by B P Walter
‘Come on into the lounge, I’m just finishing up with the food.’ I go to walk back towards the kitchen.
‘Oh, you’re not cooking yourself, surely?’ he says. ‘Whatever happened to your housekeeper? Catherine or Cara or whatever her name is?’
Why is it nobody can get her name right? Just like my mother, I suspect Ernest doesn’t really think of house staff as real people, but rather another breed altogether.
‘Her name is Cassie. And I didn’t want to leave it all to her. There’s rather a lot of us.’
I lead the Kelmans further into the house and James arrives smiling at the entrance to the living room. ‘What are we drinking these days?’ he asks, sounding happy and merry. His friends are here, back around him. Just where he likes them.
The living room is warm and Christmassy, with the fire crackling in the grate and the big tree glinting with yellow lights. Usually I would be soaking up the atmosphere, but today it feels like I’m on mute, unable to appreciate the season I look forward to all year round. James is pouring out wine and brandy and Ally and Cameron are eagerly accepting. I stand in the doorway, momentarily unsure where to go or who to talk to. That feeling of mounting dread that’s been clinging to me for the past two days isn’t going away, and it’s now mixed with a sense of helplessness I can’t shake off. It’s as if I’m a visitor in my own home. Everything’s been turned upside down.
‘Julianne, James was just telling us about Stephen’s plans for Oxford. You must be so proud.’ It takes me a second to realise Louise is talking to me and I stare at her stupidly for a moment before managing a smile. ‘Yes, it’s certainly, um, on his radar.’
James turns to look at me, as I’d known he would.
‘On his radar? I think it’s a great deal more important to him than that. It’s his overall goal.’
‘Hmmm,’ I murmur. James stares at me, but I look away quickly.
‘Where is the dear fellow?’ Ally says, looking around.
‘Exactly what I was thinking,’ James says, still looking at me. ‘He seems to be spending an awful lot of time shut in his room these days.’ James says it with a laugh, but I can detect a slight note of uneasiness in his voice.
‘I wonder why,’ I say under my breath, but everyone’s attention is suddenly focused on me. ‘I mean … schoolwork. He’s still consumed with coursework and exam revision. And … he’s got a cold.’
‘Has he?’ James says, looking puzzled.
‘Yes,’ I say firmly. I can feel this getting weird and the others must be able to tell. Thankfully Ally starts talking about her trip to Hornchurch yesterday and how three of her five friends at the dinner all had terrible seasonal flu, and how she was furious they’d exposed her to it.
All of a sudden I feel a deep, burning sense of urgency within me. I can’t take it any more. I can’t stand it. I leave the room without another word, turn down the hallway and walk up the stairs. Stephen’s bedroom is at the end of the landing on the first floor. I walk towards it and pause outside, listening. There’s no sound at all. This is unusual in itself. I knock on the door. There’s a rustling sound, as if someone’s turning over in bed. Has he gone to sleep? I don’t bother to knock again, and instead open the door. He’s lying on his bed, his arms around one of his pillows.
‘I wanted to check you were okay,’ I say, going over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.
‘I’m fine. Really. Go downstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.’
I’m not quite sure what to say. He nods, looking lost and on the verge of tears.
‘I’ll be down soon. I will. Just give me a sec.’
I offer him a small smile and go back towards the door. ‘Come down when you’re ready, but there’s no rush. They’ll be pleased to see you. They’ve all been asking after you.’
He just nods again. Unable to think of anything else to say, I offer one last encouraging smile and go to close the door. Then he speaks.
‘You’ve forgiven him, have you?’
I stop where I am, half in his room, half on the landing. I backtrack and close the door and lean against it. ‘Your dad loves you.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’
I raise a hand to my face. ‘Please, Stephen. Can we not talk about this now?’
‘When can we talk about it?’
‘We already have.’ I’m struggling not to cry, focusing my eyes on a small space on the floor.
‘He spoke to me. Earlier this morning. Did you know he was going to?’
I try to keep calm, but I can’t help the quick intake of breath. Stephen notices.
‘He said he was going to,’ I say. ‘Look, whatever you think …’
‘He didn’t deny it. I listened carefully to what he said. He just said I need to focus on the “bigger picture” and that things sometimes don’t make sense when you’re young and the most important thing is me getting into Oxford. I asked him why those files were in his personal Dropbox if they were to do with his work and he was just evasive. No attempt to make an excuse. He just kept mentioning Oxford and how I had a duty to the family to do well and I mustn’t get hung up on distractions.’
I clench my hands behind me to stop them trembling. ‘Well … I know your father and I may not see eye to eye on Oxford …’
‘This isn’t about fucking Oxford.’
I flinch. I can’t help it. I don’t remember ever hearing Stephen swear, certainly not in anger. Maybe when telling a joke or quoting something, but this is different. It sounds harsh and ugly coming from him. Before I can comment he gets up off his bed and walks over to his chest of drawers and opens the one on the top left. I see him lift up a pile of boxer shorts and retrieve something from underneath. He holds it out.
‘What is this?’ I say. But I can see what it is. It’s a USB drive. I hold out my hand and feel the ground shift beneath me as it drops into my palm.
Without talking, Stephen walks back to his bed and sits there looking up at me.
‘I don’t want to look at what’s on here,’ I say firmly.
‘He’s deleted everything, hasn’t he? Deleted or moved the files. I’ve tried to get back on and I can’t.’
I go to speak, to tell him off for trying to access the files again and read through those documents without telling me, but he carries on.
‘It doesn’t matter. I saved them to this when you went back downstairs. Thought I’d put them on a USB. Just in case. Have a look at the files on there. The later ones. There are more people on there. Different people. You’ll see. And be sure to look at the calendar.’
Calendar? This makes me hesitate before replying, but I can’t go into all this with him now. I need to close down this discussion.
‘Stephen, there is no point—’
‘Funnily enough, that’s what he said. Part of his lecture. “There’s no point making a fuss about nothing.” Well, I don’t think this is nothing.’
‘I think he meant that it wasn’t anything …’
‘Fine.’ He says it simply and turns away from me. ‘Keep up the party line if you want to. Keep the pen drive. Throw it away. I don’t care any more.’
He lies back down on his bed, head buried in the pillows. I take a step towards him, then find I have nothing left to say. After almost a minute, I go back out onto the landing and gently close the door behind me.
‘Ah, Julianne, perfect timing!’ Ally exclaims as I walk through the door to the living room. ‘I was just talking to my idiotic brother about grammar schools. You remember? You made your point so perfectly last time we spoke about them and I wanted to tell him about it but couldn’t remember quite what you said. Ernest is dead set on them, aren’t you?’
Ernest looks slightly embarrassed. I wonder how much Ally has drunk in the short time I’ve been upstairs.
‘Well, the PM is rather keen on … I think the general feeling is that we need a clear and definite direction …’
‘Oh, that’s right, use the PM as an excuse. Tell h
im, Julianne.’ She looks at me, waiting for me to leap to her defence.
‘I … er … I …’ My head is swimming and I’m finding it hard to pin the words down and form them into a coherent sentence. ‘I just feel that it will do more harm than good.’ Even as I say the words I know they sound lame. Ally clearly thinks so. I can see her expression fall in disappointment. Usually, I would rise to the challenge. I secretly like winding Ernest up a little. His smug superiority occasionally rubs me up the wrong way, though I normally try to remain friendly for the sake of his friendship with James.
‘I thought the whole concept of them would be right up your street, Julianne. You’re all about social mobility aren’t you? You were able to pay for your child to go to Westminster, Julianne. Grammar schools, on the other hand, are free. Are you to deny all those people you apparently care about the chance of free education just because of some hang-up you’ve got about these schools? I would have thought you were fairer than that, Julianne.’
He’s still smiling, to keep a veneer of playfulness to the conversation, but nobody is fooled. He’s deliberately tried to rile me. And it works.
‘Should the thousands of children whose parents can’t afford to hothouse them through an unfair exam be sent to allegedly second-rate schools? Should they be branded as stupid simply because they can’t tick the right boxes, like performing animals, before they even know their true selves? It’s not about helping the disadvantaged, as you well know. It’s about making sure all the middle class kids don’t have to rub shoulders with the rest of society. I would have thought you were fairer than that, Ernest.’
Silence greets this. I realise too late that I have turned a conversation into a rant, and made myself look rude at best, and deeply hypocritical at worst.
‘Anyone for some wine?’ James says after a few beats have passed.
‘Lovely,’ says Louise, holding out her glass. She is grinning enthusiastically. Always overcompensating, I think to myself, then immediately feel awful for being so horrible. She can’t help it that her husband is a self-satisfied jerk.
‘I’ve been so looking forward to this, Julianne,’ Louise continues. ‘The real highlight of my season.’
The statement only emphasises the awkward tone I’ve helped set.
‘How’s Stephen?’ she asks, clearly grappling for a lifeline now.
‘Oh, he’s still in his room … I’m not sure if he’ll be down. Hopefully he’ll come and say hello if he’s feeling up to it.’ It’s the best I can come up with on the spot. I sense James glance at me.
‘He seemed well enough earlier. I’ll go up and speak to him,’ James says and goes to put down his glass.
‘No.’ I say it louder than I mean to. Everyone stares at me again.
I feign a laugh that fails to sound anything close to convincing and say, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, everyone. Stephen’s … Stephen’s having a bit of a tough time. He’s …’ I put down my glass of wine to buy myself a couple of seconds of extra time. I straighten up, then speak slowly. ‘He’s broken up with his boyfriend. He’s rather upset. I said he could be excused from dinner.’
More silence greets this. Ally is the first one to finally speak: ‘Oh God, really?’ Her eyes are wide. ‘But … they seemed so …’
‘So happy, I know.’ I nod and raise my eyebrows, as if I, too, am shocked by the news. ‘But that’s young love for you. Never does run smooth, does it?’
Ernest grins. ‘Well, it did for you two.’ He motions at James. ‘Oxford’s cutest couple and all that.’
I’m keen to avoid the inevitable Oxford retrospective so early in the evening, but welcome the change of subject. ‘I know. God, all that feels so long ago, doesn’t it?’
‘It does!’ Ally exclaims loudly. ‘But at the same time, it could be yesterday.’
Everyone nods, even Cameron, seated next to Ally on one of the sofas, even though I have no idea which university he went to. I feel a pang of embarrassment for him, thinking how intimidating we must all be to him; almost lifelong friends, talking about politics and days gone by, not to mention my weird and untruthful announcement about my son’s love life. I decide to offer him a lifeline by diving straight in with a question.
‘Cameron – which school did you go to?’
‘She means university,’ said James, rolling his eyes, but smiling.
‘How do you know I didn’t mean school, as in before university?’
‘That’s the problem with Americans; you never really know what they mean,’ says Ernest, winking at me. I blank him.
‘Go with university,’ I say, smiling with Cameron. ‘It’s less of an elitist question.’
‘Is it?’ he says, chuckling awkwardly, looking around him as if slightly afraid. ‘I went to Canterbury Christ Church University.’
I’m completely at a loss as to what to say to this. Ernest, however, can’t resist plunging in.
‘Really? I thought that only gained university status about fifteen years ago.’
Cameron nods enthusiastically, apparently relieved someone here has some knowledge of the place. I’m not as easily taken in, and look over at Ernest with a sense of mounting resentment. How have I put up with him all these years?
‘Yes, almost,’ says Cameron. ‘I think it was around 2004 or 2005. I went there a few years after it changed.’
‘Christ, that must make you …’
‘I’m twenty-nine,’ Cameron says, with another nervous chuckle.
‘You know how old he is because I bloody told you,’ Ally says, scowling at her brother.
‘And what did you study?’ I ask.
‘Teacher training.’
‘Oh goodness,’ James says. ‘How awful we must have sounded going on about grammar schools when you actually work in the education system.’
‘Oh no, I’m not a teacher. I never went into it after uni. I work for an online magazine.’
‘Really?’ Louise beams at him. ‘That must be exciting. Is it something like BuzzFeed?’ She says the word as if it’s a new foreign phrase she’s just learnt and can’t help but feel proud of having mastered.
‘It’s … a bit different. It’s called Kennel Grader.’ He sounds a little sheepish now. Louise, on the other hand, seems even more interested.
‘Oh, is it about dogs?’
More embarrassed laughter from Cameron. ‘It’s … well … it’s actually about hot women. Each week, the site looks at women in the media, like on The X Factor or Love Island or just celebs in general, and grades them in hotness.’
If I thought the silence that met my attack on the education system earlier was awkward, it pales into insignificance compared to the one that greets Cameron’s revelation. Eventually, I recover the use of my vocal cords.
‘You mean … it’s called Kennel Grader because …?’
Cameron grins. ‘Well, it’s like The X Factor is a kennel; we just grade the members.’
More silence. Then Ally says, ‘I’m really looking forward to dinner, Julianne. Smells glorious. Is Cassie managing okay? Shall we go and help her?’
I stay where I am, leaning on the mantelpiece, and the room turns from Cameron to stare at me.
‘Are you fucking serious?’ I say, making no effort to disguise my disgust.
‘Darling, shall we go and sit down in the dining room?’ James is hovering at my side now, apparently nervous I’m about to make a scene.
‘That’s great, Cameron. I’m sure your parents are proud of what you’ve done with your teacher-training degree. Keep hold of this one, Ally. He seems like a right catch.’ I turn and walk out of the lounge.
‘Where are you going?’ James calls after me.
‘To check on the food,’ I snap back.
I take refuge in the downstairs bathroom for a few minutes, splashing cold water onto my face, not caring that it’s probably ruining the little make-up I’m wearing. When I open the door, I jump and step back; my husband’s tall build is filling the doorframe, waiting f
or me.
‘Jesus, Julianne. What’s wrong with you? Why do you keep disappearing? And what the hell was that flare-up all about? I was mortified. Ernest and Ally were mortified.’
‘They’ll live,’ I say, planning to go straight on into the living room, but he moves to block me. ‘We need to go back to our guests,’ I say. ‘Can’t have them sitting there mortified, can we?’ I push past him, leaving him in the corridor.
I decide to tackle the awkwardness head-on. ‘Sorry, guys.’ I start talking immediately as soon as I walk in, causing the four of them to break off from their suspiciously quiet conversations. ‘It’s been a long and stressful few days – Christmas and all that. I shouldn’t have let it spoil the night.’
A brief silence greets this, then Ally leaps up. ‘Of course, Julianne, don’t worry about it. Honestly, I give Cameron grief about his fucking atrocious job every day. He’s used to it, aren’t you, Cameron?’
Cameron, who’s gone a bit red, just nods and looks at his glass of wine.
‘He’s only at that vile place while he tries to get a job at GQ. He knows someone who knows someone and they’re sure they’ll be able to squeeze him in somewhere.’
I nod and put on a smile. ‘Well, that’s great. I hope it goes well, Cameron, if you get the job.’
He gives a little nod.
More awkward silence.
‘Ally, how far did you get with that Netflix series? You recommended it to me the other week. The one about the prison?’
Ally seems momentarily taken aback by the question, but then blinks and smiles. ‘God, I love it. I can’t stop. I’m on series three in just two weeks.’
‘Two weeks? Goodness.’ I’m aware I’m sounding over-the-top and falsely cheerful, but my real self feels miles away. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement. It’s James.
‘Just spoken to Cassie. Food shouldn’t be too long now.’
It irritates me he’s spoken to Cassie. I think he flirts with her. Never to the point where I would worry about it, but enough for me to get a bit prickly. Very prickly today, it seems. I feel hot and uncomfortable and decide to venture away from my strange stance by the mantelpiece. Keen to keep some distance from Cameron, I take a seat near Louise. Neutral territory. I listen for a while as Ally, James and Ernest muse unenthusiastically about whether there’ll be snow by Christmas Day. Louise, while still smiling cheerfully, doesn’t seem desperate to take part. I seize the opportunity to engage her in conversation.