Tabitha'

Miss Abel stood at the front of the classroom. Bold strokes of fatigue under her eyes were roughly swept away by a dark shade of makeup, emphasising her exhaustion. Her wisps of deep chestnut hued hair escaped her scraped-back bun, and her clothes were worn and frayed.

'Ok, year six.' She breathed, closing her eyes. 'Get out your maths textbooks and let's begin with your homework last night.' Two or three hands shot in the air by students prepared with false excuses, but she waved them away. 'Go to the bathroom or whatever.' She swept chocolate strands away and blinked to stay awake.

No. No. No. It all felt wrong. Everything! Miss Abel smashed her fist against the desk, letting out a moan. A ripple of nervous laughter chorused through the class and the idiots like Morie Johnson or Tommy Ray imitated her, pulling a frail expression.

'Shut up, Johnson, Ray!' She hissed weakly, sighing, before retrieving her own textbook, filled with her red angry and tired scrawl. A knock on the door. What? Everybody turned and looked.

A boy, about ten or eleven, stumbled in, his dark hair untidy and spiky, his expression fearful and his body? Fit. 'Hi, I'm McKenzie King.' His name struck a tightly wound chord within Miss Abel's heart, painfully humiliating and she sat down. McKenzie... Just like...

Miss Abel shook her head and swallowed. 'So... McKenzie King? The new kid right?' She handed him a thin textbook. 'This is maths. I'm your teacher, Miss Abel.' Tabitha Abel. 'You can sit next to Paul Abraham.' She gestured vaguely and the boy guessed where she meant and gracefully fell into the chair. Miss Abel flicked away an expanding teardroplet and lowered her gaze to her fiddling fingers on her lap.

'Okay, kids. Partner up with anyone - Paula Schrick, please go with the new boy - and compare your answers. I'll be outside if anyone needs me.' With that, Tabitha left swiftly, hooking umber stalks of hair behind her elfin ear. She waited outside, slouching against the wall and breathing deeply.

Hans Crowley swaggered down the corridor, halting abruptly when seeing poor Tabitha. 'Oh, Tabitha, da-ahling, what is it?'

'Nothing.' Tabby buried her white pinched face further in her arms, her pale large eyes fearful.

'No, Tabby, dear, tell me.' He embraced her, and she started sobbing on his shoulder.

'The bloody new kid. He's called McKenzie and I've... I'm just being stupid.'

'Tabitha, that was ten years ago. The boy must be in America or some place. He was two years old when he was... taken... and now he's nearly a teenager. He must be fine. Please, darling, get on with your life.'

'I know, I know. I just hate losing my little boy.'

'It's okay. It was so long ago, just relax, go back in there and *teach your class.*' He engulfed her in one large embrace and she then moved away into the classroom, thanking him hopelessly.

Forty five minutes passed boringly. 'Okay, kids, life skills. McKenzie King,' she stammered, 'we're doing family trees.' She handed him an A4 piece of paper.

'Consult Paul Abraham and he'll tell you what to do.'

'Uh, excuse me, miss, but I can't do this.'

'Oh, why not?' Miss Abel frowned, stuttering.

'Well, I don't have real parents. I was adopted or fostered or whatever.'

Miss Abel froze. That was when something on his ivory-like neck caught her eye. 'What is that?'

He smiled. 'It's utterly unique. A four-leafed clover birthmark, you know.' That was when Miss Abel knew. She had the exact same one. She gasped quickly. 'Are you okay, Miss Abel? Miss Abel?'

A dark haze swarmed her mind and she fell to the ground unconsciously, loosely grasping his hand, in pure euphoria. He was her son.