Ben looked around the room until his eyes rested on an empty chair. He sat down in it, and although he wasn’t looking forward to his conversation with Mr Allen, he was looking forward to sitting in on whatever it was the teachers were about to discuss. Maybe he could even have some say in what they did in London over the week.
“Right Ben,” Mr Allen said when Mrs Clarke had arrived, “You know why you’re in here, and I just want you to know you’ve got no need to feel embarrassed, lots of teenagers wet the bed.”
No need to feel embarrassed? Ben was glowing with embarrassment. This felt like a bad dream, sitting here while five of his teachers discussed his bedwetting.
“Do you wet the bed every night?” Mr Allen asked. When Ben didn’t reply he continued, “We’re just wondering why you didn’t let us know before we came. Presumably this isn’t a new problem? You had the nappy, so it wasn’t a one off?”
Ben, staring in the floor, feeling a mixture of shame and shock, shook his head, no.
Mrs Clarke, Ben’s English teacher, spoke, “If we’d known Ben we could have made special arrangements. Has anyone else found out? They haven’t been teasing you have they, because if they have we can put a stop to it right now.”
“N-no, it’s fine.”
“You don’t have to put up with it, Ben.” Mrs Clarke said.
“No-one’s said anything. It’s fine. It’s not a problem.”
