Caryl Phillips - In the Falling Snow

‘Well, this Caribbean trip isn’t about your grandfather, it’s about you and me.’

‘Yeah, I know, bonding. We had to write an essay about it in General Studies.’

‘Well? Are you interested or not?’

‘In bonding?’

‘In going to the Caribbean. Okay, bonding in the Caribbean, if that makes you feel better.’

‘All right then, we can check it out. But Grandma gave me some money, so I’m also going to Barcelona. It’ll be after the end of the season, but at least I’ll see the ground and maybe I’ll get to see them train.’

‘You’re telling me that you’d rather go to Spain, which is just around the corner, than go all the way across the Atlantic to the Caribbean?’

‘I told you, I can go to both.’

‘Do you want me to come with you to Barcelona?’

‘What for? You don’t like Barca. Anyhow, I’m going with some mates.’

‘No adults?’

‘You’re not worried about me, are you?’

‘Should I be?’

‘Get real, Dad. I’m nearly eighteen.’

As they step out of the Pizza Express he sees a group of boys idling on a low brick wall near the entrance to the Tesco Mini-Mart. For a moment he thinks about walking in the opposite direction, for he knows that it will be straightforward to get a cab in the next street, but Laurie seems to know the boys and he shouts.

‘Yo!’

He sees his son throw a quick hand signal that elicits a chorus of ‘Yo!’s from the loiterers, but he turns away from Laurie and squints anxiously down the street. He flags down a passing cab, for he wants to get away from these boys as quickly as possible. Laurie scampers over to join him, and as the cab moves off he wonders if he should ask his son if he is in a gang. However, if Laurie says ‘yes’ he is unsure of what advice he might offer him that wouldn’t just provoke his son’s ire and frustration, so he decides to say nothing. He turns slightly and looks out of the window at the heavy night traffic. So, Annabelle’s mother has given Laurie money to go to Spain. More likely that Annabelle has given him the money in the name of her mother, for he is sure that his mother-in-law’s dementia has reached a stage where she would not even recognise her grandson. It pains him that he is unable to offer his son another grandmother, or a proper relationship with his grandfather, for he doesn’t want Laurie to feel that should anything happen to him then Annabelle’s family are all that he has. In a sense, offering to take him to the Caribbean is his attempt to repair this imbalance, but if Laurie prefers to take his grandmother’s money and go to Barcelona with his mates, then he should be free to do so. He turns quickly and steals a glance at his son, who has slipped his headphones back into place and is once again bobbing his head to the music which leaks out from his bulbous earpieces. He wants to suggest to his son that conversation might be a good alternative to just cutting himself off in this way, but he decides to leave it. Both the trip to the cinema, and then the pizza, have been a success. At least they have talked, which is what he hoped for, and Annabelle can have no complaints. She can’t accuse him of not trying to bond with his son.

He registers the quizzical look on Annabelle’s face as she opens the door and stands to one side. Laurie squeezes past her, but he doesn’t bother to take off his headphones or greet his mother. His son half turns so that he faces him, but he doesn’t break stride.

‘See you, Dad. Thanks.’

He watches as Laurie bounces upstairs, easily taking two steps at a time, and when the tall young man eventually disappears from view he looks at Annabelle.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Jesus Christ, Keith. “What’s the matter?” How can you be so casual about everything. Her name’s Yvette, right?’

He shrugs his shoulders and makes it clear that she should continue.

‘There’s some kind of website with a blog on it and people are posting messages. Apparently she’s on antidepressants and is barely functioning. That’s what’s the matter. People are writing about you and her, and I hate to tell you this, but you’re not looking too clever.’

‘You’ve got to be joking.’

‘Do I look like I’m joking?’

‘Well what are they saying?’

‘I think you’d better read it for yourself.’

‘I don’t know anything about this website.’

‘Trust me, you will.’

‘But it’s ridiculous, we’re two single people who started to see each other and it ended, that’s all.’

‘You don’t get it, do you? You can’t win in these situations, and you do understand that somebody is going to send the link to Laurie, the same way they sent it to me.’

‘Who sent you the link?’

‘I’m buggered if I know, but somebody wanted to make sure that I saw it.’

He runs his hand quickly across his face, but he realises that he is not thinking clearly.

‘You think somebody’s trying to stitch me up?’

‘Yes, Sherlock, somebody’s trying to discredit you further than you’ve already discredited yourself. And it might not be Yvette, or whatever her name is. It’s a blog so anybody can sign in. It’s public space.’

‘Maybe I should speak to a lawyer and see if I can get it stopped.’

‘Well do me a favour, Keith, do something , will you? Before your son begins to dislike you too.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean you don’t have a lot of friends on that blog.’

‘Including you, I take it.’

‘I’m not on the blog.’

He shakes his head. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘How was it tonight?’

‘How was what?’

‘Your time with Laurie. What do you think I mean?’

‘I had a good time with him. He’s changing, that’s all. Going through that moody “I’m a man” stuff. But we chatted, and it’s fine.’

Annabelle smiles sarcastically. ‘“And it’s fine”? What are you talking about? What’s fine?’

He feels anger and frustration rising quickly within him, but he bites his bottom lip hard. He lowers his voice to just above a whisper.

‘Laurie’s fine. He’s passing through adolescence so he’s doing the whole awkward thing. What do you expect?’

‘And you think that’s all there is to it? That’s he’s not hiding something from us?’

‘Look I’m his dad, not his bloody therapist. He seems fine to me. All that ADD crap that the headmaster was talking about is just that. Crap.’ He stares at Annabelle. ‘All right?’

Annabelle glares at him, but she has clearly decided to say nothing further.

He takes a sip of wine as the computer whirrs and beeps and offers him various upgrades which he rejects with a succession of hurried clicks. He puts down the glass then stands up and takes off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the sofa. As he does so he notices that the two cinema tickets have fallen from his jacket pocket on to the floor, so he stoops to pick them up and tosses them on to the coffee table before stepping back into the kitchen and switching on the central heating. He has been meaning to program the thermostat so that the heat comes on automatically, but this will mean reading the booklet and he’s yet to find the time to do so. He re-enters the living room and sits back in front of the screen, but his hands hover for he is still trying to decide whether or not to take a look at the offending website. Annabelle had helpfully written down the address on a piece of paper and shoved it into his hand as he was leaving. But why, he thinks, should he expose himself to something that he knows is going to disturb him, and most likely make him angry? He logs into his email and begins to write to Clive Wilson. He needs to see him urgently. In fact, first thing in the morning. Before he sends the short email he stands up and walks a few paces to the window where he stares out into the darkness. He can see nothing, no people, no movement beyond the gently swaying branches and the flickering light in the lamppost, but he can hear cars swishing by on the main road at the end of the street. There is no need to explain to Clive why he needs to see him. Surely, Clive Wilson should be able to work that out for himself.