Caryl Phillips - In the Falling Snow

‘Very funny.’

She steps to one side, and as he passes by he smells her slightly overpowering scent. He can never remember the name of her perfume, but he knows that it is expensive. No doubt Bruce remembers.

‘I’m just saying that “good evening” would have been nice. Has the cat got your tongue?’

‘Jesus, Keith, you sound like an extra from some sitcom. What kind of phrase is that?’

He stands at the foot of the stairs as she begins to slip her raincoat on over her blue dress. He hasn’t seen this dress before and it looks good on her, but he knows that it is best to say nothing about the dress for clearly she is in one of her combative moods and even the most generous of compliments is likely to be turned against him.

‘Well, do you want to say hello to Laurie?’

‘Where is he?’

Annabelle tosses her head in the direction of the staircase.

‘Laurie, your father is here.’ There is no reply. ‘He’s probably got his headphones on again when he’s supposed to be doing his homework.’

‘Leave it, I’ll speak to him later.’

Annabelle furrows her brow. ‘Leave it? I don’t think so. I told him you would be coming around.’

She begins to trudge upstairs, but as she does so Laurie appears on the landing with his headphones pulled down around his neck and the thick black cable dangling like a loose thread.

‘I was just coming to get you.’

Laurie shrugs, but he makes no effort to come downstairs. ‘All right, Dad?’

‘How’s your schoolwork?’

‘You tell me. Isn’t that what you’re here for?’

Annabelle sighs loudly. ‘Are you not going to come down here and talk to us properly? I’ll get neck ache if you continue to stand up there.’ She looks at her watch. ‘Oh Christ, we’ve got to go anyhow. Are you going to be all right?’

‘I’m seventeen, Mum.’

‘Which is why I’m asking.’

‘Have fun at parents’ night. I can’t wait to hear what those tossers think.’ He pauses. ‘Not.’

He looks up at his son.

‘“Not”? What kind of English is that?’

‘Don’t start, Dad. You know what I mean. Check you later.’ They both stare as Laurie slides the earpieces of his headphones up and over his ears, and then turns and shuffles out of sight.

Annabelle shakes her head. She finishes buttoning her coat as she descends the stairs.

‘And you don’t think there’s a problem?’

‘He’s just styling, that’s all. It’s what the youths do.’

‘“Styling”? What the hell is that? He’s not a bloody case study, he’s your son.’

He shifts his weight on to his left side and pushes his hands into his trouser pockets. He doesn’t want to point, for that always sets her off.

‘Listen.’ He pushes his hands an inch or two deeper into his pockets. ‘I know he’s my son, and I know something about what he’s going through.’

‘Well maybe you could explain it to me because it’s not that easy to live with.’ She throws a quick glance upstairs. ‘Sometimes he looks at me as though I’m stupid. I don’t just mean as though I don’t understand, I mean as though I’m really stupid, and I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.’

He stares at Annabelle and recognises the symptoms; the faint tremor to her voice, and the ever so slightly buckled lower lip as her anxiety rises. Annabelle becomes quieter as she gets angrier.

‘Look, we’d better go and hear what his teachers have to say. We can talk about it afterwards, okay?’ Annabelle stares at him. ‘I’m not trying to avoid the subject, but you said yourself that we should go, right? I don’t want to be late on top of dressing like this.’

‘Who said there is anything wrong with the way you’re dressed?’

‘Annabelle, you looked at me like I was something the dog had dragged in.’

‘What’s with all the animal references? Don’t tell me you’ve started watching Zoo Nation ?’

‘What’s Zoo Nation ?’

‘A programme on the television. But it doesn’t matter, you’re right. We should go. And I never said anything about your clothes.’ She looks him up and down again. ‘You look okay.’

‘Okay? Just “okay”?’

‘Jesus, should I take a picture?’

He opens the door and gestures to her. ‘After you, Madam.’

Annabelle brushes by him shaking her head.

‘Stop pissing about, Keith. I’m really not in the mood, okay.’

The wine bar is almost empty so they are able to get a booth in the window. The candle flickers crazily, as though caught in a gale, and he watches the flame dance until he can take no more. He reaches in and quickly closes his forefinger and thumb on the wick, which leaves a black mark on his hand.

‘You’re not even listening to me, are you? No wonder Laurie is the way he is.’

‘I’m listening, and what do you mean the way he is?’

‘Well, he’s not officially ADD, but Mr Hughes seems to think that there is some kind of concentration issue.’

‘Mr Hughes?’

‘The headmaster. We’ve just been talking to him.’

‘I know. I’ve not forgotten. I just didn’t realise that the pompous prat had a name.’

He removes the bottle of wine from the ice bucket and prepares to refill their glasses. Annabelle quickly picks up her glass.

‘I’m fine.’

The bottle creates an unholy noise as he thrusts it back into the mass of ice, and for a moment he can’t hear the music, but this is good. He wonders why they always play The Gipsy Kings in wine bars, or maybe it’s just this bar that is obsessed with the fake bonhomie created by mimicking the enthusiastic rhythms of Spanish folk culture. The usual crowd of BBC yuppies are not in evidence, probably because of the inclement weather, so he is grateful for this break. As he gets older he finds it increasingly difficult to deal with either excessive numbers of people, or loud music which dominates attempts at conversation. Strange, he thinks, this heightened sensitivity to environment. He sips at his wine, and then replaces his glass on the wooden table top.

‘I’m going to take Laurie out tomorrow. And I’ll talk to him about everything, okay?’ Annabelle looks at him, but says nothing. ‘Well, is that okay or not, because I can’t tell if you don’t say anything.’

‘Of course it’s okay.’ She pauses. ‘You know I want you to talk with him.’

‘Listen, I don’t care what they say about him being difficult, I’m just praying that he gets through his exams and goes to university. That’s what he says he wants to do, and as far as I’m concerned that’s all that matters. If he’s really got some learning problems don’t you think we’d have noticed them by now?’

‘“We’d have noticed”? You mean you as well as me?’

‘Yes, that’s what I mean, both of us. “We.”’

‘If you say so. I don’t want to bicker.’

He realises that Annabelle has provided him with a classic opening for an argument, but he is determined to avoid any conflict. The issue is Laurie and he is going to stay focused.

‘I don’t like how those teachers talk about him at that school, like he’s some freak. He’s one of the few black kids in his class and I know how that feels. I’m not saying that this prat Mr Hughes, or the other teachers, actually want him to fail, but they don’t look to me like they particularly want to help him get through the system. Telling us, “Your son has a problem with this, and your son has a problem with that.” I’ve heard similar crap all my life. The fact is, I’m pretty sure they’re not on his side.’

‘And what about me? Do you think I’m on his side?’

‘Look, there’s no need to get all defensive. You know I’m not talking about you.’