The child sized chair creaks under her weight as she leans back, folding her arms.
‘He’s a little shit,’ she says.
Rachel decides to treat this as a joke. She smiles politely and looks down at her paperwork. Academically, she says, there is no cause for concern. He is meeting his targets. His development is commensurate with his age. She looks up.
‘However,’ she says, ‘his behaviour can sometimes be a little challenging.’
The woman snorts. She doesn’t know what any of this fancy language means.
‘Basically, he’s a little shit,’ says Rachel, trying to be helpful.
The chair topples over as the woman stands up. She bends over, puts her palms on the table, and breathes her fag ash breath into Rachel’s face.
‘Who are you calling a little shit?’ she says.