Posted: Tue Nov 02, 2004 12:05 am
***************** There was a gentle hum in the staff room as the mistresses were chatting over coffee. It was the night before the last day of term, and there was a more relaxed atmosphere than usual as the staff anticipated the coming holiday. Irene Ellis, her head bent over a pile of books, heaved a deep sigh which drew the attention of Nell Wilson who was handing out the biscuits. With a slight frown, the older woman moved over to the side of the younger and rested her hand on Irene’s shoulder. “Penny for them – “ she began in a light tone, but then Irene glanced up at her with an anguished expression, and with a small cry Nell dropped to her knees beside her seated young colleague – “but what is it, my dear?” she asked urgently. “Whatever is the matter?” “Oh, it’s nothing.” The tear that trickled down Irene’s face belied her words, and she impatiently dashed it away, shaking her head. “Ignore me, Nell. I’m just – it’s, oh, I don’t know!” Wisely, Nell was silent as her newest colleague tried to gather her thoughts. She patted Irene’s shoulder reassuringly and waited. Eventually Irene drew a shaky sigh and shook her head resolutely. “I’m really OK. I – I need to think it through. But Nell, I just find it so hard when I can’t get through to someone!” “One of the girls?” asked Nell softly as she discreetly drew up a chair and lowered herself into it, rubbing her creaking knees. “Yes,” murmured Irene. “If you want me to speak to her –” “No!” exclaimed Irene, her face white, “no, it’s not like that – it’s fine, really.” Her voice trailed off into a mumble and she appeared confused. “Renie, occasionally we all come across girls that just don’t seem to like us-” Nell began but Irene stood hurriedly and deposited her pile of books on the table in front of her. “But that’s just the trouble, Nell,” gasped Irene – the opposite is true!”
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****************** Irene Ellis was packing a small suitcase for her holiday. She wasn’t going to return all the way to Britain initially, but had arranged to meet with some friends who had taken an apartment in France and have a couple of relaxing weeks there first. This meant that Miss Ellis would only be travelling with the school as far as Paris, where her duties would stop. As she closed the lid of the case and looked around the room she smiled in satisfaction. It was small and neat, albeit rather bare now that many of her belongings were packed away. On the dresser sat a cute stuffed rabbit with floppy ears. The body was a patchwork of pretty fabrics and had been lovingly stitched by a quite unlikely person. Irene smiled at the memory. She had helped lead a half-term expedition and a small grateful group of girls from her form had presented her with the toy by way of saying thank you. “Sam made it,” Heather had said, and Sam scowled, but looked anxious to see the mistress’s response to her gift. When she had duly exclaimed over it, Irene noticed that Sam’s whole face had lit up, and she looked quite pretty. Was that when it had started? Over the following half-term, Sam’s devotion to Irene had become more and more apparent. She anticipated whatever jobs the teacher needed doing, always volunteered for the less pleasant ones and did thoughtful things. Neither were her attentions solely for her form teacher. Irene noticed that Sam was eager to please any staff member and was quietly acquiescent to her few friends, but she was such a gruff and undemonstrative girl that this largely went unnoticed. Irene sank on to the bed, stroking the bunny’s ears. Sam was a conundrum. She appeared to be tough and boyish, with no time for sentimentality but was obviously aching for attention. Her family background was sad – father had died when Sam was only young, but after he and her mother were already estranged. The mother had made no attempt to hide her joy at his passing which had made the daughter’s grieving very difficult. There was no love lost there, between the mother and child. The comments had started a couple of weeks ago, at a formal evening in which Miss Ellis and her form were attending. Local dignitaries were visiting, and the staff and young ladies of the Chalet School were on their mettle to convey the school in its best light. Irene was a young teacher still, and she had worn a trim but flattering outfit with a touch of makeup, and styled her hair into loose curls. They had been standing at the front of the school, awaiting the arrival of the guests when Sam had turned to look at Irene. She glanced at her slowly and deliberately, taking in her appearance from top to toe. Then, unmistakeably, Sam winked at her. “You look beautiful, Miss Ellis,” she had said very properly, but her eyes danced at the mistress’s growing discomfiture. “Why, thank you Sam. I must say you all look very nice, too,” replied Miss Ellis briskly, furiously trying to control the blush that was threatening her cheeks. “But you look like something special,” murmured Sam as she touched her form teacher’s shoulder for a moment before moving away. Irene’s heart had been racing then, and it did now as she recalled the incident. It wasn’t that she was attracted to the girl – or any girl, she was quite confident on that front, but it made her feel flattered and alive to be noticed in that way. But at the same time, a nameless feeling was creeping in her stomach – was it dread, or fear? Surely she hadn’t done anything wrong, to encourage her pupil, had she? Irene had always been the same to all of them, and was naturally kind, bright and cheerful. She began to worry about her professional conduct. Surely girls did get a ‘pash’ on a mistress from time to time? Irene decided she would probably just make herself look silly and bring embarrassment on Sam if she made anything of it, so she let it go.
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Posted: Tue Nov 02, 2004 12:30 pm I hope Irene is soon able to seek advice from Nell or Hilda or someone ... and that she stops blaming herself - it must be all too easy to swing between feeling you've been too friendly and then over-compensating by being too brusque ... Poor Sam, too - her behaviour may be inappropriate but it's not malicious and she obviously just wants to be loved and has found someone who she can admire and who seems to return some of the affection she craves Thanks, Lisa *sending copious quantities of toast, marmite and lettuce leaves*
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Aw thanks! I, too am impressed by the speed of posting 
but as I say this isn't going to be a very long story, and I don't really want to spin it out. I have been thinking of it for ages, and needed to be in the mood and with a bit of time to really go for it. So, here's some more!! ****************** The train leaving the Bernese Oberland was crowded with a group of smart but excitable girls, accompanied by no less animated teachers. All had gone smoothly, although the last day of term was always a flurry of activity, and as the train finally pulled out of the station there was a subdued cheer. It wasn’t until the group were on the large overnight train to Paris that the staff could finally ease their watchfulness a little. “Phew!” commented Irene Ellis to the other staff around her. “I need this holiday, I can tell you!” “You have done so well!” remarked Kathie Ferrars warmly. “I remember my first year – it was such hard work. I think sometimes the older staff forget that!” and she looked meaningfully at one or two of them, ducking rapidly as Pam Slater aimed her knitting bag at Kathie’s head. “Cheeky urchin!” she muttered, “hope you weren’t including me in that!” and the mistresses laughed together until Pam, with a sudden frown, stopped. “What are you doing here?” she inquired in loud, cold tones, fixing her eyes on someone just behind Irene. Sam Harris blinked and swallowed, but fixed a grin on her face. “I thought you might like some coffee,” she began, balancing the three paper cups awkwardly in her hands. “Oh, Samantha!” exclaimed Miss Ferrars, “how thoughtful of you dear! But did you carry those from the dining car by yourself?” “Samantha, you know that it is forbidden for you to go into the dining car without permission,” frowned Miss Slater. “I’m sorry, Miss Slater, but I wanted it to be a surprise,” answered Sam sullenly, handing out the coffees. “Thank you Sam,” soothed Miss Ellis, “but in future just come and check with one of us first, even though you are one of the oldest,” as she said this last she shot a look at Pam Slater who was sipping her coffee already. “What do we owe you for them?” “They’re on me, Miss. My pleasure, you know…” “But we can’t have that!” interposed Miss Ferrars briskly. “Here you are, that should cover it. Now, return to the others, dear.” Sam had only just left the car when Pam’s voice sounded mockingly: “I wanted it to be a surprise!” she whined. “Honestly, I can’t stand that girl. She’s so wet, always hanging around us. And such a creep!” Irene was stung by this. “She’s a thoughtful girl who wants to help,” she began but Pam Slater laughed scornfully. “Oh, you’ll learn Renie!” “Sam is in Renie’s form,” added Kathie. “She knows her better than the rest of us, I should think. Oh Renie, I wanted to ask you, what did you think of the new library books that arrived yesterday?” Thanks to Kathie’s skilful handling of the matter, the conversation went down a far more pleasant route and other than Irene’s inward seething, the atmosphere calmed down. Later after the sandwiches packed by Karen had all been consumed, the mistresses made their way around each car, just looking in on the girls who were preparing for bed. Irene spoke to the members of her form who were there and then glanced around the carriage. “Where’s Sam?” she asked. She was looking down the full length of the carriage as she said this so missed the uncomfortable glance that flitted across Heather’s face. “Erm, Sam’s still in the lav, Miss,” the girl answered. “Oh, thank you. I’ll say good night to her there. Good night all, try to sleep well.” She watched them for a moment as they snuggled under their travel rugs, and then she headed for the small lavatory car which was between this carriage and the next. Standing outside the engaged cubicle, she heard a retching noise from within. With Miss Ellis, to think was to act and she immediately banged on the door. “Sam! Are you alright?” Within seconds, the door opened, and Sam emerged, a quizzical look on her face. “Sorry, did I keep you waiting? Good night, Miss Ellis. I hope you sleep comfortably with all that room in your compartment. I have to fit into mine with five others – and look at the length of these!” she indicated her legs with a laugh as she strolled off down the interconnecting corridor. Irene scratched her head, and then decided to use the lavatory facilities herself. As she closed the door in the small and stuffy compartment the unmistakeable acid smell of vomit assailed her nostrils. The toilet was perfectly clean, so it could only have just happened. ‘But why didn’t she tell me she was unwell?’ thought Irene, ‘and she appeared fine.’ She completed her toilet thoughtfully and when she returned to her compartment both other mistresses were sleeping. In the darkness, Irene stared out of the window at the almost invisible landscape rushing by. She recalled her first meeting with Sam at the start of the year. She had been a somewhat lumpy girl, who had apparently already lost some weight in her previous three years at the school, but in this last year she had become really very thin. Irene suddenly sat upright in her seat. She had assumed that this was just a natural process but after tonight’s incident … Had the girl been making herself sick? She crept along the corridor back to the form’s compartment and quietly put her head in the door. All the occupants were sleeping soundly, odd little snores coming from the usually quiet Mathilde in the corner. In the shadowy light cast by a swinging bulb in the corridor, Irene scrutinised Sam’s sleeping face. It looked wan and in this light the shadows under her eyes were more pronounced. ‘She doesn’t look like a sixteen year old girl at all,’ Irene thought suddenly. ‘She looks older than me, certainly more careworn anyway.’ As the mistress was about to leave the compartment, a low moan from Sam made her spin round. The girl was tossing and turning in her sleep, her face contorted with fear and pain. Her hands came up in a futile gesture of self-protection, then clenched into fists. She was suffering some sort of deep nightmare, but the anguish she was experiencing was very real. Irene felt a pull on her heart as she moved swiftly to the side of the sleeping child and stroked her hair gently. After a few moments, the touch seemed to reassure the girl, her breathing evened out and she sank back into a calmer sleep. Irene waited a few moments longer, and then stole from the compartment, watched by a pair of eyes from the back of the carriage that had been awoken by the sounds. The eyes blinked thoughtfully and then once again closed in sleep.
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Posted: Tue Nov 02, 2004 2:12 pm| Gem wrote: |
| Um, hasn't Pam Slater left already? |
including teacher's comments) Also, while this is obviously set in the Oberland it is a bit timeless - almost futuristic (ie contemporary) but without getting bogged down in any of the details! It's a cop out! (Otherwise known as artistic license 
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*********** One glance was enough to give her an impression of hell. Words and images jumped out at her in the second she scanned the paper, and with a sharp intake of breath, she refolded the letter and looked at Heather. kill myself… bruises… alone… “This is a private letter, Heather? To you, from Sam?” “Yes. But I want you to read it.” knife… gay… end it all.. “Are you sure? Because you understand that I will need to act on it, and if Sam wrote you this in confidence–” “I know,” Heather sobbed. “She needs help, Miss Ellis! I may lose her trust and friendship, but she is so important to me that I would rather that than something awful happens…” blood… afraid… hate him…. “Sit down,” instructed Irene, inside a turmoil. How was she to deal with this? She had no experience. “Tell me about the letter.” Heather sniffed loudly and then scrubbed her face with her handkerchief. “After you left us – at Paris, in July, Sam was really in a bad mood. She wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the journey but just stared out of the window. I mean, I knew she hated going home, but this was worse than usual. On the ferry, she barged past me onto the deck and tripped on some coiled rope. Well, I put out my hand to save her and grabbed her wrist – and then that’s when I saw it.” terrified… feels good… hiding… “What?” said Irene breathlessly. “The marks, the scars, the cuts,” Heather cried, with fresh tears flooding down her cheeks at the memory. “ I pushed her sleeves up and her arms were covered with them. Then she got really angry. She pushed me and swore – and then she ran off. But about two weeks later, she sent me this letter. Please, Miss Ellis. Read it.” Irene bent her head over the letter and read it through rapidly. She then read it again, struggling to keep her emotions in check. Eventually she looked up at Heather and smiled at her kindly. There was a peculiar tightness in her throat and she had to swallow a couple of times before speaking. “Heather – thank you. You are a very good friend to Sam. What you have done now could change her life – thank you for being so brave. I need some time to think about this, but I would like to ask you to see if you think you could do one more thing.” Heather gazed at Irene with large eyes. “Yes?” “Tell Sam that you have given me the letter. Could you do that?” Heather hesitated, and then seemed to crumple a little. “OK,” she said sadly. “She might never speak to me again, but it has to be done. And, Miss Ellis – I’m sorry about all this. I saw you with her that time she had the nightmare, on the train to Paris – and I knew you would help. Not many people really care about Sam.” She left the compartment and headed for the toilet, leaving Irene sitting alone. Irene pulled her fingers through her hair and exhaled. She felt shaky and very near to tears. Never in her life had she been confronted by the pain that was expressed in this letter. It was a jumbled letter, full of anger, bitterness, then sudden wild optimism. The childish scrawl belied the adult torment that Sam had suffered and could occasionally only articulate through expletives and obscenities her heart had been laid bare in this letter, and there was now no space for doubt. Overwhelmed, Irene sank back in the carriage and pieced it all together. The letter pointed towards a murky incident in the past, something that had set Sam on her journey of self-loathing and harming. She had been unable to mourn the loss of her father as her mother gloated that he had gone. She hid under the sheets at night with a knife, terrified – but why? Her desperate craving for attention and eagerness to please masked her sense of inadequacy, of never having been accepted and loved. Sam’s pent up feelings had exploded out in this letter, ending in a stream of vitriolic self-abuse, concluding: no wonder I’m bloody gay. Irene was relieved to see Kathie enter the compartment. Her colleague was startled by the white stark face that Irene turned to her. “Kathie,” she gulped, but spoke steadily. “What do I do about a case of suspected child abuse?”
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Posted: Wed Nov 03, 2004 12:11 pm Oh goodness!! Thank you all so much - I didn't feel that I was managing to convey it all that well!! I will be posting the rest this afternoon - I had dreams about this all last night!! Sorry this is not a post - but there will be the rest later! Helen P - yes, the marks are evidence of self-harming, and that together with the eating disorder, the desperation for attention etc are meant to be manifestations of this poor girl's confusion. In the same way, her crush on Irene is less a sexual one and more an identification with the one, non-threatening caring person she feels she can trust. The 'hate him' in the letter refers to someone else, not Charlie. Although Charlie was the catalyst for her bad mood on the way home, it was also going home that was making her so miserable. More later (once I am fuelled(sp?) by more toast and marmite (thanks Rachael )
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Posted: Wed Nov 03, 2004 4:53 pm| Lisa wrote: |
| I had dreams about this all last night!! |
Posted: Wed Nov 03, 2004 7:43 pm
Posted: Wed Nov 03, 2004 10:10 pm (In just 2 days - I'm amazed at myself!!) but is still another 3 800 words or so 
It gets pretty grim. I will post in bits so you're not overloaded at once! *************** The pupils and staff of the Chalet School trooped off the coaches at their destination and were greeted by their Head, Hilda Annersley and the Head of St Mildred’s, Nell Wilson. Irene stepped off the coach gratefully with a heavy head and anxiety burdening her heart. The open doors were inviting, and the school quickly sat down to a hot supper before preparing for bed. Hilda’s sharp eyes noticed her youngest staff member’s exhaustion and was about to comment, when Kathie Ferrars appeared at her side. “Miss Annersley, I appreciate that this is quite irregular, but may Irene and I request an urgent meeting with you this evening?” Hilda’s brows lifted momentarily. “Why of course, Miss Ferrars – but do you think Miss Ellis needs her rest first?” Kathie shook her head firmly. “No. She won’t be able to rest – yet,” she said. So it was that half past nineteen brought a tapping on the door and Miss Annersley was visited by two of her youngest members of staff. Kathie held the door for Irene and Miss Annersley noted with approval that she was taking good care of the staff baby. “Sit down, ladies, and have some of Karen’s marvellous coffee. That’s it, pull up a chair. A biscuit, Irene? You ate very little at supper. Well, the journey appears to have gone off very smoothly, largely due to you two. Thank you. What can I do for you?” “Miss Annersley,” began Irene, but that lady waved her hand at once. “Let’s all call each other by our first names,” she said kindly. “I feel it will ease conversation.” “Hil- Hilda,” spoke Irene again, stumbling over the familiar term of address. “Kathie is here as I confided this to her on the journey, having only just found out myself. She has advised me, and is – some moral support.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I think that Sam Harris in my form has been sexually abused.” Hilda sat upright in shock, but spoke entirely steadily. “What are your grounds for this, Irene?” Wordlessly, Irene passed the letter to the Head and then sat there, regarding her face as she read it. Hilda winced at some of the expression, but Irene knew that this wasn’t disapproval at the language but disgust at the experiences expressed therein. Finally she folded the letter and placed it in front of her. She picked up a pen, wrote something neatly on a slip if paper, popped it in an envelope and held it out towards Kathie. “Kathie, dear, would you take this to Matron please? Then you may go – and thank you for your help. Now,” as the door closed behind her, she turned back to face Irene, “tell me all about it.” Irene spoke for twenty minutes. She scarcely knew when she had begun to weep, but found herself with Hilda’s own handkerchief, which was damp by this time. Her self-remorse came pouring out: “I should have said something earlier – I thought there might be something that time on the train, I should have realised that there were reasons for her behaviour –” “Now stop there, Irene,” instructed Hilda rather sternly. She leant across and took Irene’s cold hands in her own: “and listen to me. You have done everything right. You cannot blame yourself for any of this. Rather, you should feel pleased that at last, thanks to your unfailing kindness and professionalism a damaged young girl has begun to find some hope. Now,” she sat back and the tone of voice changed. “The first thing we have to do is speak to Sam herself. Then we need to establish whether the abuse is ongoing – and whether the abuser is still alive. If he is, then I’m afraid we will need to involve higher authorities at once. Do you feel able to conduct an interview with Sam, Irene?” Irene nodded mutely, and at that moment there was a knock on the door. “Herein,” called Hilda musically, and Matron bustled in with a cup of something steaming. “Ah, Gwynneth,” said Hilda. “Good timing. Irene has had a very traumatic time and needs some restful sleep tonight.” “Here we are, dear, drink this up,” advised Matron, using the gentle tone that only the very sick girls or staff usually got to hear. She passed Irene the hot milk that she carried, and gratefully the young woman drank it. “In the morning, I will arrange for you to be off-timetable and duties. You may come to see me if you wish before contacting Samantha, and of course I am willing to be present in the interview should she wish it. Now, I think you need to be off to bed.” Irene’s eyelids had grown heavy thanks to Matron’s nostrum, and she allowed herself to be escorted to a bed in the pretty room just off Matron’s. On receipt of Hilda’s note earlier, Matron had prepared the bed and popped a hot water bottle in it, and so it was cosy and inviting for the tired teacher. Once she was sleeping, Matron crept out of the room and made her way to the Head’s office. The two women had a conversation in which Hilda summarised the situation for her old friend and colleague, and it was a much subdued Matron who later left the office and headed straight for the Bluebell dormitory where Sam slept. All was quiet in the dormitory, and Matron stood for some time surveying the sleeping girls. She was filled with horror that something may have happened to a girl in her charge, and she had not noticed. Well, that was not strictly true, Matron admitted to herself. Some years ago she had become aware of Sam’s nightmares and had supplied the girl with various remedies to help her sleep. Matron had also been monitoring the girl’s weight loss a little anxiously, but as she seemed to eat well every mealtime, and was a very fit and active youngster, she had not been duly unconcerned. Matron was a practical woman, and she did not dwell on the false guilt that was threatening. Sam had been an unremarkable child who had not caused any fuss or complaints over the years but something stirred in Matron’s heart as she watched the sleeping innocent. How she must have suffered all these years. Just as Gwynneth was leaving the room, there was a rustle from a bed near the door, and a small white-clad figure slid out of the sheets and padded over to her. “Matron,” came Heather’s small voice, as she tugged rather pathetically on that lady’s dress. Without a word, Matron scooped up the girl, who unlike her tall friend was petite, and carried her off to the cosy annexe where she wrapped her in blankets and prepared to heat up more milk. “Do you know?” asked Heather tremulously as she watched the woman bustle around. “I do,” said Matron, calmly. “As do Miss Annersley and Miss Ferrars – but only those at the moment, and I believe that Miss Wilson will have to know soon. Heather, I am so very proud of you. You have been a true friend to Sam, and a mature and brave individual.” Heather snuffled a little, and buried her face in the blankets. “I told Sam that I had given Miss Ellis the letter,” came her muffled voice. “She wasn’t very happy, but she didn’t blow her top at me.” Her face emerged from the pillow and she faced Matron squarely. “I think she expected it. I think that by putting it in a letter to me, she was showing that she was ready to be helped – a sort of cry for help.” Matron, somewhat startled by this wisdom, nodded in agreement and passed Heather the hot cup of milk. “I think you are right. Here is your drink. When you have finished it we will get you back to bed – or would you prefer to stay here tonight?” “Oh no, Matron!” protested Heather in horror. “I’ll go back to my own bed thank you very much!” and so she was escorted back to the dormitory where she slept a deep refreshing sleep.
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Posted: Wed Nov 03, 2004 11:00 pm I can't take all this adulation!!! Grr - tried to post more half an hour ago, but the internet crashed (can it do that?!) in our house!! Lesley - I am intrigued as to who you think the abuser is ... are you right? ************* Irene blinked sleepily and frowned at her surroundings, taking a moment to register where she was. With the realisation, memories from the previous day came flooding back and a sick feeling of dread flooded the pit of her stomach. Casting about for her clothes, Irene was interrupted by the entrance of Matron with a tray. “You have had your sleep out!” she exclaimed. “You are to eat this before you do anything else.” She handed a tray of hot rolls, marmalade and coffee to her and then began to tidy the room. Waiting until she had heard Irene’s murmured ‘grace’ she then spoke casually. “I had Heather in here last night,” she mentioned. “She told me that she has spoken to Sam about the letter, and Sam wasn’t too upset. So she will be expecting to be summoned soon. Heather said that she felt the letter was a cry for help.” “Heather said that?” asked Irene in surprise. “Yes, I think that’s what I concluded. Apparently for years Sam has kept this well hidden – it’s as if she has chosen to let it out now. Matron – I’m such a weak woman! It’s Sam that deserves the sympathy and care here, and yet here I am, responding like this. I have had a wonderful childhood, and yet I can’t cope with hearing about someone else’s awful one.” Ignoring her own dictum for once, Matron sat on the end of Irene’s bed and looked at her kindly. “Irene, the face of evil is ugly and terrifying. It is of no wonder that you have been this deeply affected. But you are suffering because of your concern for Sam, not for your own sake. You have not been weak, because you recognise that despite your feelings you are going to face this thing and deal with it to the best of your ability.” Irene nodded and reflected on this as she washed and dressed. Hilda had arranged for her own office to be used, and after a brief chat with the Head, Irene organised the room to be as comfortable as possible. She set a pitcher of water on the table with a couple of glasses, pulled the chairs up to the fire, and arranged one so that it looked out slightly over the view of the mountains, so that Sam wouldn’t feel as if she was being interrogated. Finally, Irene set a box of tissues discreetly within reach and then paced the room, her stomach a fluttering mass of butterflies. Sam was sitting in her French lesson, outwardly as calm as ever. She had been kindly told after breakfast to come along to Miss Annersley’s office at eleven o’clock, and a strange sort of excitement gripped her. This was it. There was no backing out now. She glanced at the clock in the room and raised her hand. “S’il vous plait, Mam’zelle, est-ce que, je m'excuse peux partir de la salle maintenant?” With a nod, the teacher dismissed the girl, knowing just that Miss Annersley had wanted to see her, and it was only Heather who watched her friend’s exit from the room with trepidation. Irene jumped as the knock sounded on the door. Shooting up a desperate prayer, she opened it at once, trying to smile naturally at Sam. “Come in, Sam, sit down, make yourself comfortable. As you know, Heather and I have been concerned about you, and Heather has shown me your letter – did you know?” Sam shrugged and looked around the office. She looked out of the window. She felt strangely exhausted and reluctant to speak. “I know,” she said at last. Irene cleared her throat. “Now before we begin I have to tell you that anything you tell me in this room, I will have to report – ” “I know, I know,” interrupted Sam, still staring out of the window. “For protection and all that. Because my grandfather raped me.”
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Posted: Wed Nov 03, 2004 11:58 pm Thank you and goodnight. 
Posted: Thu Nov 04, 2004 12:10 am The school's handling of it was much better than most Take care of yourself after this
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Posted: Thu Nov 04, 2004 10:41 am Your writing in this was so moving and powerful Lisa.
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Posted: Thu Nov 04, 2004 11:19 am You'd think that, with my friends going through a similar thing, I'd know what to say, but I still don't. *huggles* Lisa, don't apologise, thank you for writing it.
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Posted: Sun Nov 07, 2004 11:50 pm| Susan wrote: |
| As a childrens and young peoples worker I have had a little training in what to do if faced with a child or young person suffering from suspected abuse. I spent hours wondering how I would cope if it evere happens. Thank you Lisa for writing this I hope I will be as caring as Irene. |
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I have been reading your comments and I have been overwhelmed by them! A couple of people have asked for sequels, but I don't feel they would be appropriate for this story - we let Sam walk off into the distance and we don't know what will happen. I felt that this is most realistic - we get glimpses of people's lives sometimes, and never know what will become of them ... As some of you know, this story was inspired by real events and I feel almost a fraud in getting such adulation for a story whose characters (ie the real people involved) are the real ones to deserve it. However I do have a number of ideas on a similar theme - but might wait a while before I attempt those! Thanks all - you really have no idea how much your comments and support have meant. You really are a bunch of wonderful people! :love:
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