Urchin

(an extremely short story)

It was her first day in secondary school. She had just turned eleven. Her head cocked to one side, she looked somewhat… dislocated. We found out later that her father walloped her regularly and had damaged her eardrums.

A heavy school bag pulled her shoulder to the right. The buttons on her dark blue cardigan were not set in their proper holes. The hem of her skirt was leaning to the left. One of her socks had collapsed on its ankle. With her greasy hair and tired-looking eyes, Leanne Cornish was, almost to the point of caricature, a living illustration of a nineteenth century street urchin. To complete the picture, she stank like a pile of manure.

Mrs Badger (no need for a nickname in her case), the head of lower school, took Leanne to one side and learned that water had been turned off in the Cornish family flat. Something to do with unpaid bills. Bodies and clothing had remained unwashed for God knows how long. Toilet unflushed.

After talking to Health & Safety at the town hall, Mrs Badger learned - as did the rest of the staff - that denying water to a family was illegal, whether bills had been paid or not. A few days later, they were reconnected.

Meanwhile, Miss Halliday, the girls' P.E. teacher, had been allocated the unenviable task of making sure that Leanne indulged in a good shampoo, shower and scrub. She also found suitable garments among the lost (and never claimed) items of clothing piling up in the back room of the gymnasium.

The five years that Leanne Cornish spent in our school were not easy ones for herself or her teachers. The child was aggressive, bad tempered and contrary. Often in detention, she reminded me of a wild kitten. The staff did not like her, and she did not like them. Nor did she have any friends that I could see.

Social workers kept an eye on Leanne and her family. The Cornish house was a pigsty, they said. You could not see the floor for stains, candy wrappers, shopping bags and crushed pizza boxes. In the living-room, the arms of the couch were shiny black with dirt, and to make matters worse, the television would be blaring twenty-four hours a day, or so neighbors complained. No wonder Leanne could not do her homework, even if she had wanted to. Still, it was not enough apparently to remove the child from her environment.

*

Ten years went by when, one day, as I was coming out of the Post Office, I heard a shrill “Sir, sir !” behind me. I turned round and immediately recognized Leanne. She was pushing a pram. But what a difference ! She looked healthy and she was smiling. I don't think I had ever seen her smile. She was obviously squeaky clean, and so were her clothes, the sleeves of her white top displaying straight creases of military precision.

“Leanne ?” I exclaimed.

“Yes Sir !” Her smile widened even more then disappeared. “I am so sorry ! I was such an 'orrible child in school.”

“No, you were not.” (never thought it would be so easy to lie) “But you were certainly unhappy. You seem to be doing all right now, and with a lovely baby.”

The smile came back : “Her name is Emily.”

There were a few seconds of awkward silence between us. “I found a good man” she went on, “the sort I never knew would be around and I would meet.”

“I am very pleased for you.”

More awkward silence. Then : “Well, good bye Sir. It was nice to see you again. I'm sorry I hated you. Nothing personal, as they say : I hated everybody, I think.”

She swiveled the pram and walked away at a brisk and determined pace.