it’s the way a question is phrased that directs the outcome.
‘Peggy, it’s Cathy Glass. Stevie is fine,’ I said straight away to reassure her. ‘But I wanted to ask you something?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve just spoken to Stevie’s mentor, Carolyn, and I’m going to see her at one o’clock today. Are you happy for me to take Stevie? I’m guessing you’re very busy with Liam and Kiri.’
‘You can say that again!’ Peggy said. ‘They’ve been playing me up a treat with all Steven’s comings and goings. I was relieved that school started again today. Fred has taken them. I’m exhausted. Yes, you go to the meeting with Steven, if it does any good.’
‘OK.’ I wasn’t going to mention at this point that Stevie had disclosed he was being bullied, as it could have made Peggy feel bad for not acting on it.
‘Verity said that Steven wants more of his clothes,’ Peggy said. ‘He can come and get them later if he likes. It’s only a short bus ride from school.’
I didn’t really want Stevie jumping on a bus and going back to his grandparents by himself until he was more settled with us and in the routine of school. So many young people are placed with a foster carer one day and then leg it home the next, then go back and forth between their home and the carers like a yo-yo, which is unsettling for everyone involved.
‘I could bring him in the car after we’ve seen Carolyn,’ I suggested. ‘It will give me a chance to tell you how the meeting went, and he can bring as much of his stuff with him as he wants.’
‘That would be good,’ Peggy said. ‘Liam and Kiri won’t be here, but Steven can see them another time.’ She paused. ‘Cathy, has Steven said anything to you about a secret?’
‘No, why?’
‘It’s probably nothing, but when he was missing over the New Year Liam and Kiri kept messing around and saying, “We’ve got a secret and we’re not going to tell you.” It’s not my birthday, so I thought it was just one of their pranks and they would tell me in time. Those two are always up to mischief. Then yesterday after Steven had gone off they went very serious and Liam said, “We still can’t tell you our secret, Stevie said we mustn’t, not ever.” So I’m wondering what exactly they’ve done this time. Last year the pair of them hid Fred’s false teeth.’
‘Oh no!’
‘They were missing for three days and they wouldn’t tell where they were. Eventually I spotted them in the goldfish bowl among the weeds.’
I laughed as Peggy was doing.
‘I’ll ask Stevie if he knows what they have been up to,’ I said.
‘Thank you. See you later then, and good luck with the meeting.’
I was still smiling at the image of Fred’s false teeth in the goldfish bowl as I went upstairs to find Stevie. He was just on his way out of his room. I told him about the appointment with Carolyn at one o’clock and that I’d spoken to his gran and would take him home after the meeting for some more clothes. Then I said, ‘Your gran has asked me to find out if you know what Kiri and Liam have been up to?’
‘What do you mean?’ Stevie asked, suddenly growing serious.
‘Don’t look so worried. She thinks they might have played another joke like they did with your grandpa’s false teeth. They keep telling her they have a secret and you’ve told them not to tell.’
‘Is that all they said?’ he asked, really concerned.
‘Yes, as far as I know.’ I looked at him. ‘Stevie, is there something your grandparents need to know? If so, I think you should tell me now.’
There was a moment’s hesitation before he said, ‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’ He nodded, and I was almost certain he was lying – a sixth sense from years of raising children.
Chapter Six
Inappropriate
The morning was free, so I suggested to Stevie we went into town shopping and had some lunch out. I had to get a few things and I didn’t want to leave him alone in the house just yet. Also, I find that a trip out, whether it is shopping or visiting a place of interest, is a good way of bonding with a young person. Stevie liked the idea of shopping and I gave him his clothing allowance for the month, credit for his phone and his pocket money. I also asked him not to wear make-up, as we would go straight to the meeting with his mentor, Carolyn, at school once we’d finished shopping. He accepted my wishes about make-up as easily as he had accepted Lucy’s. I thought now as I had then that what he needed was guidance on matters associated with gender identity, rather than someone ignoring or dismissing them – as Fred was doing.
I parked in the multi-storey car park in the shopping centre and went with Stevie to the stores he liked. Once we had his clothes from home I would have a better idea of what he needed and could advise him on what to buy, otherwise teenagers often end up with a wardrobe full of jeans and no socks or winter coat. But for now I let him spend his money as he wished, and within half an hour he’d spent most of his clothing allowance on a pair of light grey jeans he said he’d been wanting for ages. They were tasteful and fitted him well. Most clothes would. Tall and slender, he had a model’s physique and I saw young people – male and female – glance at him admiringly as they passed.
While we shopped we talked, and I learnt that his gran used to buy his clothes – what she and Fred thought he should wear – but it had obviously caused arguments, so for the last year he’d been buying what he wanted, and then the arguments had taken place when he’d worn the clothes and they’d seen them for the first time. He also told me he had been given clothes for Christmas and birthday presents, but he’d chosen them. He liked his clothes and he liked to shop. I learnt that he had two good friends at school, a lad of the same age who thought he might be gay, and a girl in his class whom he said was just a friend but was kind and understanding. Most of the other lads in his class had little to do with him, he said, and some teased and bullied him. I reassured him that we’d address that when we saw Carolyn later, and I suggested he might like to invite his friends home for dinner one time. He’d said he’d think about it. He wasn’t sure he’d tell them he was in care, which is true for many children and young people. They prefer to say the person waiting for them in the playground is a friend of their mother’s or an aunty, rather than admit it’s their foster carer. Although of course at Stevie’s age he wouldn’t even have to say that, as I wouldn’t be in the playground at the start and end of school as I was with younger children.
Stevie only checked his phone a couple of times while we were shopping, but once we sat down with our lunch, chosen from a hot buffet, he suddenly cried, ‘Shit!’ And pulled his phone from his pocket as if his life depended on it.
‘Is everything all right?’ I asked him a few moments later, as, food untouched, he was still staring at the screen.
He nodded absently.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ But I wasn’t convinced, and it crossed my mind that perhaps he was being bullied online too. There was a time when bullying stopped at the school gates, but now it can follow the victim home through text messages, social networking websites, photos and video clips. It’s vicious, insidious, relentless and has in extreme cases caused a young person to commit suicide. Also, I remembered Verity had mentioned that Stevie might be in contact with his mother online and I wondered if this was causing a problem.
‘Are you on Facebook?’ I asked him casually as he finally picked up a chip and began eating.
‘Yes.’
‘So am I. I could send you a friendship request.’ If he accepted it then I should be able to see quite a lot of his online activity on that website and who he was in contact with. It’s for this reason it’s a good idea for parents and foster carers to have social networking accounts; it allows them to keep an eye on their young person as well as keeping them up to speed with technology. A friend of mine only discovered that her daughter had traced her father (my friend’s long-time ex) through social media. She was then able to broach the subject with her daughter and reassure her that she didn’t mind. Adrian, Lucy and Paula had Facebook accounts, although only Lucy used hers regularly.
Stevie hadn’t responded to my suggestion, but I’d send the friendship request anyway. He could accept or decline it, it was his choice.
‘Do you chat to your parents at all online?’ I asked. Many young people do without their carer’s or guardian’s knowledge.
‘Sometimes Mum, when she’s not in prison. They don’t have the internet in prison.’
So I guessed that wasn’t the reason he was often anxiously checking his phone.
‘The kids at school who bully you, do they target you online? Or message you at all?’ I asked outright. It was no good hedging the matter and then regretting it later.
‘No. They haven’t got my phone number,’ he said. ‘Only my friends have.’
‘Good.’
It was the school’s lunch break when Stevie and I arrived and there were students milling around outside, some standing in small groups, others sitting on benches, coats on and huddled over phones as they ate from lunch boxes and packets of crisps.
‘What’s the school’s policy on mobile phones?’ I asked Stevie as we made our way to the main entrance.
‘They have to be switched off while on school premises,’ he replied.
‘Is yours off?’
‘I’ll turn it off now.’
We went to the reception desk, separated from the school office by a low counter, and the secretary recognised Stevie and knew we were expected. ‘I’ll give Carolyn a ring and let her know you’re here,’ she said. ‘Please sign in the visitors’ book and then take a seat.’
I thanked her and, having signed in, we sat in the chairs arranged on the far side of the reception area, and Stevie powered off his phone. I looked around. The walls were adorned with framed photographs of school achievements – winning sports teams, successful examination results, students who’d become distinguished in a particular field, dignitaries and famous people who’d visited the school, and so on, much as you’d find in many secondary schools.
Stevie was clearly anxious and, with no phone to occupy him, was tapping his foot nervously.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I told him. ‘You know Carolyn, and she and I want to help you get back into school.’
He gave a curt nod, but his foot kept tapping. I felt as though we were waiting to see the dentist rather than his mentor.
‘There she is,’ he said as a young woman entered reception.
We both stood. ‘Hello, Stevie,’ Carolyn said, then, ‘Nice to meet you, Cathy.’
‘And you,’ I replied. Carolyn was fashionably dressed in black leggings and a long, baggy top. In her mid to late twenties, she didn’t look much older than Stevie or many of the other senior pupils.
‘I have a small office at the top of the building,’ she said brightly. ‘This way.’
We followed her out of reception and up two flights of stairs, passing students coming down. None of them seemed to know Stevie. ‘My classroom is at the other end of the building,’ he told me, so I guessed that’s where most of his classmates gathered.
Carolyn showed us into her office, just big enough to hold a small desk, a filing cabinet and three steel-framed chairs. She pulled her chair out from behind the desk, so we sat in a small circle.
‘This is where I see students if they want to talk in private,’ she explained to me. ‘Some of my job is counselling, and I spend time in the classroom supporting those who need extra help.’
‘Thank you for seeing us at such short notice,’ I said. ‘Do you have my contact details?’ She didn’t. I gave them to her and she said she’d advise the secretary, so she could update the school’s records.
‘So, Stevie,’ she said, smiling reassuringly at him, ‘a lot of change for you. How do you like it at Cathy’s?’
‘It’s all right,’ he said with a shrug. You could hardly expect him to be jumping for joy given he’d had to leave home the day before.
‘It must be strange,’ Carolyn commiserated. ‘Are you seeing your grandparents and your brother and sister?’
‘Yes,’ Stevie replied tightly.
‘Good. You’re a bright student, but you have missed a lot of school. The last time I saw you, you told me you didn’t feel you fitted in and school seemed irrelevant. We talked about ways I could help you. How do you feel now about school?’
He shrugged.
‘There is another reason Stevie hasn’t been in school,’ I said. ‘Apparently he’s being bullied.’
‘Not all the time,’ he put in, embarrassed. ‘Just some days.’
‘You shouldn’t be bullied at all,’ I said.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Carolyn asked, concerned. ‘We talked about how you were getting on with other students. Didn’t you feel able to tell me?’
He shrugged again and looked uncomfortable.
‘Is it one person who’s doing the bullying or a group?’ Carolyn asked.
‘One mainly, and the others follow.’
‘What have they been doing?’ she asked, leaning in to invite confidence. ‘Can you tell me? You know we have a firm anti-bullying policy here in school.’
My heart went out to him, he looked so self-conscious. ‘They call me names and push me in the corridor,’ he admitted. ‘Sometimes they put things in my bag and follow me into the toilet, that type of stuff.’ I guessed this was probably only part of it – the bit he felt able to tell.
‘What is the name of the ringleader?’ Carolyn asked.
‘What will you do?’ Stevie replied, clearly worried about reprisals.
‘The headmaster and I will talk to the person and make it clear his or her behaviour is unacceptable and if it doesn’t stop they will be suspended.’
‘It’s —,’ he said, and gave a boy’s name.
‘I know who you mean,’ Carolyn said seriously. ‘We’ll speak to him this afternoon so you can return to school tomorrow morning. But in future, Stevie, please come and see me if you have any problems.’
