By eleven that night, Mrs Mrstmore still couldn’t stop thinking about the boy’s expression. She sat at her kitchen table with the incident report open on her laptop, revising the wording for the third time. Her husband had gone to bed, and the house was quiet except for the distant sound of traffic. She had received a message from the museum confirming that a specialist would inspect the clock the following morning. The museum had not established that Leo caused the stoppage, though staff were understandably concerned about his unauthorised access. Mr Fletcher had also asked her to review previous contact attempts with the family and check whether the school’s safeguarding team had current information about Thomas Carter’s accident. When she examined Leo’s file, she discovered details she had overlooked. There were notes about his mother’s death, his father’s hospitalisation and concerns that the children were moving between temporary care arrangements. A pastoral referral had been initiated weeks earlier but had not yet resulted in a completed assessment. Mrs Whitmore stared at the entries. She had known, in general terms, that Leo’s father was ill. She had not understood how serious the situation was or how recently the family had lost its primary caregiver.
She telephoned Ms Daniel, the school’s designated safeguarding lead, and explained her concerns. MMsDaniel was already aware of some of the family’s circumstances and agreed that a welfare visit should be arranged promptly, particularly because the school had been unable to reach Leo’s aunt by telephone. The two women decided to attend together that evening after confirming the address and following the school’s procedures for an urgent visit. By the time they reached the estate, it was nearly midnight. The building stood beside a disused storage yard, its windows unevenly lit and its entrance covered with old notices about rubbish collection and lift repairs. Mrs Whitmore felt uneasy as they climbed the stairs. She carried a sealed envelope containing the school’s written information about the suspension and the proposed support meeting. She had rehearsed what she intended to say. She would explain the seriousness of Leo’s conduct, emphasise that the school remained committed to his education, and encourage the family to take a more active role in addressing his behaviour. The speech had sounded reasonable in her kitchen. Standing outside the Carter flat, listening to muffled movement beyond the door, she found herself less certain.
Ms Daniel knocked first. A woman’s voice answered from inside, asking who was there. After a short delay, Mrs Bell opened the door. She wore slippers and a thick cardigan, and her expression changed when she recognised the visitors’ identification. “Has something happened to Leo?” she asked immediately. Ms Daniel explained that they were concerned about him and wanted to discuss the school incident and the family’s circumstances. Mrs Bell looked toward the hallway, then stepped aside. “He’s in the back room,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get him to go to bed for two hours.” MMrsWhitmore glanced at the clock above the kitchen doorway. It was almost midnight. She felt irritation rise again. So the boy really was staying up at unreasonable hours, despite everything the school had said. But before she could speak, she heard a child’s cough from deeper inside the flat, followed by Leo’s quiet voice saying, “It’s all right, Lily. MrMrsell’s here. I’m just checking something.”
The room they entered was small and crowded, but not neglected. The furniture was old, the wallpaper faded, and the windows poorly insulated, yet the floor was swept and the kitchen surfaces clean. A portable heater stood near the wall, switched on low. On the dining table lay a carefully organised collection of harmless mechanical components, old clock parts, pencils, and a magnifying lens mounted on a stand. Beside them was Leo’s blue notebook. The boy sat hunched over the table under a desk lamp, examining a small brass wheel through the magnifier. His school jumper had been replaced by an oversized grey sweatshirt, and his hair was even messier than usual. He looked up at the sound of footsteps. When he saw Mrs Whitmore, his expression changed with such immediate fear that she stopped in the doorway.
“Miss?” he whispered.
MMrsWhitmore looked at the table.
“Leo, what are you doing awake at this hour?”
He glanced toward Mr Mrsell, then back at his teacher.
“Nothing bad.”
The words were so quick and defensive that they made her feel ashamed before she understood why.
Ms Daniel approached carefully. “Leo, we’ve come because we’re worried about you. Is Lily all right?”
He nodded, then hesitated.
“She’s had a cough. Mrs Bell called for advice earlier. They said what to watch for.”
“Has someone checked on her?”
“Yes. Mrs Bell’s been with us.”
Mrs Bell explained that Lily’s symptoms were being monitored according to the medical advice they had received and that she had been staying in the flat while the children’s aunt was away dealing with an emergency. The aunt had expected to return earlier but had been delayed. Mrs Bell was exhausted, though she was determined not to leave the children without an adult. Mrs Whitmore looked from the old woman to Leo. She realised that the boy had been trying to manage his own fear by working at the table, not because anyone had instructed him to keep repairing things until midnight.
“What is all this?” she asked, gesturing toward the small brass components.
Leo’s shoulders tightened.
“Just a project.”
“Is it for school?”
“No.”
She picked up the notebook, then stopped when he reached toward it.
“Please,” he said.
His voice was barely audible.
She looked at him.
“May I see it?”
Leo stared at the book for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly.
Mrs Whitmore opened the cover. The first pages contained sketches of mechanical clocks, small household devices, and diagrams copied from old repair manuals. Some were surprisingly detailed, with labels explaining how different parts interacted. Others were rough, showing ideas that had clearly failed and been revised. There were drawings of springs, supports, handles, and simple mechanisms designed to make everyday tasks easier. She turned a page and found a careful illustration of a bedside organiser for Lily, followed by notes about a timer that might remind an adult when to check on her. Another page contained a drawing of a toy rabbit sitting beside a small mechanical bell. Above it, in uneven handwriting, Leo had written: Something Lily can use when she’s frightened at night.
