Naomi Alderman - The Lessons

‘He stole. He smashed furniture. Eventually he stole a car and crashed it, only avoiding injuring himself by the most merciful act of God. He was arrested. It was only by the strongest representations made at the very highest level, the very highest , James, that Mark was able to avoid a stay in a juvenile detention facility and was instead released into the care of the monks of Santa Albante. Do you understand?’

I gulped and nodded.

‘The family were pleased to see him apply himself to the Oxford entrance exam. We, his friends at Benet’s and at Ampleforth, are delighted that he is interested in achieving a degree. We are not unhappy that he has found himself a group of friends. But James, we must know if his behaviour has begun to become erratic again. Do you understand?’

I nodded again. I considered whether Mark’s cottaging was erratic behaviour. It would probably seem so to Father Hugh. But it had been in fact a very steadfast and reliable behaviour. I thought of the incident in the car. There was that, of course. But it hadn’t been repeated: he’d seemed perfectly calm as soon as we entered the pub. But perhaps I should mention it.

Before I could reply, Father Hugh said, ‘It goes without saying, James, that Isabella and the family will be very grateful for your assistance. If Mark is unwell again, he will need someone to help him. A companion. I’m sure we could arrange for you to receive signing power for one of his bank accounts.’

I must have shown something in my face at this.

‘Of course —’ he held up his hands — ‘all of this is for Mark’s own good.’

I looked at him. How did he see this in me, Father Hugh? He was right. But I did not want to see it in myself.

‘I’m sorry, Father Hugh,’ I said, ‘I don’t know what to tell you. Nothing happened. It was all a silly joke.’

Father Hugh sighed.

‘Very well, you may go. I may come to visit Mark later today.’

I waited the rest of the day for Father Hugh to arrive, anxiously scanning the road for his long, lean figure. But he did not come. Nor did he come the next day, or the day after. And I had no more notes from him.

Mark rarely tries to explain himself. He has not the knack for self-examination. Once, after the funeral, I or his mother or Father Hugh or some combination suggested that he should see a counsellor. And he agreed, and went, and sat quite peacefully through several hour-long sessions with the woman, but it made him no better and no worse. And when I said, ‘What did she say?’ he said, ‘I am that I am.’

And so he has never, I think, been able to attribute unknown motives to his actions. Never been able to say, ‘Ah, I did so thinking I knew why, but I had hidden myself from myself.’

I have my ideas about why he did certain things, about why he suggested the ball so soon after Father Hugh’s attempts to win me over, about what he was planning. Jess suggested it to me a long time ago when, in another of those endless conversations about what was to be done for Mark she said, ‘He wanted to save himself, I think, with Nicola. He thought he could put himself out of the reach of temptation.’

But perhaps I am imputing too much complicated thought to him. Perhaps it was all simply an accident, every part of it.

‘Now, my dears,’ said Mark, ‘if you call me a fairy godmother I shall kill you but —’ he reached under his plate and pulled out four blue cardboard oblongs — ‘you shall go to the ball.’

Franny squealed and grabbed his hand to examine the tickets.

‘Ohhhh, very nice. Gloucester College Winter Ball. What excellent taste you do have.’

He did. He had welcomed us back from the long vacation with good wine and roast beef, and dismissed our enquiries about his summer with an airy ‘spent it with Dad’s family. Mass in the morning, parties in the evening. Dreary beyond belief,’ and when dinner was concluded presented us with these tickets. Each was marked with its price: £220. I had not previously been able to afford to go to my college’s ball.

‘Is it going to be good?’ said Mark. This was directed at Jess and me. ‘Tell me they put on a good show at Gloucester.’

‘I think so,’ said Jess hesitantly. We had rather withdrawn from college life.

Simon looked at the tickets with their silver writing. He frowned.

‘You’ve bought four double tickets, though. There are only six of us.’

Mark beamed.

‘An extra one for Emmanuella. You’ll want to bring Kristian, won’t you, Manny?’

Kristian was her new boyfriend; interchangeable, as far as I could tell, with the last. Emmanuella nodded graciously and leaned over the table to kiss Mark on each cheek.

Franny said, ‘But doesn’t that still leave an extra place?’

And Mark paused, drew breath and said, ‘Yes, I suppose so. I rather thought I’d invite Nicola.’

Simon laughed. ‘Nic? She’ll be a bit out of place at an Oxford ball, won’t she?’

Mark’s mouth made an odd curl, a half-disappointed sideways curve.

‘I think she’ll be fine.’

‘She’s only fifteen, Mark,’ said Franny.

‘I think she’ll be fine,’ Mark said again.

Simon cracked open another beer and leaned back in his chair.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘on your head be it.’

Nicola arrived on the morning of the ball by train. She had grown three or four inches and was less awkward and more worldly than when we’d first met her. She was wearing jeans and carrying a copy of Just Seventeen and I wondered whether she still doted on the vicar she’d been so fond of quoting last time I’d seen her.

Simon ushered her into the green salon, saying, ‘Just don’t mess anything up, all right?’

Nicola looked around the room, its antique furniture covered in cigarette burns, the remnants of dinner from last night and the night before still strewn across the floor. She shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘If I messed it up any more I’d be tidying.’

She half-smirked at Simon, waiting to see if he’d respond, then turned to us and muttered, ‘Hello, James. Hello, Jess.’

But Mark, as if he had detected the sound of her voice with dog-like hearing, suddenly hurled himself through the French doors at the far end of the room. He dashed along the central hall and fell to his knees before Nicola’s armchair, shouting, ‘Nicolaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!’

She let out a little scream and threw her arms around his neck, a different girl now. He grabbed her hands and kissed the back of each of them and she wriggled in her seat with pleasure and discomfort.

Sitting at her feet, he said in confidential tones, ‘Now tell me about Laura, is she still the biggest bitch in the world?’

Nicola laughed. ‘Don’t call her that! But, yeah, kind of. On Thursday, when Mr Malone was giving back homework, he gave her Sophie’s book instead. And she went, “Ew, I’m not touching this. Tell her to come and get it herself.” ’

‘Oh, dear God. So what happened then?’

‘Mr Malone tried to put his foot down, except he’s, you know, not the greatest with discipline. In the end Hannah just got up and gave it back to her. Hannah’s aces. And Mr Malone went, “You could learn something from Hannah’s example,” but when he turned his back Laura went —’ Nicola stuck her tongue between her bottom lip and her teeth and made a ‘nnnn’ noise — ‘only Mr Malone turned round and caught her.’ Nicola paused, and looked around at us all — she had evidently surprised herself by her own lack of reserve — ‘I know we’re supposed to have Christian charity for everyone, but I really hope she gets expelled.’

‘Quite right too. It’s no more than she deserves, the little minx.’