Callum had done it again. Hit the ball too hard and knocked the other boys teeth out. When I got there he was sat with his head down in reception. His face was pink, not quite the shade you imagine when you think of Barbie, but not far off it. It was obvious he’d been crying, if not from the blotchy face then definitely from the wet patches at the cuffs of his school shirt. While I’m stood at the desk the receptionist shakes her head as I sign. Tutting. I don’t know whether she thinks I won’t see or hear or maybe she just doesn’t care whether I do or not. Either way I slam the pen down after writing my name and give her the sickly sweet smile that I save for occasions where someone insinuates that I am a bad parent.

“C’mon then. Let’s go.” I say to Callum, holding out my hand. Instead of taking it he passes me his book-bag and lunchbox, and walks out of the door ahead of me. I follow his footsteps to the car, though not step-for-step as he decides to traipse through the puddles, rather than around them. Soaking his school shoes and trousers, he will need a different pair tomorrow, or maybe I can leave them on the radiator. I get to the car moments after him and he lays against the door, pressing his face to the glass. I unlock it for him, and as he gets in I try and talk to him.

“What happened?” I ask, as I help him do up his seatbelt.

“Get off I can do it myself!” he shouts, pushing me away.

I close the door and take a breath, get in the drivers’ seat and put his bags on the seat next to me. Then my phone rings, so I go digging in my bag for it. Receipts, empty wrappers, and fast food napkins making the stuff I actually use all the more difficult to find. I eventually get it, just as the call ends. I see the caller ID and put the phone in the central console. I find my belt and do it up. I put the key in and set off.

The buzzing starts again. “Hello. Yes. Nice to talk to you too. I’ve just picked him up from the school and we’re on our way back to our house now. Okay. Of course I’ll get back to you soon.” I put the phone back down. Not looking at him in the back seat. One reason for this is that I’m focused on the road, the other is that it’s really hard to lie to his face, better not to look. But in the rear-view mirror I see him shift in his seat.

“Who was it?” Callum asks.

“Oh just Santa.” I reply, and I look back at him in the rear-view mirror, just slightly “He told me to remind you that naughty boys don’t get presents.” Callum folds his arms in a huff. This isn’t a shock to him, I get phone calls from Santa a lot. They usually coincide with whenever he has acted out. But the phone calls are getting much more frequent, and I’m not sure how much longer I can go on having international calls to the North Pole.

         “I promise I didn’t mean to.” he says, sitting up in his chair now, “I- We were just playing, and I just hit the ball, and it just hit him, and I didn’t mean it.” I can see him moving in the rear-view mirror and he starts touching my shoulder, trying to get me to look at him as he pleads his case. “Not now Callum I’m driving,” I nudge him away “just talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you if you’re just going to be mean.”

“I’m not being mean, I’m just drivi-“

“You are mean, you’re the meanest person ever.”

“I am definitely not the meanest perso-”

“The meanest to me.” he says, and goes quiet again. We get to another stop light and I look back at him. He stares out of the window, watching as the new rainfall begins to land on the glass, creating patterns. Two drops in particular are racing down the pane and the corner of his mouth lifts slightly as the one on the left makes it to the finish line first. But he doesn’t say anything.

Beep! I focus back on the road. The green light is blaring and I look in the rear-view mirror to see a blue sports car revving its engine. The car is packed with people, perhaps more than is actually legal, and it shines even on this extremely dreary day. Beep! All of the people in the car laugh and the guy in the driver’s seat makes eye contact with me in the mirror, then he gives me the finger. Bee-bee-boo! My horn sputters. Shit. I still need to fix that. This causes an uproar of even more aggressive laughter in the car behind. I look at Callum in the backseat, he’s looking back at the blue car now. The junction ahead is still clear, so as the amber light comes up I accelerate across the junction. Leaving the blue car on red.

We drive in silence for a few minutes more, watching children being guided by their parents into corner shops to buy penny sweets. I see neon yellow and stop as the Lollipop Lady walks into the road, letting a stream of children walk past. They all walk across quickly with their raincoats and umbrellas, yet still jump in any puddle they find. I turn on my windscreen wipers. Screech! Shit. I need to fix those too. The Lollipop Lady thanks me for waiting and walks back to the pavement.

 “I really didn’t mean to do it. I just got angry because e-”Callum says. Screech!

 “Nothing could have happened that could mean that what you did was okay.”

“But they were teasing me again”

Screech! I make eye contact with him in the mirror, his eyes are still red and blotchy. When Callum started school I cried. I did for the others too but this was different. He was so happy when he first started. As the years have gone on he has become less and less content. Constant calls from school are not what any parent wants. Nobody wants their baby to be that kid in class. Apparently he’s on an ‘Amber warning’ whatever that means. The school comes up with a new way of telling you every-day that you’re a shit parent ‘he’s over-active’, ‘has a lot of energy’, ‘not got many friends’.

“About what?”

“You don’t care anyway.”

“I do. That’s why I’m asking Callum I-” Screech!

“You DON’T. DON’T LIE.”

“Don’t shout Callum. Can’t you see I’m driving?”

 “I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE DRIVI-” he shouts. Screech!

“Be quiet Callum!”

“NO I WON’T BE QUIET! I WON’T B-”

SCREECH! As Callum reaches the loudest sound known to man, I see a line of orange begin to creep across the road. I hit the brake and we stop just before the cat. It darts off to one side, finding shelter underneath a parked car.

“Callum!” Screech!

“I CAN NEVER TALK!” he folds his arms and sinks back into his seat. Screech!

“You can talk. Just stop shouting.” I turn of the windshield wipers, the rain becoming more of a drizzle.

“I’m not shouting I’m talking.”

“Okay, then tell me what happened.”

As soon as I’ve finished reversing the car Callum’s belt is off and he’s out of the door. I grab his bags and follow him in. I hear the tail-end of his footsteps stomping up the stairs and into his room, then a flurry of more steps approaching. By the time I’ve put my bag, and Callum’s bags, down, my three girls are stood on the staircase.

“Hi Mum how was work?”, “Is Callum okay?”, “Did you manage to pick up my hairband?” I walk into the kitchen and they follow. “Was your day okay, aside from the whole Callum thing?”, “I think he just needs to make friends.”, “It’s just I really need it!” I lean against the side.

“Work was fine thank you, Callum is also fine he just needs his space, and no I couldn’t get it today- like I told you this morning.”

The girls leave the room, but Jenny comes back to ask “What’s for tea?”

“One minute.” I reply and go into the front room. Andrew is in there, watching re-runs on ‘Dave’. He looks up as I come in, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“What’s for tea?”

I sigh. “Whatever is in tonight I’m afraid, anything in particular you want?” he shakes his head. “I could do a roast?” he shakes his head “Fajitas?” he thinks for a second, nods. I walk back into the kitchen, Jenny is still there. “Fajitas?” she nods too.

         I start grilling the chicken, add the mix, peppers and onions. I’m just about to start the rice when Jenny comes in. “Your phone was ringing.” she says, passing it to me. Shit. I forgot to ring him back. “Thanks.” I say. The phone buzzes again. Santa. I shoo Jenny away and close the kitchen door. Reception picks up after a few rings.

“Hello. Dungate Primary here. How may I help you?”

“Hi- Hello. This is Karen Richards. Callum Richards’ mum. I was expecting a call from Mr Claus, but I think I missed it.”

“Ahh, yes. Mrs Richards. Of course. I’ll put you through now.” Beep!

“Hello, Mrs Richards is it?”

“Yes Mr Claus it is-”

“I am sorry to hear about Callum’s behaviour today. I hope you understand that we had no choice but to-”

“Well I don’t think there was no choice.”

“Sorry? What was that?”

“Sorry. Nothing. Please carry on.”

“In any case, I think it best that you and your husband come in for a meeting with Callum. To discuss this situation, and his situation, further.”

Callum, Andrew, and I sit with our heads down in reception. I am counting the tiles on the floor. Both by design, and due to use over time. They are large squares of white, speckled with various shades of what is distinctly not-white. They aren’t particularly clean, and the chairs aren’t particularly comfortable, and neither am I. I am however starting to wonder why Andrew and I chose this school to begin with.

         I look at Andrew, he is reading one of the leaflets for the school’s football team. Callum is sat next to him, kicking his feet back and forth. I reach over and put a hand on his leg. He stops kicking and looks at me. I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile, but he looks back down at the floor, kicking his legs.

The same receptionist sits behind the desk. She glances up at us every now and again from her stack of, what I’m sure are very important, papers. She glances up again. Tutting. Callum’s kicking pauses, then starts again faster, Andrew puts down the leaflet. Tutting. “I sure hope someone fixes that noise soon. Sounds like a squeaky door.” Andrew says, I can’t help but laugh. Andrew smiles “It’s really irritating don’t you think? Maybe it’s just me?”

The tutting stops. “Mr Claus is free to see you now.” the receptionist says, her face the shade of pink you imagine when you think of Barbie.

Tick. “So nice to see you again Mr and Mrs Richards’.” Mr Claus says “And you Callum.”

Tock. “And you Mr Claus.” I say. Callum’s legs are kicking again.

“So why did you call us in Mr Claus?” Andrew asks, even though I briefed him yesterday.

Tick. “To discuss the incident during P.E yesterday.” he looks over his glasses at Calum.

Tock. “Could you please remind us of what exactly happened Mr Claus?

Tick. “But mum I already told-“

Tock. “Of course Mrs Richards.”

Callum had been playing rounders at school. He didn’t want to play football because all the boys said he wasn’t any good. So he picked rounders. His P.E. shorts had gotten wet and were on the airer so he had to wear the grey shorts instead. The field was extremely muddy so when Callum was running, exerting all of the energy they had said was bundled up, he fell. When it was his turn to bat again, the backstop shouted “CALLUM HAS POOED HIS PANTS!” causing the class to erupt in giggles. Callum, again exerting all of the energy they had said was bundled up, hit the ball that was thrown. Hard.

“The boys were on the other side of the field and the ball hit Freddie Jackson in the face. He lost three teeth.” Mr Claus says. Tutting.

Tick. “Of course they will grow back though, right?” Andrew asks.

Tock. “Luckily yes they will grow back Mr Richards, they were baby teeth- But I have already dealt with the Jacksons’. I now need to deal with the situation with you Callum.”

Tick. “Yes Mr Claus.” Callum nods, bowing his head again.

Tock. “And how exactly are you planning on dealing with Callum?” I ask.

Tick. “I’m glad you ask Mrs Richards.” Mr Claus starts, pulling up a chart from behind his desk. “So as you know we have a Traffic Light System here at Dungate. We monitor student performance by assigning them to the different colours. The majority of students are, of course, in green. Then we have amber, for students we think could improve their behaviour slightly. And then we have red, now this colour means that-”

Tock. I only saw Callum’s name, and then red.