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© Copyright Lisa Adams: February 2021.

I settled into my teaching career quite easily, despite the class comprising of 14 and 15-year-old pupils, most of who, like those aged 16, had their pubescent hormones racing around inside them while I was no different a decade ago.

I had taken over from their former English teacher, a Miss Hall, who was on maternity leave, the third teaching term due to end in three weeks time.

It was about then, from the short amount of time I had with them, that I noticed one of the pupils, Paul Anderson, was failing in the work he handed in for marking.

As a teacher, I saw it as my duty to find out what the problem was, especially with the following year being so important for him at a school-leaver level.

I looked up his contact details in personnel and discovered he only had one parent, his dad. I subsequently phoned Mr Anderson, only to get his answer phone. I left a message for him to call me back, making no mentioning of what I was concerned about.

Brian, Mr Anderson, called me that evening and we arranged to meet at ...

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