Sam hasn't said a word on the drive home, though James can feel the frustration radiating from the twelve year old. The boy hasn't asked what the headteacher said, hasn't even asked what his punishment is. There's no point trying to start this conversation in the car though, he'll wait till they get home. In trouble or not, Sam deserves his full attention, and he can't give it while driving.

So he waits until they get in, Sam throwing his bag down in the hallway and walking into the living room, obviously waiting for James to say something, he's no where near as relaxed as he's trying to make out he is though. Ah well, here goes.

"Well?"

"Well what?" His son mutters sullenly.

"What was all that about eh? Mate, that's the second time in as many weeks I've had to come in about you fighting. Its not on."

"Just had a disagreement, that's all."

"From what the teacher said, it was a bit more than that."

"He deserved it."

"You can't just kick off Sam. You punched a kid and threw a chair across the room. What have you got to say about that?"

"Shouldn't have been pickin' on me should he?"

"Sam...do you know how much trouble you're in?" James sighs. "You've been excluded for a week son."

"That's not fair."

"You got off lightly mate."

"IT WASN'T MY FUCKING FAULT!"

"Kiddo..."

"NO! HE'S BEEN PISSING ME OFF ALL DAY. AND NOW ITS ME THAT'S IN TROUBLE NOT HIM! IT'S BULLSHIT AND I FUCKING HATE THEM ALL!" Hathaway can only watch Sam turns on his heel and storms upstairs, slamming his bedroom door hard enough to knock the picture of the two of them and Chrissy over.

Several loud thumps follow, and he knows that that his son is currently punching his bedroom wall, and punching it hard. There's nothing to be gained from trying to talk to him at the moment, he needs time to calm down a little. If James tries to discuss any of this with him now, he'll likely just kick off again.

He gives it twenty minutes, until the pacing has stopped. He makes two cups of tea, one with much more milk and sugar than normal, and heads upstairs. James knocks on his son's bedroom door, gently.

"Sam?" There's no answer, save for some sniffles that he knows the boy is trying to hide.

"Sam. I'm coming in alright?"

The twelve year old is lying on his bed, facing away from the door, curled under the covers. James knows its a futile attempt to hide the evidence of his tears.

"There's a cuppa on the side for you Sam." He sits up a little, still keeping his right hand under the covers. "Why don't you tell me what happened kiddo?

"Didn't the headteacher tell you?"

"Yes. But I want to hear your side as well Sam." The child sighs a little and starts mumbling, looking down at his knees.

"Malcolm got me angry."

"There's got to be more to it than that."

"He's been picking on me all day, cos I read a word wrong. Every lesson he kept making comments and chucking things at my chair. But all sneaky so Ms Richards never caught him." It fits with what he heard at the meeting. Julie, the teaching assistant that works with Sam had been in there, and she had confirmed that this other child had been continually winding him up.

"Didn't you say something to Ms Richards?" Sam looks up at him, incredulous.

"Course not. I'm not a grass". Sam scowls and looks at his knees."They're makin' me write a apology Dad. That's what he was taking the piss out of in the first place."

"I'll help you Sam, don't worry about that." He sighs as Sam moves his hand under the duvet and winces. "Let me look at your hand."

"S'fine."

"Sam, I need to have a look. I'm not angry, just need to have a look." Sam slowly pulls his hand out and looks away as James struggles not to react. The fact that he could hear the punches from downstairs, had told him that his son wasn't messing around. But its still not nice to see the blood and bruising coming up on the boy's knuckles. "Can you move your fingers?"

"Yeah." The wince his son gives doesn't hide how much it hurts, but its clear that nothing is broken.

"It'll be sore for a while, but you'll live," he says with a small grin. The boy stays silent as James washes the cuts and wraps a bandage around his hand, only speaking when his father has finished.

"Do we have to tell Uncle Robbie?"

"I think we might mate. He's going to wonder what you've done to your hand."

"I just won't see him for a week or so."

"Well then he'll want to know why won't he. And besides, you've been excluded for a week."

"So? What does that have to do with Uncle Robbie?"

"I can't take a week off work Sam. And you can't be left here on your own can you?"

"I can. I promise I'll do all the work they give me Dad." James smiles slightly. He doesn't doubt that Sam is full of good intentions, but he knows full well how the kid's attention wanders. There's no way he'll get on with his work if he's left to his own devices. And besides, he won't have the benefit of a teaching assistant helping him, or James himself since he'll be working.

"Nice try, but we're going to have to see if Uncle Robbie can have you at his house."

"He's gonna be mad at me."

"I don't think he will Sammy. Like me, he'll understand why it happened." He put his arm around Sam's shoulders. "I know he was winding you up Sam, and I know that was wrong of him, and you got angry. That's natural, we've all got angry at people. But you need to control it mate. Chucking a chair across a room is unacceptable, no matter what went on before."

"I just go so angry Dad. Its alright for him, he can read and write easy. He's in the top set for English and everything."

"I know you got mad. But what if that chair had hit someone else eh? I mean a chair could seriously hurt someone, and your fight was nothing to do with them."

"I never thought of that."

"Maybe try and think of that before you fly off the handle next time."

"I'll try." There's a pause and then; "I'm sorry Dad. For getting in trouble and making you worry, and not reading and writing properly, and having fights all the time, and getting fed up when you're helping me with my homework."

"You don't ever have to apologise about your reading and writing Sam, not to me or anyone else. Its nothing to be ashamed of, I'm not ashamed of you. Everyone has things they aren't so good at"

"Not everyone has a teaching assistant that works with them 'cos they got a learning disability."

"Maybe not, but I'm sure some people in your class wear glasses. So maybe they can't see as well as you, but you don't blame them for that do you?"

"That's a medical thing though."

"And so is dyslexia. Its not your fault in the slightest Sam, and anyone who matters knows it isn't." He grins and squeezes Sam's shoulder. "You can apologise for getting into trouble though, we could do with a bit less of that." The boy nods at him.

"Can we just get this letter over and done with Dad?"

"Course we can." He puts his hand on Sam's shoulder and gives it another squeeze, in reassurance. "Then I think we could just about manage some fish and chips eh?" Sam smiles at him.

"No salad?" James chuckles, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Just this once, no salad."

.

Later on, when Sam is in bed, James allows himself a bottle of ale, and dials Robbie's number.

"James?"

"Hi Robbie, how are you?"

"Fine lad fine, yourself? Sam?"

"We're alright. I just needed to ask you a favour."

"Fire away.

"Do you mind having Sam during the day for the next week?"

"Its not half term is it? Hang on, what about you? James, is everything okay?"

"What? No I'm fine, I'm fine. Its just, Sam's been excluded, and I can't leave him at home alone, aside from anything else, he'll never do any work."

"Of course I'll have him, I like looking after him, you know that. What happened at school?"

"Seems he punched a classmate and threw a chair. I don't blame him. This kid was winding him up all day, but you know how it is..."

"Yeah, its always the second one that gets in trouble. Poor little sod. D'you want me to have a word with him?"

"Nah, he's already beating himself up about it, in more ways than one. He messed his hand up punching the wall." He sighs, taking another swig of the beer. "Dunno what I'm doing wrong."

"Nothing James. He's not a bad kid. You know that."

"He's an angry kid."

"He's frustrated. And its not something you're going to be able to get that big brain of yours around, because you can read and write easily. You can't imagine what it's like to look at a piece of writing and not be able to decipher it instantly. Any more than you can understand why he can build a Lego set with 1000 pieces in under an hour, but he takes three attempts to tap in a phone number."

"Could still probably be handling it better." He can almost hear Robbie shaking his head.

"You're doing fine. He's a good lad, and he loves you."

"Suppose so."

"Go and get some rest kiddo. You sound knackered."

"Mmmm" James mumbled, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. "Night."

"Night, I'll see you and Sam on Monday morning."

James puts the phone back down in the cradle and stands up, wincing a little. He heads off to bed, looking in on his son as he does so. Sam is fast asleep, looking a bit younger than his twelve years and seven months. Looking a lot calmer than he has since he came home from school as well.

Clearly, they were going to have to discuss his tendency to blow up at slight provocation, and try and find a solution.

But that would be a conversation for another day.