Hey love, let me tell you whats been going on at my old school. So, Im Helen Carter, a maths teacher at the local secondary in a little Manchester neighbourhood, and Ive always kept an eye on my younger sister while Mum works the night shift. But back in November, one of my students, Tommy Glover, just vanished.
At first I thought hed caught a cold you know how the season is, everyone gets a sniffle. A week went by, then another, and he still wasnt in class. I kept catching myself waiting for him to walk in, sit by the window and pull out that blue maths notebook of his. The desk he used was suddenly empty, like it never existed.
By the end of the second week I was getting worried. No call, no note from his parents nothing. Tommys always been a quiet but diligent kid, loves maths, never skips lessons, his notebooks are spotless. It cant be that simple, I muttered, flipping through the class register.
After school I headed for the office.
Mrs. Clarke, do you happen to know whats happened to Tommy Glover? He hasnt turned up for ages, I asked, perching on a chair by the reception desk.
The secretary lifted her head from the paperwork, pushed up her glasses and gave me a halfsmile.
Nobodys called. Probably somethings up at home again. You know the area, she said.
I knew the area well the rows of old terraced houses with peeling paint, courtyards where rubbish piles up, the gangs of teens loitering on every corner, the endless neighbour squabbles that echo through the thin walls.
I frowned.
But you cant just leave him like that. Hes got a mum, right?
Mrs. Clarke shrugged. He does, but what kind of mum are we talking about?
I took a deep breath and walked out.
Fine, Ill sort it myself, I whispered, pulling my coat tighter.
Dont bother yourself, she muttered. If you want, go look for him.
I didnt reply. I raced across the school yard, only one question looping in my head: whats happened to Tommy?
The Glover flat stank of damp and stale tobacco. A flickering bulb lit the stairwell, and the steps were smeared with grime. I went up to the third floor and knocked on the brown, peeling door.
Anyone home? I called, but only silence answered.
I knocked again, louder. After a minute the door cracked open just enough for a pair of tired eyes to peek out.
Miss Carter? Tommys voice trembled.
Tommy, hi. Why arent you at school? Whats going on? I asked gently.
He stayed silent, looking lost and exhausted. His cheeks were hollow, dark circles under his eyes.
Will you let me in? I asked softly.
He glanced around as if checking for anyone behind the door, then opened it wider.
The flat was tiny and a bit rundown. In the corner a little girl, about three, was fiddling with a plastic spoon. Tommy shut the door behind me so the little one wouldnt feel the chill from the hallway.
Thats my sister, Milly, he whispered.
Tommy, tell me whats happening, I said, sitting on a squeaky chair. Wheres your mum?
Shes at work, he muttered, lowering his head.
Why isnt Milly in nursery?
Mum never got around to it. She says theres never enough time.
I sighed. So youve been looking after her while Mums away?
He nodded.
What about school?
He swallowed, then whispered, I cant keep up. I cant leave Milly alone; shes too small.
My chest tightened. Id never heard any of my pupils talk about something like this.
Tommy, have you eaten anything today? I asked, looking him in the eye.
He shrugged. Dont know maybe this morning.
I stood up. Alright, this isnt going to work. Stay here, Ill be back soon.
Where are you going? he asked, a little panicked.
To get food and some help, I said, pulling my coat tighter.
He wanted to argue but changed his mind.
I stepped out, phone in hand, knowing I couldnt just walk away from those kids.
An hour later I was back, bags in hand. Tommy opened the door again, a little less nervous this time.
Youre back? he asked.
Of course, I replied cheerfully, stepping inside. Wheres the kitchen?
He pointed uncertainly down the hallway.
I followed, dropped the bags on the table loaf of bread, a bottle of milk, some oats, a few apples, even a few biscuits. Tommy stared at everything, eyes widening.
This all for us? he asked.
Who else is going to eat it? I laughed. Wheres the pan?
He looked uneasy. What are you going to do with all this?
Cook dinner, I said, a hint of authority in my tone. And you go play with Milly.
Tommy hesitated, fists clenched at his sides, still standing by the kitchen doorway.
You really going to do all this yourself? he asked, unsure.
I rolled up my sleeves, looked him straight in the eye and said, Of course. Who else if not me?
I pulled out eggs, butter, found the bread, set the kettle on. The pan sizzled as I dropped a knob of butter in it. Tommy watched, tonguetied.
Tommy, stop standing there and go help Milly. Shes probably bored out of her mind, I said gently.
He glanced at Milly, who was clutching a doll and eyeing us from the corner.
Shes always so quiet, he muttered.
Then lets cheer her up, I grinned. Dinners almost ready.
He trudged out of the kitchen, still looking a bit lost, while I kept cooking. In twenty minutes I had scrambled eggs, sliced bread, tea in mugs, and a small plate of apples.
Foods ready! I called. Come eat!
Tommy and Milly sat down. Milly stared at the food warily at first, then took a bite and brightened.
Its good, she whispered, spoon in hand.
Of course it is, I winked. I tried my best.
Tommy ate in silence, shooting quick glances my way. Finally he blurted, Why are you doing all this?
I set down my fork, looked straight at him. Because you matter to me, Tommy. Youre my pupil, I care about you. Its only natural.
He flushed, then buried his face in his plate.
After wed finished, I started clearing the table. Tommy tried to help, but I waved him off.
Why dont you tidy up Millys toys? Ill handle the dishes, I said.
Ten minutes later I walked back into the living room everything was neat, toys put away, floor swept.
Well done, I praised. Tomorrow Ill speak to the neighbour. Maybe she can pop over now and then while your mums at work.
The neighbour? Aunt Linda? Tommy asked, surprised.
Yes, shes lovely. Ill have a chat with her, and things will settle. And youll come over to my place after school, okay?
Come to you? Why? he asked, cautious.
For lessons, I replied. You cant keep skipping school.
He hesitated, then nodded slowly. Alright.
A smile spread across my face. Great. Everythings going to sort itself out, youll see.
Thats how our evenings started. Id take Tommy to my flat after my own classes, and wed dive into maths and a bit of literature. Sometimes wed set the books aside and just chat.
One day, Miss Carter, Tommy said once, doodling circles in his notebook, I wonder what would have happened if you hadnt shown up.
Someone else would have, I answered, smiling.
No, really, he shook his head. No one would have.
I looked at him, then changed the subject. By the way, youre doing maths, not philosophy. Hows question three?
He blushed, but got back to the problems. He knew my help was about more than homework.
Soon enough his school work improved. Teachers stopped complaining, neighbours noticed he wasnt just wandering the estate aimlessly. Occasionally Id see his mum, exhausted after a shift, trying to spend a little more time with the kids.
Thank you, a neighbour once said when she met me on the stairs. If it hadnt been for you, I dont know what Tommy wouldve ended up like.
Its nothing, I waved it off. Hes a bright lad. Just needed a nudge.
Pride warmed my chest.
Months passed. Tommy grew more confident. He stopped asking why I spent my evenings with him and just accepted the help, trying to repay it with hard work.
How do you manage it all, Miss Carter? he asked one afternoon, thumbing through a history book. Youve got your job too.
I manage because youre sharp, Tommy. You pick things up fast, I replied, laughing.
He looked down shyly, but my words stuck with him. He started studying harder.
Half a year later he was back in class every day, his diary filled with As. I was over the moon seeing the results of my effort.
Time moved on. I retired from teaching years ago, settled into a quiet cottage outside the city. Former colleagues would pop by, vent about their classes, chat about how schools have changed. Id listen, but my thoughts kept drifting back to those kids Id helped.
One hot summer afternoon, there was a knock at my door. I wiped my hands on an apron, opened it, and found a tall young man with a bunch of wildflowers.
Hello, Mrs. Carter, he said, his voice instantly familiar.
Tommy? I asked, eyes widening.
He smiled and nodded. Its me. I thought Id drop by and say hello.
Come in, I said, a little flustered, opening the door wider.
We sat at the kitchen table for ages. He told me about university, how his mum finally landed a good job, how things had finally fallen into place.
Thank you for everything you did for me, he said, suddenly serious.
Oh, stop it, Tommy, I replied, softening. I just helped a bit.
No, really, he insisted. You gave me a future. Without you, Id still be stuck.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
The important thing is youre happy, I whispered, my voice a little shaky.
We talked for a long while, reminiscing about the past. When he finally left, I sat back, looking at the flowers on the table, and realised theres probably nothing more worthwhile than being there when someone truly needs you.
