Rosie - Naked In School

Chapter 6

AFTERMATH

Narrative taken over by Laura:

I'd been worried about letting Shelley go back to the school and when we met her in the dining hall I knew I'd been right.

In just a few hours Shelley's fire and determination had evaporated and as she came to sit with us, she seemed like a shadow of the Shelley we knew.

Heather got her some food and she sat there picking at it instead of eating. Heather tried to persuade her to leave but Shelley shook her head. The decision was made, however, when Mrs. Chaplain came over and said to Heather, “Take Shelley home. She can't do anything here and might actually make things worse.”

“Are YOU okay?” I asked her.

“Not really,” she admitted. “But I will be.” She walked away before I could say anything else.

Shelley allowed Heather to lead her outside and into the car. Heather ran up to Shelley's hotel room to collect her things and I drove us home.

The house was chaotic as we'd taken in two new “battered wives” in the short time I'd been away and one of them had three children with her who were very distressed. (Suzie and I run a shelter for rape victims, battered wives and other victims of domestic violence, not all female by the way!)

“I'm not sure all this is going to help Shelley,” I admitted to Heather.

The next morning Shelley seemed even more withdrawn. Heather rang their parents and Eric insisted on driving down straightaway to pick her up. Shelley seemed glad to be going home to her parents but I was worried that neither of them had much experience in dealing with what was beginning to look like a serious breakdown. But when they arrived there was a surprise for me. “Danielle!” screamed Heather in delight.

Eric had brought my mother with him. Janice, Heather and Shelley's mother was away on a business trip but due back in a couple of days. As Eric put it, “If Shelley's not staying here with you, Laura, at least we have someone with us who's used to emotional crises.” He wasn't kidding. My mother is a highly trained and respected psychiatric counsellor. I think she taught me all I know about dealing with someone in a critical emotional condition.

And critical emotional condition it turned out to be. Although I felt a bit guilty at being unable to help Shelley myself, I was glad she was getting far more attention than I could have given her in our hectic set-up. My mother spent most of her time with Shelley and her parents as she swung violently from deep depression through listlessness to anger (mostly at herself).

On the day before the funeral Heather and I had gone to see Shelley and drive her down for the funeral. But to my surprise Mum laid down the law. Shelley wasn't going and that was final. As you might expect, Shelley was furious and said they couldn't keep her away.

Mum just waited patiently until Shelley finally finished shouting at her, then said quietly, “Shelley, in the state you're in, you'll make it even harder on that girl’s family and those at her school. Is that what you want?”

Shelley looked at her in shock, then tears filled her eyes and she shook her head, turned to her own mother and began to sob on her shoulder.

Mum motioned us to say nothing and to go while we could and we drove back home.

Mum said afterwards that having to miss the funeral had made Shelley think long and hard. She finally realised that she would never be able to do anything to make sure Rosie didn't die in vain if she didn't stop feeling guilty about it and sorry for herself.

A few days later Mum sent her to me, telling me that getting her to help with some of the others we have here would be good for her. I wasn't sure, but, as usual, Mum was right. But it wasn't just good for her. Shelley had changed and was much more sensitive than before. She had much more empathy for what some of our residents had gone through and were going through. And she quickly became a favourite auntie to the kids.

Even so, there were times when she still seemed depressed and withdrawn and we learned that it was best just to give her some space when she was feeling like that.

Rosie’s death had been headline news for a few days (including some current-affairs panel shows on radio and TV), but, as Shelley had predicted, all the media had quickly moved on to other things.

Mrs. Chaplain had suspended the Program at her school for three weeks, the maximum she could do and requested an emergency meeting of the national Program Committee.

On the morning of the meeting, Shelley got up, had a shower and got dressed in a business suit. “I’m going to the meeting,” she announced.

“You’re not up to it,” countered Heather.

“I’m going,” replied Shelley, “and that’s all there is to it. I’ve wasted enough time feeling sorry for myself. Now it’s time to act.” But I was worried about her so I went with her and Heather.

When we arrived at the building in London where the committee met, we were surprised at having to run a gauntlet of photographers and reporters. We simply said nothing.

As we entered the room, Dr. Reynolds greeted us. He reached out to take Shelley’s hand, then thought better of it and hugged her.

“Laura,” he said when we all sat down for the meeting, “although you aren’t on the Committee, please feel free to speak if you wish to say anything.”

“Thank you.”

“I know we have a heavy duty today, but it would not be right to go on without pausing to pay our respects to Rosie Baines.” He stood up and we all followed.

After a couple of minutes he sat down. “I believe we have a request from Mrs. Chaplain.”

“Firstly, I request permission to suspend the Program at my school indefinitely. Secondly, once that is dealt with, I wish to tender my resignation from this Committee. I cannot escape the responsibility of doing what I can for my own school, but I no longer wish the responsibility for everyone else’s.”

Dr. Reynolds nodded sadly. “Christina, while I am sure we are all saddened by your decision, I think we can understand it. Graham,” Dr. Reynolds asked the Committee's lawyer, “I don’t think we have the authority to suspend the Program at a school indefinitely, do we?”

“No.”

“Can we suspend the Program at Mrs. Chaplain’s school for three months until it can be re-evaluated?”

“Legally? No. In practice? We are the law as far as the Program goes, until what we say is challenged in court. In this case, I don’t see that anyone would challenge such a suspension and if they did, it would take longer than that to get to court. So if we don’t mind the slight risk of a slap over the wrist from a judge for acting beyond our powers, we can do it.”

“Is that agreed?”

Nods all round.

“In that case,” said Mrs. Chaplain, “I’d like to ask something I’ve no right to ask.” She turned to Heather and Shelley. “You were the only ones who sensed something wrong. In three months’ time, the Program will have to start again at my school. Before then, please come and find out what’s wrong and help us put it right. I know it must be the last place you want to come…”

“I’ll come,” said Shelley instantly.

“Shelley,” I said. “It’s too close…”

“I’m going,” she said firmly. “I have to.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” I said.

Of course Heather also agreed to go with Shelley, but Dr. Reynolds insisted that we should wait a month to make it, as he put it, "a little less raw.”

Suzie wouldn’t allow me to go unless she came with me and when Sam heard we were all going, nothing could keep her away either.

So it was that nearly six weeks after that Committee meeting, I was in another meeting, this time with all the teaching staff of Mrs. Chaplain’s school. Heather had also insisted that they were joined by the students who had been in the Program in both the original weeks.

“I’m not chairing this meeting,” Mrs. Chaplain explained, “but before she takes over, let me reintroduce Heather Peters.”

Heather introduced the rest of us. “All these people who have come with me shared the first traumatic weeks of our Program with me. As we struggled through those weeks together, we ended up with relationships that have stood the test of time. So much so that they insisted on coming here with me. If you’ve done your homework and read our journals, when I say their names, you will know exactly who they are.

“Firstly, my husband, Jed. Laura, Suzie, Samantha and, of course, my sister, Shelley. Laura will be chairing our talks. She wasn't keen, but she was outvoted by us four to one."

Jed cleared his throat quietly. “Make that five to one.”

So there I was, a very reluctant chairperson, but equally deeply determined to do my duty. Sam had told me before the meeting that she wanted to speak first. No one in that room, though, was prepared for what she had to say. I nodded to her.

Samantha stood up. “You all know that I nearly killed myself in my Program week and it was partly luck that saved me, but also a group of people who cared enough about me to pull me through. You also know why we’re here. To find out why you let Rosie die and to stop anything like it happening again.”

Whew. That got them. I thought I was blunt at times, and Suzie more so, but neither of us would have dared come out with that. They didn’t like it either. Some of them looked at Mrs. Chaplain and her hard face told them to stay seated where they were or else.

“You probably think I’m being unfair. But when you read Shelley’s report about Rosie’s four days in the Program, you’ll see I’m actually being kind to you.”

One of the older teachers stood up. “I’m not staying here to have some jumped-up singer try to lay the blame on us for some mixed-up kid killing herself.”

Mrs. Chaplain turned to him and said quietly, “Either sit down or resign. Your choice.” The students looked aghast, but he sat down without another word.

“Look,” I said, “It’s not a case of blame. Rosie died because nobody cared enough to see what was going wrong and do something about it. And if you want to prevent another Rosie, the first step is to accept responsibility for her.”

Sam read through Shelley’s account of Rosie’s last week. I could see the pain in Shelley’s face, often punctuated by tears.

Suzie waited until Sam had finished. “It occurred to me, watching Shelley cry. Who else here cries for Rosie?”

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. I felt like we were the enemy as far as they were concerned. Rosie had been the problem. Now we were the problem.

“This is ridiculous,” said one of the girl students. “Some silly girl tops herself and we’re all supposed to sit around weeping buckets, like it’s our fault.”

Mrs. Chaplain opened her mouth to speak, but she wasn’t quick enough. “Shut up, Angie,” one of the boys nearly shouted. “We were with her all week. She was obviously going through hell and we didn’t even notice? Mrs. Chaplain, can we speak freely here?”

She nodded.

“Then, sir,” he turned to the teacher who had spoken earlier. “With the greatest respect, you’re a fucking arsehole. One of your students, one of us, is in such a state that she kills herself, and we’re all sitting round here thinking don’t blame me, don’t blame me, like a bunch of bloody five-year-olds.

“I for one want to know how it happened, even if the rest of you don’t. I owe it to Rosie. And if someone can die in this school and nobody give a damn, well, it’s not the kind I school I want to be in.”

A lot of the heads were nodding in agreement. Quite often, in counselling there comes a time when you just know you’ve made a breakthrough. This was like that. I felt, for the first time, that maybe some of them, albeit belatedly, had decided to care.

Mum once said that I have a cliché for every occasion, but when Heather got up to speak you really could have heard a pin drop.

“Rosie died not because of anything one person did or didn’t do. I want to say here and now that we’re not here, I’m not here, to find someone to blame. I’m here to try to prevent it ever happening again.

“You may have heard that I felt this school wasn’t ready to start the Program, but I was overruled because all I could say was that I was uneasy about it. Looking back, it is obvious that my uneasiness was a sense that nobody really cared, but at the time I was too busy with my own feelings to understand that.

“Because I didn’t sense more accurately what was missing, Rosie died. So if anyone here wants to point a finger of blame, you can point it at me.”

Shelley got up to protest. “But you tried to stop it. It was me that said it should go ahead. And I was here all that week and did nothing. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.” Shelley was in tears again.

Some of the others shifted in their seats uncomfortably.

The boy who’d spoken earlier shook his head. “We’re to blame, not you. We knew her, or we should have known her. It was bloody obvious she wasn’t acting normal and nobody bothered to ask why.”

“It was convenient.” I turned round to see that one of the teachers had spoken.

“Sir?”

“Let’s face it, we all knew that Rosie was going to have a struggle with the Program. Her religious background. Her parents. Her closed-in personality. There was no way she was going to find it easy. So when she fitted in, did everything she had to, and more, even if she did seem odd, we were so relieved not to have to deal with a problem that we let it slide. And she paid the price.”

“Sir, is it true you’re resigning?” This was one of the girls.

“No,” he said heavily. “I thought about it. But this school will be running the Program again soon and those of us who saw what went wrong owe it to Rosie to see it doesn’t happen again.”

I looked across and saw Mrs. Chaplain pull out a small handkerchief from a pocket and surreptitiously dab her eyes.

At that point I got up, whispered to Shelley and she passed it on. As we stood I said, “Mrs. Chaplain. I don’t think you need us any more today. Please continue without us.” The six of us left them alone and walked outside.

“Why are we leaving?” whispered Sam.

“They need to sort this out between them,” I explained.

“There’s something I have to do,” said Shelley firmly. She took out of her bag a rather battered and wilted rose. (Well, this IS Shelley!) We followed her to the plaque on the outside wall of the classroom where Rosie had died, and she dropped it below the plaque. “A rose for Rosie,” she explained. Then she put a small card with it, which said simply, “Rosie. I’m so sorry. From Shelley.”

I think we all had tears in our eyes at that as Shelley clung to Heather with tears rolling down both their faces.

“That’s beautiful, Shel,” Heather whispered, just loud enough for the rest of us to hear.

We walked back to our hotel, the occasional grunt of conversation disrupting our thoughts.

“Are you okay, Sam?” I asked, after I closed the door of the bedroom I was sharing with her and Suzie. Suzie had gone to check our emails.

Sam nodded, then burst into tears and flung herself on her bed, with great heart-wrenching sobs.

“What IS it?”

She was too emotional to answer, so I just sat on the bed next to her and put my hand on her shoulder.

Finally she spoke. “That was so nearly me. And if you hadn’t found me, I wonder who would have cried for me?”

“Me, for one.”

She looked up, took my hand and squeezed it. “I know.”

She sat up. “Thank you for loving me, even when I haven’t been that lovable. Even when everything went to my head and I seemed to forget you all, I knew deep down, you still loved me. And it meant so much, even then.”

This was my kid sister back again. It was almost like being back in our room at home, what seemed like a lifetime ago, although it was only a few short years.

Mostly, it was a sombre evening. Jed would have to leave by himself very early the next day for a clients’ meeting north of London, which didn’t help Heather’s mood much.

She tried to make a joke of it. “No early morning manhandling then, I suppose.”

“I COULD wake you up,” he grinned.

“And risk permanent injury?” Suzie managed to make us all laugh at that.

Even Shelley, who added, “My sister’s never been at her best first thing.” None of us needed reminding that oversleeping one morning got Heather into the Program all those years ago, something her sister was apt to bring up at any time.

I left the others briefly to check how everything was at home. When I got off the phone, it was my turn to entertain the others by describing how one of our cats had tried to get some fish from a pan of boiling fat, had missed the pan, luckily, but knocked it over and sent scalding oil all over the kitchen floor. “Luckily nobody was hurt. It could have been really serious,” I finished.

“Yeah,” said Shelley. “It could have been a real cat-astrophe.” When we all groaned at the awful pun, she said, “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you. I have my reputation to consider.”

We pelted her with cushions anyway.

We hadn’t heard anything from Mrs. Chaplain overnight, so we went to the school as planned.

A group of students were gathered around the plaque to Rosie, crying and hugging each other.

Shelley’s single rose had become about thirty roses, each with a card or paper attached. Some were letters of apology, there were a few poems, but most simply said “Sorry.” As usual, Shelley had been a catalyst.

Our small meeting had been moved into a larger room, as many of Rosie’s classmates had asked to join us.

It wasn’t an investigation any more, as one by one, they poured out their personal feelings of guilt and remorse and sadness. I felt like we were intruding on something very private.

“Mrs. Chaplain.” Heather’s clear voice cut through the general chatter.

“Yes, Heather?”

“I think you should run the Program next week.”

There were a few gasps. I don’t think anyone was expecting that. I certainly wasn’t.

Heather suggested an assembly on Monday morning, and picking the naked participants then, so everyone would know who they needed to support that week. She insisted it should be random, and all of us except Sam agreed.

When we argued about it back in the hotel, Heather explained. “We can’t risk picking nice safe participants. While we are here we need to see it work with a normal selection, including the frightened little Samantha’s of this world.”

We laughed at that, remembering what Sam had been like once. She didn’t answer at once, but finally nodded. “Okay. I agree.”

MONDAY

The computer had been set up to read the names aloud. As each name was called, the boy or girl got up and walked to the stage.

“…Jasmine Baines,” the computer intoned.

There was a horrified gasp and a tearful girl walked towards the stage.

Mrs. Chaplain could move quickly when she wanted to. She intercepted the girl before she could climb onto the stage. “It’s okay, Jasmine. You’re excused. Someone forgot to enter it, but you’re excused.”

“I have to do this,” she replied. “For Rosie.”

Mrs. Chaplain looked positively frightened, but stood aside to let her join the others.

After they’d paraded onto the stage, we met them in one of the offices.

While the others got undressed, Mrs. Chaplain brought Jasmine to see us in another office.

“Jasmine,” she said. “I’m not comfortable with you doing this at all, and certainly not yet. But if you can persuade the girls that you’re okay to do it, I won’t stop you.” Turning to us she said, “Jasmine is Rosie’s sister, younger by three months.” Then she left us alone.

Shelley gasped, “I didn’t even know she had a sister.”

“Before you say anything,” I said to Jasmine. “That last bit has me stumped. How can you be three months younger than your own sister?”

She laughed slightly. “That confuses everyone. We were both adopted, we’re not related naturally, but we were really close… until… until…”

“Until she died?” I asked gently.

“No.” She shook her head sharply. “Until the Program. I… I got cross with her, saying if she had to do it, okay, but she was doing too much, acting slutty. I told… toldherthatGodwouldn’tloveherifshedidallthat.”

She ran all the last sentence together and it took me a minute to work out what she’d said.

“She was religious?” (I already knew the answer.)

“Yes.”

“And she couldn’t cope with having to do things she thought were wrong?”

“No. And I made it worse for her.”

“You’re religious too?”

She nodded.

“But you’ve been given a chance not to do this. So why do you want to do something you believe is so wrong? Are you trying to punish yourself?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I know God’s forgiven me and she’s forgiven me.”

“Then why?”

“I have to understand what she went through, just to make it make sense. And I have to finish it, for Rosie’s sake.”

“What do your parents think?”

“They’re both dead.”

“I meant your adoptive parents.”

“So did I. Our parents died in that train crash last year. We got fostered, luckily, with someone from the church.”

“Can you leave us for a minute, Jasmine? Please.”

“Whew,” I said when Jasmine had gone out. “Talk about tragedy after tragedy. How is this girl holding herself together?”

“God only knows,” said Suzie. Then, realising what she’d said, she laughed.

“I’m worried this is too much for her.”

The others seemed to agree as we sat there just looking at each other. Suzie broke the silence. “Dearest, I think she’s right. It’s something she has to do. If we stop her, she’ll find some other way to go through what Rosie did, a way that may be a lot worse.”

“Despite what she says,” I replied, “she IS punishing herself. But I think you’re right. If we don’t let her, she’ll put herself in an unsafe situation to make sure she gets molested, maybe even laid, just to put herself through it.”

“Or worse, become a stripper,” Suzie laughed. “Can we ask Mrs. Chaplain what support she’s likely to get from her foster parents or anyone?”

I asked Mrs. Chaplain to come in.

“Her foster parents are an elderly couple from the church her adoptive parents used to go to. They took the two girls in to stop them ending up in the usual kids’ homes or foster home circuit. I get the impression though, that neither girl was very close to them. I may be being unfair though.

“But if anything, I’m more worried. Rosie and Jasmine were very much a pair. They supported each other a lot in school even though they were in different years until the last term. Now Jasmine hasn’t got anyone her own age to support her.”

I thanked her and she went back outside.

“Are we really going to let her do this?” asked Shelley, looking very unhappy.

“I think we have to,” I said. “She has to. At least there’ll be support here now.”

Shelley looked like she disagreed violently and she looked at Heather for support. But Heather said, “Shel. I’m not exactly happy about it either, but Laura and Suzie are best equipped to judge.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but it’s all our decision. What do you think, Sam?”

Sam stood up and walked slowly to the window, trying to mask her indecision. (No chance of that, Sis, I smiled privately to myself.) “Like Heather, I’m not really happy about it, but I think she really needs to do this. And I’d be even more worried about what she’d do if we didn’t give her this opportunity.”

“Okay,” Shelley sighed deeply. “If you all agree, I won’t say no. But somebody else has to be responsible for keeping an eye on her. I fucked up badly with her sister and…” her voice shook, “…I don’t want to risk it happening again.”

Finally I said, “I pretty certain she’ll be okay, because it’s her choice to do it. But I do suggest we all try to get to know her.”

I called Jasmine and Mrs. Chaplain back in.

“Jasmine, I won’t pretend we’re entirely comfortable about this, but we all feel it is something you have to do. So if you’re serious about this, you’re in the Program.”

Jasmine looked away and tried to blink away some tears. Mrs. Chaplain passed her handkerchief across, while looking at us in some disbelief.

“I suppose I’d better get undressed. But before I do, when Shelley wrote about Rosie, she said Rosie hadn’t left a note. That wasn’t quite true.”

“She left a note?” I asked.

“Well, not a note. But she’d been putting by a lot of clothes we’d grown out of, for the poor. We sent them off last week. And yesterday at church, the minister said they’d found this hidden at the bottom. I think you should have it.” She handed it to Shelley.

Shelley looked at it and gasped, “She wrote a journal?”

“Yes,” said Jasmine.

“Jasmine. Are you sure you want us to have this?” I asked her. “You know we will have to include it in our final report.”

“That’s why I want you to have it.”

Without another word she began taking off her cardigan, then the rest of her outer clothes and handed them to Mrs. Chaplain, who put them in a bag. She hesitated over her bra, but took a deep breath and unclipped it and handed it over. Her knickers followed a few seconds later.

Mrs. Chaplain opened the door and we heard cheers as Jasmine walked out, naked in school.

Heather, Suzie, Sam and I crowded around Shelley and began to read Rosie’s journal.