Ken MacLeod - Intrusion

‘I think the correct term for that is “domestic extremist”.’ Fiona paused, for a laugh that didn’t come. ‘Nobody’s going to say you’re a terrorist , Hope. No need to be all dramatic about it. No, the point is that it’s all building up to a profile that doesn’t look like someone capable of providing a safe environment for a child.’

Hope had a flash of fury. She had to press her hands firmly to the table, so as not to slap Fiona across the face. She took a few deep breaths, then sipped now-tepid coffee from the mug, clutching her hands around it. She had to relax her hands a little, so that the mug didn’t shatter.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I know how these automatic systems work, they’re as mindless as the one that’s doing my job for me today while I get on with the housework. No doubt I’ll have to make some corrections and allowances for it tomorrow. And that’s how it is, you see? All that needs to happen about the profile thing is for someone with a bit of sense, someone who knows me, someone professional, to squash all that nonsense and say I’m a good mother.’

Fiona nodded soberly. ‘Yes, that would certainly weigh in the balance. But you see, once the system raises the problem to the level where it alerts the services, there are procedures in place. Wheels are set in motion. Guidelines are followed. Matters would be quite out of my hands, I’m afraid.’

Hope felt cold all over. ‘You’re saying… they could take Nick away from me?’

‘I’m sorry, Hope, but yes. Best practice might indicate intervention first, investigation later. On a precautionary basis, of course, with no aspersion cast or intended, certainly not by me. I know you’re a good mother.’

‘Well,’ said Hope, trying to keep the exasperation from putting too much steel in her voice, ‘why the heck can’t you say so now, and smack that stupid system back down where it belongs?’

‘There’s the problem,’ said Fiona, sounding genuinely sympathetic. ‘There are no procedures in place for that. All I can do is log my own reports, which are of course part of the profile. The trouble is, they’re part of your profile already. And as you’ve just seen, they haven’t been enough.’

‘Oh God,’ Hope groaned. ‘This is just… oh God.’

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her hands. Tears trickled on to her wrists. After a moment she felt Fiona’s hand on her shoulder.

‘There, there, Hope,’ she said. ‘It’s not that bad. It’s not at the danger level yet. I’m just telling you all this because I’m on your side, really I am. And, well… you know the one thing you could do that would clear all that nonsense away, without so much as a word from me. You know what to do, Hope.’

Hope didn’t look up. ‘I know, I know.’

She stood up and blundered towards the work surface by the sink, groped for the roll of paper towels, tore one off and blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

‘I’m thinking about it, all right?’ She knew she sounded defiant and petulant, like a teenager just before conceding a point.

‘Good,’ said Fiona. ‘Do please think about it, seriously.’ She stood up. ‘Thanks for the tea, Hope. Enjoy your dinner tonight! It’s all right, I’ll see myself out.’

Hope nodded, unable to say anything more. She was angry enough to smirk at the sounds of Fiona Donnelly bumping into a handlebar, and then closing the door behind her so firmly it was almost a slam.

The casserole was, indeed, good, though Nick was very picky about it, leaving a ring of carrot slices around the edge of his plate and insisting that Hope tease apart the beef chunks into strands and mash them in with the potatoes before he deigned to eat them. After dinner he wanted to play outside, and Hugh, though tired as well as replete, loyally went out with him to kick a ball about on the back grass.

By the time they came back in – Hugh with a stitch, Nick all grubby – Hope had finished washing the plates and the pan and the big heavy crock-pot and was lying feet up on the sofa, reading on her glasses. Hugh took this as a hint, and busied himself getting Nick to tidy away his toys and get ready for bed. By the time Nick came through in his pyjamas for his good-night kiss, Hope had fallen asleep herself. She woke to the boy’s voice and to text scrolling across her vision like a fragment of dream. She swung her feet to the floor and sat up, taking her glasses off.

‘Good night, Nick.’

‘Good night, Mummy.’

She hugged him a little harder than usual, breathing in the smell of his just-washed skin. Off he went, Max trailing him, both waving from the doorway.

‘Night night,’ she said, waving back.

Hugh came back about ten minutes later and joined her on the sofa.

‘Ach,’ he said. ‘I’m tempted to pour a dram. But I won’t.’

He waved towards the screen. Hope leaned forward and chopped her hand down, turning the television back off.

‘ ’Scuse me,’ she said. ‘Something we’ve got to talk about.’

She told him about Fiona’s visit. He listened in silence until she’d finished.

‘We have to go,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow night.’

Nick was having none of it.

‘Grandpa’s chin is scratchy and his house smells.’

‘But he’s very kind to you,’ Hope said, cutting toast for eggy soldiers. ‘And Grandma Island is lovely. She’s so fond of you, and she’s such fun.’

‘Not as much fun as Granny Abendorf.’

Hope wasn’t sure if this was Nick being stubborn or loyal. She decided to make light of it.

‘Well, Granny Abendorf is fun, yes, but she doesn’t live in a big sprawly house on a hill with the sea down below and lots of sheep and cows around and eagles and seagulls in the sky, does she?’

‘It rains all the time and the house is smelly.’

For answer, Hope flicked up the weather forecast on the big screen in the living room, and pointed Nick to it through the knock-through. ‘That’s Lewis up at the top, see? And it’s sunny today.’

They sat down at the kitchen table. Hope munched her cereal and Nick dunked his eggy soldiers. Then:

‘It’s still smelly.’

‘Oh, for – look, Nick, it’s just cooking. And peat smoke.’

Nick wrinkled his nose. ‘And fish.’ He pushed away the remainder of his breakfast. ‘And wet things.’

‘All right, fish and washing. But you soon don’t notice smells, and it’s nice in other ways.’

‘I’ll miss my friends.’

Lower-lip tremble. Time to move fast.

‘It’s only for a little while, and you can talk to them any time, and you’ll have lots of exciting things to tell them when you come back, and you’ll make new friends while you’re up there.’

‘Can I take Max?’

‘Of course you can. Now let’s get you ready for nursery.’

Nick slid off the chair and ran to the hallway for his jacket, apparently cheered up. He got it on after several attempts, proud of his new accomplishment, while Hope packed his lunch.

‘I’ll tell all my friends we’re going to Lewis,’ he announced, as they headed out the door.

Uh-oh. That could be awkward. She couldn’t tell him to keep it a secret – like all kids at nursery and in primary school, Nick had been solemnly warned against any adult at all telling him to keep secrets. Nothing was more certain to get social services on the case than a whisper of secrets.

‘I’ve had an idea,’ said Hope, climbing up the steps. ‘Let’s not tell them until we’re there, and it’ll be a nice surprise.’

Hugh cycled to work as usual, in a cheerful mood. Last night the hot rush of his anger and protectiveness had turned Hope on, and she’d dragged him off to bed almost before he was ready, and they’d had hotter sex than they’d had for a while. Every so often his mind went back to it with a reminiscent smile.