by Emma Cooper
‘Edward Jones,’ I answer.
‘Mr Jones?’
‘Yes, hello?’
‘Hello. It’s Mrs Park from Highbrook Junior School. I’ve tried to contact your wife but there was no answer.’
‘Oh, is something wrong?’
‘No, well, nothing serious, nothing to panic about.’
OK. Those words should never be uttered when you’re getting a call from your kids’ school. I’m putting this out there right now.
I panic.
‘Oscar has been in a bit of a . . . scuffle on the playground, and—’
‘Oscar has been in a fight?’
Right. So, I know that I shouldn’t have sounded proud just then. I don’t condone fighting, of course I don’t, but, well, I’ve always worried that Oscar might have trouble sticking up for himself and . . . I can’t help it, can I, if I’m proud that he’s got a bit of fight in him?
‘Not a fight as such.’
Oh.
‘Oh. So what’s happened?’
‘He’s punched a child on the nose.’
A smile creeps back on my face, but I correct it straight away. I know he shouldn’t have done that, but still . . . the smile reappears.
‘So he was sticking up for himself then?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Oh, right. Sticking up for someone else?’
‘It seems that Hailey—’
‘Hailey?’ I catch my reflection in the computer monitor. Gone is the proud, slightly amused smile and instead my face is creased with concern.
‘Some of the children were saying a few unkind words to her. Hailey did the right thing,’ she is quick to reassure me. ‘She was walking away from the children, who have been spoken to, Mr Jones, so no need to worry there, but it seems that Oscar took it upon himself to hit one of the children.’
‘Hold on. How did Oscar hit a child who is older than him on the nose? He wouldn’t be able to reach, surely.’
‘Oh, the children were his peers.’
‘Sorry? Let me get this straight. The kids who were picking on my daughter are Oscar’s age?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What were they saying to her?’
‘I’m not entirely sure but I’m going to have another chat with Hailey.’
‘So how is Hailey now?’
‘She’s fine. I think she was more concerned that her brother was going to get into trouble. She’s in her English lesson with Mrs Woodley. Would it be possible to have a chat about this after school today?’
What do I do here? Jen is so vulnerable right now but on the other hand, the kids need her. I run my fingers through my hair, take a deep breath and reply. ‘I’ll see if I can get hold of my wife, but if not, I’ll be there. I’ll pick up the kids today.’
If I fire this advert through and don’t hit too much traffic, I can make it.
‘That’s great. Thanks so much, Mr Jones, I’m sure we’ll get this sorted. There are lots of children who are having a tough time at home and who get through it if we address the inappropriate behaviour swiftly.’
I nod. My mouth has lost the ability to speak.
Since when have we been a family having a tough time at home?
I run across the playground, cursing myself for being late. I get a glimpse of Oscar standing beside his teacher by the doors of the empty playground. My heart swells as I catch the look of worry in his eyes; I give him a smile and wave my hand as I jog across the tarmac. Hailey is biting the skin around her thumb – she’s looking for Jen, I realise – and seems shocked when she notices it’s just me.
I’ve decided to handle this myself. I rang Jen earlier and told her I wanted to pick up the kids; she sounded tired . . . the sleeping tablets are helping her during the night, but they seem to be making her lethargic during the day too. I make a mental note to mention it to the doctor at our next appointment.
‘Hello, Mr Jones, lovely to see you.’
‘Sorry I’m late.’
Oscar steps forward and clings to my leg, and I instinctively begin to stroke the hair on his head. Hailey looks straight at me. ‘Where’s Mum?’ she asks.
‘She’s not feeling well.’
Mrs Park, the headteacher, leads the way. Oscar is still hanging on to my leg like a monkey and I half drag him with each step. ‘The children can stay in one of the rainbow rooms while we have a little chat.’ She smiles at me as I try to detach Oscar’s hands from around my thigh.
The rainbow room is so rainbowy. I hate this kind of place; the bright colours are splattered all over it, like it’s telling you that you have to be happy, you have to be rainbowy. If Jen was here, she’d be telling me not to be so grumpy, and give some reasoning for the bright colours having a positive impact. I’d argue that it looks like someone ate too many ice creams with sprinkles on and threw up all over the place. Rainbow room, my foot. But I am the parent and so I smile enthusiastically at my kids and encourage them to have fun. Hailey’s face seems to mirror my own thoughts. She doesn’t feel rainbowy either, but Oscar is easily swayed by the tub of Lego and so they both leave us.
I follow the headteacher into her office. It smells like air freshener, has pretty boxes containing tissues and word stickers telling me to follow my dreams because ‘you never know where they may take you’.
‘Take a seat.’ She smiles as I lower myself onto the chair, sitting opposite, still smiling.
‘So . . .’ I begin.
‘So.’ Mrs Park places her hands on her thighs with a slap.
I jump in response. For a fleeting moment I wonder if the tweed and perfectly shaped chignon are all a bit of an act and for a second, I’m reminded of the first porno I ever watched. There was this secretary and the photocopier was broken, so in came this guy and—
‘Mr Jones.’ I quickly bring my focus back to the present. ‘If I can just start with saying how lovely both of your children are. Hailey is working well above her age-expected level and is always so polite and helpful . . . but Hailey’s teacher, Mrs Woodley, has noticed a change in her recently. She is becoming a little withdrawn and seems to be distancing herself from some of her friendship groups, and even though she is still making progress, she seems to be losing concentration often.’
‘What do you mean by losing concentration?’
‘Mrs Woodley said that she seems to be off in her own little world.’
I think of Jen swinging on the swing in the rain. I blink back the image. ‘Well she’s a kid, she’s probably thinking about, I don’t know . . . kid stuff. There is nothing wrong with Hailey.’ I sound defensive, I know I do, but she’s a kid. Kids daydream, it’s what they do.
‘Oh, I’m not saying there is something wrong with her, but we just thought we should raise it with you, that we have noticed a change in her behaviour.’
‘Her aunty died last year, just before Christmas. It was quite a shock to her. To all of us.’
‘We have a member of staff who could talk to Hailey, she is trained in grief counselling, maybe that would help?’
I nod slowly.
‘Great, I’ll set that up then. Now there is the matter of their attendance.’
Attendance? There is a problem with their attendance? They haven’t been off school at all apart from the day at Muddy Creek. I feel sick. Like the whole world knows a secret apart from me.
‘Of course, when I say attendance, I do mean the late arrivals. The school day starts at eight fifty-five and although it’s only fifteen minutes here and there, Hailey and Oscar are missing a key part of the day.’
I nod as if I know that my kids have been arriving late. ‘There have been a lot of road works—’ I hate that I’m lying and more to the point, I can see in her face that she knows I’m lying. ‘But I’ll make sure that they leave earlier in future.’
‘That would be great.’ She gives me a concerned look. ‘When the children arrive late, they are walking into a classroom already set up for the lesson, they may not get to sit with th
eir friends if group work has already started . . . it just gets them off to a bad start.’
‘I’ll fix it,’ I say.
I need to fix it.
‘Right then, well let’s talk about today, shall we?’
She talks and I listen. I listen as she tells me Hailey is being teased about her ears sticking out by a bunch of kids smaller than her, that they have been calling her Princess Fiona (from Shrek, I have concluded). I listen as she tells me that Oscar came ‘really rather gallantly’ to his sister’s defence. I listen as she tells me that Oscar will lose his playtimes for a week and that it would be good if I could have a ‘little’ chat with him about fighting not solving problems. But all I hear is my own voice.
I need to fix this.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jennifer
A noise is pulling me from the darkness; it’s pinching my skin, shaking my shoulders. My hand reaches out, grasps my phone and brings it to my ear.
‘—lo?’ my voice says. I try again. ‘Hello?’ My eyelids are too heavy to open. I heave my head upright from the arm of the sofa and look at my phone screen, but I don’t recognise the number. I blink, trying to focus on the digits in front of me. The darkness is calling me, wrapping its warm arms around my body, the warmth spreading into my stomach and chest.
I focus on the digits telling me the time. I panic; the lead in my veins fights against my muscles as I try to push my body further upright. I punch the screen, selecting the school’s number; the answerphone picks up. ‘Hello!’ I shriek as I force my feet into my discarded sandals. ‘It’s Mrs Jones, Oscar and Hailey’s mum.’ I spin around, trying to locate my car keys. ‘Can you tell them I’m on my way, I’ll be right there . . . my car, my car is broke, um, my car is broken . . . down, I’ll be there in a few minutes.’
As I step out of my house, rain falls heavily and I’m soaked through by the time I unlock the car and slide into the seat. As I pull the seat belt across my chest, I can see the curve of my breast beneath the green cotton of my shirt; I’m not wearing a bra. I consider going back into the house, but lightning has sliced through the sky and the rumble of thunder vibrates through me.
I reach for the air-con button and turn it on full, trying to wake myself from the fog of sleep which is still beckoning me. I should never have taken a pill in the day, but I was so shaken up after Nessa’s that I just wanted to block it out; I only took one and it was still morning when I got home. The anger I’m feeling towards myself brings tears to my eyes. The wipers are hard at work slicing across the screen, right, left, right, left, right, left; the engine purrs encouragement as I slowly back out of the drive.
Traffic is slow; my reactions are slow.
I notice that I’m over an hour late as I pull up outside the school. The roads are clear, because the children have all gone home; all been picked up by their perfect parents. I turn off the ignition and stare at my reflection. My eyes are glassy and swollen, my cheeks blotchy and my hair is hanging in lank tendrils; my hair is wet, of course it looks messy, I try to justify. Nobody will think anything of it – I’ve just been caught in the rain – but then Kerry butts in. ‘It’s not rain, it’s grease.’
I snap the visor shut, take a deep breath and climb out of the car.
My feet slip and slide while they try to hang on to the thong of my sandals: they’re smooth and gritty all at once, tiny pieces of gravel rubbing their way between my toes.
The school doors loom in front of me. I try to open them, but they don’t budge. I press the buzzer; there is no voice on the other end. I buzz again but there is still no answer. I press my face to the glass and pound my fists on the door as another crack of thunder rumbles through the atmosphere. I look up towards the sky as a bolt of lightning flashes across it; my shoulder makes contact with the door and I fall through into the reception area, my knees slamming onto the floor, my hands splayed, starfish-like either side of them. I’m disorientated, the displays in garish colours splattering and swirling all around me.
Warm hands pull me up; Ed’s face comes into my view.
Across from us stands Mrs Park and Mr Newton, whose eyes are trained towards my chest. Mr Newton looks flustered: he glances back to my chest, his cheeks turning red as he looks away again. I turn towards Ed, whose eyes are focusing on the same area that seems to be giving Oscar’s teacher so much trouble. I look to where I can see my nipples visible through my saturated – now transparent – shirt. I fold my arms over them; shame and humiliation prickle my skin.
Oscar’s blue eyes are wide and confused. Hailey’s hand grips his tightly but she isn’t looking at her brother. She’s looking at Ed, a conversation passing between them: it’s not one of the roll of the eyes because Mum has said something silly, it’s something else – it’s a conversation filled with judgement.
‘I’m sorry I’m late, the car—’ My words are thick and slow.
‘Kids, grab your things.’ Ed’s face is pinched as he takes off his suit jacket and pulls it over my shoulder. His chest rises as he takes a deep breath, runs his hands through his hair as he turns towards our audience. ‘Cars, eh? It’s about ready for the great garage in the sky, I think.’
Oscar has let go of his sister and slips his hand into mine. I look down at him: his eyes are wide like they are when I’m reading him his favourite story, like he’s just seen the page where the monster is hiding. I pull my arm around him and he leans into me, his wide eyes seeking out his sister’s. She responds with a barely noticeable shrug.
Ed is talking too fast and shaking Mr Newton’s hand, thanking Mrs Park, laughing too loudly as he talks about the problems we had with my car, listening to the small talk they respond with while his car keys swing from his finger. He asks if they wouldn’t mind if we leave my car in their carpark while he runs us home. He’ll be back for it in half an hour, he says. Doesn’t want to risk it breaking down with us in it while the weather is so bad. It’s supposed to carry on all day, he continues, his tone rising by a couple of octaves. I smile over at Hailey, and she returns it with a tilt of her lips before warily looking away.
The silence of all of the words Ed wants to say is camouflaged by a Roald Dahl audiobook: made-up words like ‘snozzcumbers’ and ‘whizzpoppers’ rest over Ed’s hands as they grip the steering wheel; they try to tickle Hailey under her arms as she stares out of the window; but they don’t, they just clamber around the uncomfortable interior of the car, their fizz deflating and popping into the quiet.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ed
Please don’t let this be what I think it is. Please don’t let this be my wife having a breakdown.
This is what I was thinking as I saw Jen, my beautiful wife, my wife who has always kept the plates spinning, has always kept the invisible string that holds our family together taut and tightly knotted, spread, kneeling on all fours in the reception area of our children’s school.
That person who was slurring her words, who was wearing a blouse so transparent that we could all see her assets, that person is the shell of the woman I married.
I reached over to help her up, and the look she gave me . . . that look, I’ve never seen her look at me anything like that. Like she needed saving. Jen has never needed saving; she is the one who saves us.
My wife is standing in front of the kettle, motionless, as she stares out of the window. I look down to where I’m half-way through preparing the sandwiches: a piece of bread half-buttered.
‘Jen?’ I place my hand on her shoulder and she jumps. ‘Could you pop the kettle on while I finish these?’ Gently, I turn her to face me. A smile is placed onto her lips. A kiss is placed on my mouth. But the kiss isn’t real: her lips don’t yield, her shoulders don’t relax. I bring her hand towards me, kissing the inside of her palm, trying to breathe some life into her.
‘Tea or coffee?’ she asks, brightening.
‘Coffee, please.’
She turns her back as I continue buttering the other half of the bread and
packing the lunchboxes.
‘Mummy!’
Her head turns towards Hailey, who is anxiously looking at the clock.
‘Remember we are supposed to be in the car in four minutes.’ She points towards the timetable we had drawn together the night before, the three of us listing the morning activities while Jen had ‘a little lie down’. This is my first attempt at fixing the late arrivals to school.
There are blocks of colour, each one showcasing a morning activity – getting dressed, brushing teeth, putting coats on, putting shoes on; if all of their morning activities are completed on time, they both get a sticker on their chart. Five stickers means a treat, to be selected from the ever-growing treat list: cinema, sweets, park, Muddy Creek, ice cream. Oscar is currently adding making slime to the list.
Everything looks normal.
I can fix this.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jennifer
Reflecting from the mirror above the sink is a face I don’t recognise. I lean towards the woman staring back at me.
‘Slap yourself.’ Kerry stands over my right shoulder just like she did when she dared me to drink Tia Maria from Nan’s cupboard and needed to pretend I was sober. ‘You need to get a grip. Slap yourself.’
I do as she says. But it doesn’t help.
‘Really hard, Jen.’
I stretch my arm out in front of myself, my palm upturned, and bring it full force against my face: the heel hits my jaw, my fingers marking my eyelids, a red imprint clearly visible in the mirror. I smile and repeat the action, waking myself up, making me feel alive.
‘Jen?’ Ed knocks the bathroom door. I’m red in the face. With a look of panic, I turn to Kerry.
‘Hoooston, we’ve got a problem,’ Kerry says.
You’re telling me.
‘Quick!’ She points to the bathroom cabinet, where inside I know there is a clay face-mask sachet.
‘Are you OK?’ Ed asks. The handle moves up and down as he tries to open the door.