About the author

C.D. Field spent her formative years in West Yorkshire

indulging her passion for horses, dogs and teaching. Following
university, where she read law, management and education,
she enjoyed a varied and senior, academic career teaching
nationally and internationally for over twenty years. She now
lives and writes in North Yorkshire.

To all my pupils and students over the years who have been
instrumental in providing such a rich source of material for
this book.

C.D. Field

THE MEDICINE TREE

Copyright C.D. Field (2015)

The right of C.D. Field to be identified as author of this work
has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78
of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the
publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to
this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil
claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the
British Library.
ISBN 9781785545351 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781785545368 (Hardback)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2015)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Acknowledgments
My grateful thanks to those practicing teachers who shoulder
the additional responsibility for the safeguarding of children in
schools today. Your insight into the specific issues and
challenges young people face throughout their formative years
has been enlightening.
Thank you for your time.

Chapter 1

Emily stood alone. Eels wriggled and writhed in her

stomach. She sighed, tried to drop her shoulders and
lengthen her neck like shed seen her mum do when
practicing with her Pilates DVD. She glanced nervously at
her stubby fingers poking from beneath the too long sleeves
of her new blazer.
No nail polish, thats what the rules said. She thought.
Doesnt matter anyway, Ive no nails to polish.
She glanced around the rapidly filling playground
searching for a familiar face from her old primary school
and took a shaky, deep breath.
A peal of raucous, forced laughter erupted behind her.
Emily turned in time to see two girls of similar age walking
by. Emily, suddenly felt naked as a new born with her
freshly scrubbed, makeup free, flushed face.
Were not supposed to wear all that makeup. Those
eyelashes Wow, just like my mums.
The girl turned her head with a haughty stare, her large
hooped ear rings brushing the collar of her blazer and
glinting in the early morning sun.
Where you from? she asked, nudging her friend in the
ribs.
East Moor Juniors. Hi, Im Emily.

The girl with the hoops remained impassive, preferring

the inanimate enchantment of her iPhone. Emily began to
weave her way nearer the school entrance with its huge
electronic, automatic doors; covered in notices to do this,
do that, dont do this, dont do that.
I wish Robbie was here. Thats what big brothers are
supposed to be for, isnt it, look after younger sisters?
She imagined Robbie confidently swaggering through
the seething mass of excitedly chattering freshers, head and
shoulders above the crowd and curling his long arm
protectively around her shaking shoulders; but Emily knew
that would never happen. Something was happening to
Robbie. He was changing and it scared her. Now he spent
most of his time in his cramped, little bedroom with the
curtains closed, tap, tap, tapping on his computer or playing
his Xbox of eternal, animated destruction.
A shrill, electronic bell shattered Emilys day dream
and as if by magic, the throng of pupils parted like the Red
Sea, the chatter dissolving into hushed mumblings as the
head teacher, flanked by his two deputies appeared in the
foyer.
The screeching and shouting could be heard, even
through the white, PVC double glazing as Emily walked
down the driveway to the kitchen door. The door handle
was snatched from her grasp, her Dad almost knocking her
over in his eagerness to escape the boiling cauldron of the
house.
Hi, Emms. Enjoy your first day at Big School?
Dont call it Big School, Dad. Its West End
Academy.
Big School, Upper School, Secondary School. What
difference does it make? Theyre all the same, just places
supposed to teach you to read, write and add up. Trouble is,
2

they cant even do that these days, can they? Ah, now we
have an A-C-A-D-E-M-Y, said Dad, pulling a sarcastic
face and trying to sound posh. Give it a fancy sounding
name and just like that! he clicked his fingers in Emilys
face. Youre all gonna get top class GCSEs!
Emily opened her mouth to reply before thinking better
of it. Shed heard it all before. Rob was this and Rob was
that. Rob was going to college to be a scientist because he
had the brains of the family.
But what about me?
Dad pushed past her, almost making her drop into the
overflowing cats litter tray the shiny, new school planner
she was clutching.
In your case, Emms, he called over his shoulder,
unlocking the car door. Dont get your hopes up.
Emily, is that you?
Yes, Mum.
Well, hurry up then. I cant stay in waiting for you to
turn up.
Emily stood in the doorway watching her mother apply
lipstick and plump her hair in the mirror perched on top of
the fridge.
Theres some of those baked potato things in the
freezer and some cheese in the fridge. Help yourself, she
continued, without tearing her gaze from her own
reflection.
But, I dont like those potatoes, Mum. Last time I put
one in the oven it was all soggy. It was horrible.
Then put it in the microwave, stupid!
Her mother slid into her lime green, leather jacket and
pushed past Emily without a glance.

Bye, dont stay up watching telly all night. Then she

was gone and Emily was alone again.
She climbed the stairs to her room, trying not to think
about opening another tin of beans for tea. She rummaged
through her bag for the half eaten sandwich shed saved
from lunch time.
Where does she get all that frozen stuff? Humans must
be the only species on the planet that doesnt feed its own
offspring.
She curled up on the bed, munching on a limp, left-over
egg mayo and carefully removed the little wooden box she
kept in her drawer. Wiping her fingers on the duvet, she
gently lifted the little silver bracelet from its nest of cotton
wool and held it up to the light.
I wish I could have known you, Grandma. She
whispered to the little charms, suspended from the silver
chain.
Mum said you wished for a girl when she was pregnant
with me.
Emily gently stroked the silver, miniature pony and
little poodle.
Im sorry you died before I was born.
She sighed and nestled the bracelet against her cheek
before returning it to its hiding place.
Groping in her bag, Emily took out and opened her
new, school planner and held it to her face; closed her eyes
and inhaled the unforgettable and indescribable aroma of
new paper, virgin, unspoilt and full of promise. Carefully,
she began to copy her new class timetable from the grubby,
crumpled note in her pants pocket into the shiny, new
planner.
Emilys eye was drawn to a list of After School
Clubs. Settling back against her pillows, she began to

search for a club of interest that would keep her out of the
house for as long as possible.
In a soft undertone, Emily began to read from the list:
Improve your football skills No chance. Develop
your musical talent Havent got any. Card making crafts
no-one to give them to.
Her eyes scrolled down the list of activities, hoping but
not believing she would find something of interest. She
stopped, looked back up the list; yes, there it was!
The young philosopher. An introduction to the worlds
greatest thinkers both ancient and modern. Exploring how
their theories and ideas can affect our lives, she read out
loud. Monday and Thursday, 3.45pm in the library with
Mrs. Cosby, teacher of social history.
The back door banged loudly, laughter and rowdy
voices drifted up the stairs. Emily peered over the landing
to see Robbie shrugging out of his coat, dropping it on the
floor and popping the ring-pull of a can of cider in one
practiced, movement; his three new mates, crowding
behind him.
Emily peered over the banister. Hi, Robbie. Mum and
Dads out.
The three teenagers jostling behind Robbie pulled faces
and began to whoop and whistle at her.
Hello, darling. Come and join us and have some fun!
Another shouted, waving a four-pack in Emilys
direction. Wanna can?
Here, ave a few, then send us some nice little pics on
yer phone! said the third, smirking.
Robbie looked embarrassed but said nothing as he
trudged up the stairs, closely followed by the three mates.

He kept his eyes downcast, fine, floppy hair covering his

face as he drew close to his sister.
Dont call me Robbie! he hissed. Its Razza from
now on, understand?
He disappeared into his room, flanked by the three
goons who winked and made kissing noises at her as they
passed. Immediately, the mind numbing thump, thump,
thump of heavy metal started up from Robbies room.
Emily shrank back into the shadows and the confines of her
own room and quietly closed the door.
The lunch time bell pierced the boredom; books thrown
into boxes, creased papers hastily gathered into untidy
heaps and dumped on the teachers desk.
The teacher stood at the front of the classroom door.
Form an orderly line. No-one will leave until there is
silence and a queue.
You cant stop us having us dinner!
Ill phone my mam and tell err you wont let us ave
me sarnies!
Emily stood quietly at the back of the ragged line of
squirming children and sighed.
Why do lessons have to be like this? By the time we get
in the hall all the best stuff will have gone and the rest will
be cold.
Alright, alright, said Miss Simms, removing her hand
from the door handle only to have the door torn open as the
classroom emptied into the main corridor.
Emily hastily grabbed a brown plastic tray, buffeted on
all sides by another fifty pupils from year seven and eight,
grades one and two; the noise was building to a crescendo.
Oh, err, sorry, said a trembling voice behind her. I
didnt see you. Got my specs broke ya see?
6

Emily turned to see a pale, skinny lad of about the same

age as herself clutching his own tray with one hand and
attempting to keep his glasses on with the other.
Come on, she said, elbowing her way through the
throng. Lets get to the front or well only have cold stuff.
The boy stuck close behind her, raising his voice to be
heard over the din. Its cold anyway.
Emily cast her gaze down the long lines of trestle tables
occupying the assembly hall, searching for a place to sit.
Everywhere there were groups of excitedly chattering and
eating pupils but nowhere to sit.
They wont let us sit down; its hopeless, said the boy
at her elbow.
Then well just have to make room, said Emily as she
walked towards the nearest line of tables. Do you mind
moving up a bit?
A few reluctant faces shuffled along the bench; just far
enough to let Emily and the boy sit down.
A chorus of cruel chanting erupted from further down
the table.
Yo! Look whos here! Its the Snowman! Hes
walking in the air! Walking in the air! The spiteful
chanting gained in volume and momentum; cutlery
drummed on the table.
Emily gazed around, confused.
Dont worry, its not about you, said the pale, thin
boy next to her as he played with a flaccid chip on his tray.
How dya mean?
Im Aled Bennett. Thats why they always shout at
me. You know, Aled Jones the singer?
He bent his head and sighed deeply as he pushed away
the ray, all semblance of appetite vanquished.