The Experiment part three

Mr. Delaney lifted his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Ms. Phoenix’s cheeks had reddened. She breathed out through her mouth and fanned herself with her hand.

‘It’s not like we could’ve done any more,’ Mr. Delaney said. Ms. Phoenix tutted, and Mr. Delaney turned to her. ‘If you’ve got something to say I wish you’d come out and say it.’

‘It’s exactly that kind of attitude that got us here in the first place,’ she said. ‘This never would’ve happened if you weren’t so laissez-faire.’

‘I’ve only dealt with her a couple of times. You’re her form tutor, you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on her.’

‘You’re the one—’

‘Come on now,’ Mr. Philpotts said, and they both looked at him. ‘I’m sure you both did what you could. If we could all just calm down. She’ll be here any minute.’

Mr. Delaney and Ms. Phoenix were still staring at each other.

‘Anyway,’ Mr. Philpotts said, reading from his computer screen, ‘we think it’s this selective mutism. It’s brought on by a fear of speaking in public apparently. Did you know some people are afraid to eat in public?’

‘I wasn’t aware of that,’ Ms. Phoenix said, still locked in a staring contest.

‘Tragic really. The effect it must have.’

Mr. Delaney joined Mr. Philpotts behind the desk and they both fixed on the computer screen, reading. ‘What else about it?’ Ms. Phoenix said. When neither replied she went over and joined them in reading. Emily felt like she could’ve sung and danced and they wouldn’t have noticed her.

‘Go back a bit,’ Ms. Phoenix said.

‘That’s interesting,’ Mr. Delaney said, pointing at something on the screen.

‘What?’ Mr. Philpotts said.

‘This about fear of using public toilets.’

‘Can we go back to the beginning?’ Ms. Phoenix said.

‘In case anyone hears them.’

‘Really?’ Mr. Philpotts said, and leaned a little closer to the screen.

There was a knock at the door and the three teachers exchanged looks. ‘Come,’ Mr. Philpotts called, getting up and crossing the room. Mr. Delaney swallowed hard. Ms. Phoenix took the mouse and scrolled up, reading what she’d missed.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Mr. Philpotts said from somewhere behind Emily. ‘She’s through here. Has she ever done this before?’

‘Of course not,’ Emily’s mum said over the sound of her footsteps, on the hard floor at first, then the rug. ‘It’s not like her at all.’

Emily looked up to see her mum by her side. She was wearing the same white anorak as this morning. When Emily saw that look on her face that said Now what’ve you done? she wanted to crawl off somewhere and die. She was used to seeing it from teachers, but they rarely had any other expression; most of them seemed to put it on before they came to work. But not her mum. When she laughed, really laughed so it sounded like she was hyperventilating, Emily couldn’t help but join in. She hadn’t laughed like that in ages. More and more nowadays, Emily was convinced it was because of her.

Her mum looked down at her. ‘Come on now, what’s wrong?’ she said. ‘Whatever it is, you can tell me.’

‘Is everything okay at home?’ Mr. Philpotts said.

‘It’s not us if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s far more likely to be something at school.’

‘I’m not trying to blame anyone. I just want to find out when it started. See if we can pin down the cause. Was she talking this morning?’

‘Of course.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘Well...’ her mum said, her conviction fading. ‘Her father had already left for work. He works so hard for you doesn’t he. How do you think he’ll react when he hears about this?’

‘Can you remember anything she said?’

Her mum thought for a moment. ‘The traffic,’ she said, lifting her chin a little. ‘She said how bad the traffic was.’

Emily had never seen her mum lie before. It could be the first time she’d ever lied. Again, it felt like it was Emily’s fault. What was more depressing was that just like the other adults, she was trying to distance herself from Emily going quiet. 

‘But she didn’t say anything had happened?’ Mr. Philpotts said. ‘If someone was bullying her?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘It says here,’ Mr. Delaney said from still behind the computer, ‘that we should offer her rewards for speaking. That should help her overcome her fear.’

The way they were talking about her, Emily felt like she may as well not be there.

‘Mrs. Mathers, Mr. Delaney is the school guidance counsellor,’ Mr. Philpotts said. ‘He’s trained to deal with these kinds of situations. We think this is caused by a phobia of speaking in public. Apparently it’s called selective mutism.’

‘I wasn’t aware Emily had any phobias.’

‘You mean she didn’t tell you?’ Ms. Phoenix said. Emily’s mum glowered at her.

‘Sorry, have you two met?’ Mr. Philpotts said.

‘At parents’ evening,’ Emily’s mum said. ‘Ms. Phoenix accused Emily of staying up too late.’

‘I just said she seemed a bit vacant—’

‘Vacant?’ Emily’s mum said, and hit back at Ms. Phoenix. She said it was her teaching methods that were the problem, they failed to engage the young mind, or something like that. Emily had stopped listening. She was looking out the window, at the spindly tree branches jerking in the breeze. She’d be able to make it to the window, but could she climb out before anyone stopped her? She’d have to slide up the bottom half, and it looked heavy, with that thick wooden frame and double-glazing. If she did make it, she’d climb up a tree and sit on one of those branches, riding it like a bucking bronco. Maybe she’d be taken by the wind, and float off, far far from here—

‘Now Emily,’ Mr. Delaney said — he’d come out from behind the desk and was bending down to her — ‘if you’re a good girl and tell us what’s wrong, we’ll give you some sweets. Would you like that? Some nice sweets?’

Emily looked back out the window.

‘You know, it goes for boys too,’ Mr. Delaney said. ‘No one will want a girlfriend who never says anything. You do want a boyfriend now don’t you?’

‘She’s a bit young for all that,’ her mum said. ‘She’s just a child.’

‘I don’t know,’ Ms. Phoenix said, ‘we’ve had girls her age be sexually active before.’

Mr. Philpotts didn’t know where to look.

Emily’s mum said, ‘What are you implying, Ms. Phoenix?’

‘We’ve already given them sex education. It’s part of the curriculum.’

‘They’re just children.’

‘We don’t decide the curriculum I’m afraid,’ Mr. Philpotts said. ‘Some parts of it I don’t agree with, but ours is not to reason why.’

‘What if I said I had a nice surprise for you?’ It was Mr. Delaney again, still bending down, eyebrows raised. ‘But you can’t have it unless you start talking?’

‘The only reason they’re thinking about it is because you fill their heads with it,’ Emily’s mum said.

‘It’s the national curriculum,’ Ms. Phoenix said.

‘I assure you, we have our students’ best interests at heart,’ Mr. Philpotts said. ‘Things have changed since we were young, they find out about these things so much younger nowadays.’

Ms. Phoenix said to Emily’s mum, ‘I suppose you could do a better job, teaching thirty teenagers. Looks like you’ve got your hands full with just one.’

Emily gazed out the window while they carried on. They were still talking over each other when her dad poked his head around the door.

‘Hello?’ he said, and they all turned to him. Emily smiled at the sight of him; with his body obscured by the oak door, he looked like a head on a stick. ‘I did try knocking,’ he said as he came in. They’d stopped squabbling now. In fact, as they all did introductions, the other adults seemed sheepish all of a sudden, almost like they were embarrassed.

Mr. Philpotts said, ‘It’s Ms. Math— Emily, rather. She’s stopped talking.’

‘They’re convinced we’ve done something to her,’ Emily’s mum said.

‘We were just asking if you’d noticed anything was wrong,’ Ms. Phoenix said, ‘any changes in her behaviour maybe.’

Mr. Delaney was standing up straight now. ‘Yes, a change in behaviour is often a sign something is up,’ he said.

‘Nothing jumps out at me,’ Emily’s dad said. He frowned. ‘Shouldn’t we do this somewhere else? I mean she can hear everything we say.’

‘They think they’ll solve it by telling her all about the birds and bees.’

‘It’s the national curriculum,’ Ms. Phoenix said. ‘Every school in the country has sex ed by year nine.’

‘It’s true,’ Mr. Philpotts said, ‘we don’t choose what to teach. But our record speaks for itself. We’re in the top five schools in the county. Top two for mixed schools.’

‘Is that right,’ Emily’s dad said, deadpan.

Mr. Delaney asked Emily’s dad: ‘What’s her favourite food?’

‘Food?’

Mr. Delaney came a step closer. ‘It’s an incentive,’ he said in a low voice that Emily could still hear. ‘We give her a treat if she speaks.’

‘Like a dog?’ her dad said, making no effort to keep his voice down.

‘It’s a psychological technique.’

‘Why don’t you ask her.’

‘Can you think of anything that might help?’ Mr. Philpotts said. ‘Obviously we’re all concerned. We want her back to normal as soon as possible.’

Her dad looked from side to side, at all four of them lined up facing him. ‘Why don’t I speak to her,’ he said.

‘Great,’ Mr. Philpotts said.

‘Alone.’

‘Oh. If you think that would help.’

Mr. Philpotts gave the nod and Ms. Phoenix and Mr. Delaney filed out. Mr. Philpotts followed but stopped and looked at Emily’s mum. 

‘Me?’ she said.

Her dad nodded, sucking his teeth.

‘Why don’t we get a coffee,’ Mr. Philpotts said. He ushered her out, and stopped at the door.

‘We’ll be just outside if you need us.’

The door closed. 

Now it was just Emily and her dad.

Her dad turned his back to her and, hands on hips, looked up at the wood-panelled ceiling. He stayed like that a while, turning his head from side to side, taking it all in. Then he wandered over to the patio door and stood looking out over the garden.

The angriest she’d ever seen him was when he was working from home once, years ago. She was in her parents’ bedroom — was she looking for something? exploring? — when the phone rang. It stopped after a couple of rings and she heard his voice from down in his study. She went to his side of the bed and picked up the phone so she could join in the call, but he didn’t laugh or joke along, he told her to put it down. Now. Then his footsteps were coming up the stairs, and she kept fumbling the phone, trying to put it back in its cradle. He came across the bedroom and hung it up — there — and held her wrist; for a second she thought he would hit her. ‘Don’t do that again,’ he told her, jerking her wrist along with the words. Then he went back down and carried on the call.

It was so unlike him. He was always so calm.

He turned to her and she looked at the floor.

‘You know this can’t carry on,’ he said. ‘It’s not fair to worry your mother. She does so much for you. And your teachers, you can’t put them out like this. Even if they are a bit... Look, I know it’s not easy. Believe me, when I was your age—’ She looked up at him, waiting for him to go on, to share some nugget of wisdom that would make everything alright. But all that happened was he looked like he sighed, and his expression softened. 

‘In future just... You know.’ 

Emily looked back at the floor and nodded.

Her dad sniffed. ‘Right,’ he said in a tone that suggested he’d done his duty. ‘Shall we get out of here? There’s something about these places.’

But when she looked up he wasn’t going to the oak door and letting in all the other teachers, he was going to the patio doors instead. Emily had never seen them open. They led to the rose garden that no pupil was allowed into; it was only for teachers and sometimes parents. He jiggled the handle, pushed one of the doors open, stepped through and turned to her. ‘You coming then?’

She was up and following — not even stopping to put on her coat — out into the chilly, fresh-smelling air. Her dad took her hand and they hurried down the concrete path that was lined with brightly-coloured plants; they went past bushes trimmed into perfect circles and flowerbeds cut into S shapes. As she passed, Emily stroked the petals of a flower; they felt like silk. Her dad gave a hearty ‘Afternoon!’ to a lady tending one of the bushes, then they came out onto the gravel path and he stopped and looked around. He scratched his head. Emily led the way up the path — gravel crunching underfoot — down the side of the science block, around the edge of the busy playground and out of the school gates. They got in her dad’s car and drove away laughing.

For a second she thought they might run away somewhere, but they just went home. Apart from him saying, ‘I wonder how long they’ll take to realise,’ they didn’t speak the whole journey. The laughter dried up, their smiles faded. But that was okay. It was enough just sitting in silence, just being.

At home, her dad went to his study. Emily stayed in her room until she heard him answer the house phone; then she crept onto the landing and listened to him reason with her mum.

‘No, Jemima, it was nothing like that... Well can you blame her?... You know I never said that, please don’t put words in my mouth... No, I know— Yes, I know she wasn’t, but— I get that, I think she does too... Of course it’s important, but I don’t see how— She’s in her room... Fine, we’ll talk about it then...’

Emily knew her dad was right, she would have to start talking again. But only enough to get by. Or if she thought she had something worth saying. She couldn’t see herself saying much more than she had today.