by K. L. Slater
I fret and debate what I’m going to say to her about my concerns about my nephew.
Not that she’s ever had a problem saying exactly what she thinks to me.
All my life I’ve had the dubious benefit of Louise making sure I know in no uncertain terms what her opinion is on the way I’m living my life, or decisions I have made.
There are hundreds of examples of her getting on her soapbox and taking the moral high ground, but the one that comes to mind right now is the disapproval she displayed so openly when I landed my dream job.
Three years earlier
‘Mum said you’ve got yourself a job,’ Louise said as she walked past me in the kitchen, popping a piece of toast in her mouth and munching.
I looked up in surprise from my drawings. It was rare that my sister showed any interest in my life these days. I could understand it. Louise was ambitious herself, trying to combine a challenging career in PR with motherhood and keeping a home.
She’d declared she wasn’t interested in men any more after her experience with Martyn Hardy… and who could blame her?
I’d carefully rehearsed all the good points of my new job before telling Mum, painfully aware that however I dressed it up, it wasn’t the position of art lecturer that had always been her ambition for me.
I told her about the new gallery, where it was and how I hoped she’d be able to come to the opening event as an important guest.
‘Mr Visser wants to be inclusive, show all different types of art, especially from local artists,’ I said, the enthusiasm bubbling inside me. ‘I’ll have to work the odd late night and weekend when we launch a new exhibition, but I don’t mind that at all, and Jim’s said it works both ways, that he’ll be flexible if I need the odd hour off.’
For the first time in my life, I felt so vital, so alive.
‘I know it seems to be your ideal job, and that art is important to you.’ Mum sighed, and I braced herself for the ‘but’ that I knew was about to follow. ‘But was it worth doing an art degree for? Essentially, you’ve got a job in a shop, love.’
And there it was: the sentence that would stick in my head every time Finn or Jim praised me, every time someone appeared to be impressed by my position at the gallery…
Essentially, you’ve got a job in a shop.
I knew right then that those eight words would stick with me for a long, long time.
‘So,’ Louise brushed crumbs from her hands onto Mum’s cleanly swept floor, ‘what is this exciting new career then?’
I felt myself reverting to type and playing down the position. ‘It’s just assistant at a little gallery that’s opening soon in town.’
‘Oh well, I suppose it’s a start,’ Louise said tartly. ‘It’s what you want to do, though, isn’t it, arty-farty stuff?’
‘It is.’ I laid down my pencil, feeling ridiculously grateful that even if she was making fun of me, my sister had registered what my career preferences were. Louise had always been far more interested in her own life and aspirations than those of others. ‘I know it doesn’t sound much… a gallery assistant, but it is my dream.’
‘And were there many people interviewed for this position?’
Louise’s lips sealed together in a small, mean line and I realised I’d fallen straight into one of her traps. Mum must have told her how I’d heard about the job. My mood slumped. I might have known her interest was misplaced.
‘I’m not sure how many people Mr Visser interviewed. I was lucky, bumped into my old tutor at the Moderno and overheard him telling the manager about the vacancy. I was a bit cheeky really, just boldly asked him about it.’ I chuckled conspiratorially, hoping to get Louise on side. Sadly, it didn’t work.
‘Oh, I get it now. Nepotism at its best.’ She frowned.
‘Don’t be silly… it wasn’t like that at all, nobody just gave me the job.’ I tried to cajole her.
Louise shook her head. ‘To be honest, it infuriates me when this sort of thing happens.’
‘Come on, Louise, don’t be like that.’
‘Like what? Annoyed, you mean? I think I’ve every right to be. Opportunities falling into your lap while the rest of us have to claw our way into a job and then work damned hard to stay there once we get there.’ She inspected her fingernails. ‘Yet it seems if you know the right people, you can just waltz right in, no effort at all.’
I sighed openly. I couldn’t win this conversation if I tried, so I might as well give up right now.
‘I’ve obviously hit a nerve,’ Louise remarked. ‘Nothing you can say to that, is there?’
‘It’s a shame you’ve made your mind up exactly what happened when you weren’t even there,’ I snapped back, surprising myself. ‘I’ve told you it wasn’t like you describe at all. I had to have an interview with Mr Visser like anyone else would’ve done.’
‘But your tutor had already put a word in for you.’
‘Not really. He told Mr Visser I loved art, that I had a first-class degree and—’
‘You always have to get that in, don’t you?’ Louise’s nostrils flared. ‘Having a go because I didn’t go to university.’
‘Oh for God’s sake!’ I slammed my hand on the tabletop, rattling my pencils. ‘Just stop it with the pity party, can’t you? This isn’t about you, Louise. Can’t you just be pleased for me… for once?’
Her jaw dropped, and I stalked from the room, my hands shaking.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The doorbell shrieks and I jump up and rush through to the hallway.
I can hear the television on in the lounge where Archie is watching cartoons back to back.
When I open the door, my palms are sticky and a trickle of sweat wriggles down my back. ‘Hi,’ I croak, my mouth dry.
‘Hello, how are you?’ Louise breezes past me without waiting for an answer or offering an apology for her late arrival.
‘The traffic just gets worse around here. I reckon if you sold this place, with your share you could get a neat little terrace with a garden in a nice quiet suburb. You can’t actually enjoy being in the middle of this crazy melee.’
She’s talking too fast. There’s a nervous energy about her, as though she’s high on something. I suspect it’s probably a leftover from running on adrenalin at work all day.
‘I like living here,’ I mutter. I’ve got to try and keep the upper hand in this conversation. ‘Do you have time for a quick cuppa?’
Her phone pings and she stops in the hallway to read the text, chewing the inside of her cheek as she types out a reply.
She’s wearing a navy trouser suit with a faint cream pinstripe. The wide-legged trousers are well cut and hover above beige strappy sandals that show off French-polished toenails. Her shoulder bag is in a matching shade of beige leather with a gilt trim.
If I didn’t know her so well, I’d think she was completely together as a person, but as her sister, I’m very aware there’s something about her today that’s just slightly spoiling the pristine image she usually conveys.
Her hair is loose and curled but looks a little mussed at the back, and as she taps at her phone, I see she has a broken nail.
’Louise… drink?’
She bites her lip and looks up from her phone. ‘What? Oh… no, sorry. Darren was away last night and I have to get back and tidy the house before he gets home later.’
‘I really need to have a quick word with you about something. It’s important.’ I speak calmly whilst dying inside when I imagine her reaction to what I have to say. ‘It won’t take long.’
She clicks off her phone and drops it into her bag. It seems that at last, for the moment at least, I have her attention.
‘Go on, then. I suppose another ten minutes won’t hurt.’ She slips her handbag from her shoulder and places it on the worktop. ‘Let’s have that cup of tea and you can tell me about your fancy man on the tram.’
If she thinks that’s the subject of our chat, she’s got a big shock coming. I fill the kettle a
nd flick it on, and then lean back against the sink.
She’s looking critically around the kitchen. Over the past year or so, she has commented on the poor-quality units, the dated flooring and voiced how distasteful I must find the view, having to overlook the residents’ parking bays.
Around eighteen months ago, Louise and Darren bought a new five-bedroomed house on an exclusive estate in Ruddington. It’s a palatial affair, the sort that has fancy white pillars either side of the outsize door, as though mimicking a Georgian mansion in the middle of suburbia.
There are several primary schools close to the new house, but even though Archie was at the perfect age to make the move without his education being disrupted, they decided to keep him where he was.
‘Less of an upheaval, and he won’t have to leave his friends,’ Louise said breezily at the time. ‘Anyway, I hear the schools around here stick their noses into your business too much.’
According to Archie, he doesn’t have any friends at school, and isn’t school nosiness simply a case of taking an interest in the pupils’ well-being? Still, it wasn’t for me to question their decision.
We were closer then. Louise used to bring over brochures and samples of fabrics and wallpapers for the interior of the new place, and we’d sit and discuss her favourites. On the surface, everything seemed wonderful, but I detected a reticence, a sort of hesitation that she brushed over every time the subject of the new house surfaced.
One day I decided to run the gauntlet.
‘Is everything OK at home, Louise?’ I asked casually. ‘I mean, of course your new place is going to be totally amazing, but is it what you want? I just get the feeling something is bothering you.’
Her expression dropped as if I’d slapped her around the face.
‘What on earth do you mean? I couldn’t be happier. Who wouldn’t be if they had my life?’
‘Of course. It’s just that I wonder if moving house is really what you want. Sometimes, you still seem a bit unsure.’
‘Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?’ Her eyes sparked with fire. ‘You’d love to think we’re unhappy. Well, things are perfect. Life’s amazing, remarkable… is that enough superlatives for you?’
‘Louise! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘It just unnerves me when you think you know me better than I know myself. I understand you’re only trying to help, but I don’t know where it comes from.’
‘I just want you to be happy, that’s all. And to say that if you want to talk about anything, anything at all, them I’m here.’
‘I appreciate your concern, Alice. But you must never voice this stuff to anyone, least of all to Darren. Just worry about your own life and keep out of mine. Otherwise, you’ll be very sorry. That I can promise you.’
I was used to my sister’s temper, used to her changing like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde in front of my very eyes. But that day she actually scared me.
What should have been just a put-down felt distinctly like a serious threat.
I don’t want to tread the same path today, but I have no choice but to risk her wrath.
I owe that much to my nephew.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Louise taps at her phone yet again and I wait for the next disagreeable feature of my flat to be pointed out to me. But if she’s seen anything new here that she objects to, she’s thankfully keeping it to herself today.
The silence feels dense and impenetrable around us. I scratch at an old burn mark on the worktop, thinking how best to broach my worries about Archie.
‘So.’ She sits on a tall stool and spreads her manicured fingers on the counter. ‘You said you wanted to talk.’
I turn and look at her, and she smiles distractedly and nods, encouraging me to speak. I open my mouth and close it again.
‘Is it about your man on the tram?’ She winks.
‘No, it isn’t that.’ I tap my fingers on the worktop. ‘It’s hard to know how to start really.’
‘Oh, just say it.’ She flips her palms upwards. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’m your sister, for heaven’s sake.’ She hesitates and gives me a coy look. ‘I think I know what you’re going to say, actually.’
‘You do?’
‘Yup. Something that’s probably been on your mind for some time. All I’ll say is, don’t feel embarrassed. We’ve all made decisions and then changed our minds… it’s allowed, you know.’
‘Decisions?’ I echo.
‘I’m assuming you’re finally thinking of moving.’ She sighs. I start to speak, but she holds up a hand to silence me. ‘There’s absolutely no need to justify anything to me, Alice. I’m just pleased you’ve finally come to your senses. With house prices as they are, it’s a great time to—’
‘It’s nothing to do with that!’ I shake my head in frustration. Can’t she just listen for once? ‘I’ve no intention of moving from here. Can we get that straight?’
‘Oh!’ The polite smile slides from her mouth. ‘Well, what is it, then?’
‘I’m worried about Archie.’
She wraps a foot around the leg of the stool. ‘And why’s that?’
A trace of indignation has entered her tone, but I can’t be dissuaded by it. I need to gather my few remaining scraps of courage and say what needs to be said.
‘I think he might be being bullied at school, Louise.’
‘I don’t think he is.’
‘Have you asked him about it?’
She sniffs. ‘I’ve talked to him about this before, asked him time and time again if there’s a problem, but he just clams up.’
‘Maybe he’s scared to say.’
‘I’ve spoken to his class teacher, Mrs Booth, but she hasn’t seen any evidence of him being bullied either. He’s a good storyteller, I know that.’ She inspects her broken nail nonchalantly, but I see her jaw clench. ‘May I ask how you’ve come to this conclusion?’
‘He gets so angry over small things, but I think he’s using his temper as a ruse to cover up anxiety.’
Louise laughs. ‘I think you spent too many hours in that therapist’s office, Alice. We’re talking about an eight-year-old kid here. Fortunately he hasn’t learned yet how convenient it is to blame everything on anxiety.’ She uses air apostrophes when she says the word.
I choose to ignore the barb.
‘I don’t think he’s aware he does it, it’s just a reaction.’ I keep my voice calm, but it needs saying. ‘I think, for a young boy, he is very anxious indeed. It’s as though something is really worrying him.’
I stop. I reassured Archie again before Louise got here that I wouldn’t mention the bed-wetting incident. I feel like I can’t break that promise, but unfortunately it makes it difficult for me to mention the marks I saw on his body, because then I’d have to explain his bath in the middle of the night. But it’s too important to keep to myself, so I need to find another way to talk about it.
‘Do you check him for bruises and stuff?’
Her face pales. ‘What a strange thing to ask.’
‘I thought I saw a bruise on his arm, but he seems guarded about taking off his fleece.’
She laughs and indicates her jacket. ‘I’d be guarded about taking my clothes off in here; you might turn the heating up even higher.’
I feel like I’m playing a one-sided game of tennis. She’s batting away every concern I attempt to raise.
She sighs. ‘Look, I admit he does seem to have a problem controlling his anger at times, but as I’ve said, he’s being assessed for ADHD. If they find that’s what’s wrong with him, they can prescribe some medication that’ll calm him down a bit.’
Archie doesn’t need calming down and shutting up; he needs to be encouraged to open up to the people he trusts. I try and work around this idea rather than risk alienating my sister by speaking too bluntly.
‘I wondered… if there might be a school counsellor Mrs Booth could arrange for him to talk to?’
Louise stands up. Her fingers glance agai
nst the teacup in front of her, and brown liquid slops over the lip of it, puddling on the worktop.
‘If I need any advice on how to handle my son’s problems at school, then I’ll ask for it.’ She snatches her bag up. ‘Although I can’t imagine what help you’ll be able to give, never having had any kids.’
I follow her into the hall. No wonder Archie is nervous; Louise’s mood swings are out of control. But I’m annoyed too.
‘You might be surprised to know it’s perfectly possible to tell if another person is unhappy and worried about something despite never having gone through the act of childbirth.’
She doesn’t answer, doesn’t give any sign she’s even heard me. She wants to swat me away like a bothersome house fly but I’m not going to let that happen.
She pushes the living room door open with force and I see Archie jump up from the sofa, his face pale.
‘Archie! Get your stuff, we’re going. NOW.’
The television goes quiet and Archie appears at the lounge door holding his school rucksack and overnight bag. His eyes are wide and I can see that his feet are fidgety.
‘Louise, you’re scaring him,’ I say gently.
Archie glances at me and then back at his mother. ‘Mum, can I stay here with—’
‘Now is definitely not the time to be asking me for stuff, Archie,’ Louise says firmly. ‘Say goodbye.’
‘Bye, Auntie Alice,’ he says without looking at me, forcing his socked feet into his shoes without undoing the laces.
‘Bye, Archie,’ I kiss the top of his head as he passes me. ‘See you soon.’
Louise marches past me at the door and turns when she’s on the communal landing. Her tone is acidic.
‘You know, the best advice I can honestly offer you is to get over what happened back then and find yourself another job.’ She juts her chin forward. ‘Maybe then you’ll stop interfering in other people’s lives and take a look at your own sad existence.’