Free Deathwatch by Nicola Morgan Page B

of engagement with children, and she felt a degree of responsibility, she’d added, and regretted that the biology teacher had not asked him for an Enhanced Disclosure and certain assurances before his visit.
    “Enhanced Disclosure?” he’d asked.
    “Yes, CRB Disclosure, you may have heard it called. You know…”
    “CRB?” he’d asked, none the wiser.
    “Criminal Records Bureau. It’s—”
    “Criminal! What on earth do you mean by
criminal
? I am no criminal!” He had spat the words at her, blazing, bitter fury boiling inside.
    “No, no, no, of course,” she’d replied hurriedly. “It doesn’t imply that at all – really it doesn’t. It’s a legal part of the procedure for making sure that all adults who come in contact with our pupils are appropriate. It’s very—”
    “Do you think I am
not
appropriate? Do you think I wished them any harm? I tried to educate them, and you stand there accusing me of…”
    “You brought a dangerous chemical into the class,” she’d said, frostily. “Subject to restricted use. Not for use within a school classroom, with no appropriate procedures being followed.”
    “Appropriate procedures? I am an expert! I know perfectly well how to handle chemicals. None of your pupils was in any danger at any time. It’s one of the safest chemicals for use in the circumstances.”
    “I am very sorry. I appreciate that you have given up your time, and that you meant no harm. But I am sure you will understand—”
    “No, I do not. I was trying to educate your pupils, to break down the barriers of their ignorance. Those girls were ridiculous with their fear and that one girl in particular. Of a tiny insect? What have you been teaching them?”
    The woman had bristled, though her voice remained steely cold. “I will not have you insult our pupils or the education we provide for them.”
    But he would not stop. “I only asked the silly child to hold it. And she agreed; I did not force her. I thought I could cure her fear.”
    “There are procedures. You must—”
    And now he’d interrupted her. “Besides, if I wished to, I could very easily complain about the fact that many of your pupils had their hair loose in a science laboratory. What sort of ‘procedures’ are these? In my day … oh, what is the use of this? I am leaving now and I do not wish ever to set foot in such a place of ignorance again.”
    Now he can barely remember how he’d left the room, presumably picking up his bags. It had been shaming. He had felt sweat dripping down his back.
    The museum had been informed. By phone. Immediately. He remembers the woman saying that she would have to do this because a dangerous substance had been brought into school and if she didn’t alert the authorities and his employer, she would be guilty of a “dereliction of duty”. And she had looked at him meaningfully over her narrow spectacles as he left.
    Dereliction of duty! How dare she! How dare the woman!
    He will not be allowed to talk in a school again – well, do they really think he wants to? But the shame of being told that he may not! The implications!
    There’ll be a form somewhere: he can imagine it. A record by his name. “Not suitable for working with children.” As though he were a paedophile!
    His armpits are wet. He can smell himself. And his heart will not stop racing. At this rate, he’ll be ill again.
    What had he done wrong? The lesson had been going well. He had seen the interest in their eyes. He’d been thinking how well he was doing. He’d even been thinking that perhaps children weren’t so objectionable after all, if you got them on their own territory. Maybe kids were just like insects: you needed to know how to handle them. He’d often been called the insect whisperer; on field trips he’d seemed to know exactly where to find each species. So maybe you just had to learn to be a child whisperer.
    He’d been reluctant to take on this task in the first place; he’d never done a